In The End

Two days ago, we had yet another death in the family. I don't know about death and memories but they seem to come hand in hand. Misery really does love company. Although my uncle's death is nothing monumental, there is an inexplicable ache I can't name. He was no icon. He wasn't even a great man. But as I lay shivering from this fever that seems to visit me every night, the past caught up with me and I remember fragments of the man he used to be. Even from my hazy memory he wasn't a good man. He used to box my ears every time I play around his sala. He never praised or comforted me. I used to run when I see him come round the corner. And I always thought of his mistress as an evil witch. But now the memories aren't as painful as it once has been. Maybe I'm less rowdy because of that fear. He may not have comforted me but he always comforted my mama when my papa passed away. I may have hated that evil witch but she stuck with him to his death. So maybe my uncle wasn't a great man, maybe not even a good man. But he was a man, a father, a husband and a brother. And maybe when the end comes, that's enough to set you apart.