The line up for death is over there.

Wednesday morning I got a call that my uncle John was in the hospital and wasn't going to make it.
Wednesday afternoon I went to see him in ICU.
Wednesday evening I returned to Toronto, and an hour later my sister called to tell me he'd had a heart attack, but they'd managed to bring him back. She got a beep and put me on hold. A minute later the phone clicked back to her with two simple words - "He's gone."

The official cause of death was septic shock (blood infection) due to pneumonia (which he came down with in Feb but never saw a doctor for) which his body was unable to fight due to leukemia. It was a second heart attack which did him in. The man did not take care of himself very well.

It's funny how fate can take some eerie turns. My father's cousin Craig and his wife MaryAnne own the local funeral home. It's been in the family for generations. On Wednesday evening they decided to drop in on my parents for a quick visit, with no knowledge of what was going on. My parents invited them in and filled them in on the situation. No sooner had they finished explaining, when the phone rang.

I was so glad to hear that he had family there when the news came. But how ironic is that the man who deals with death for a living was there to help? My parents hadn't seen them in a long time and it wasn't very often that they would drop by unannounced. I'm just glad it happened the way it did.

Thursday I went with them and my other uncle, Dave, and his wife to the funeral home to make the arrangements. What an interesting process death is. So many forms and questions and decisions. At least now I'll have a better idea of what to do when I'm sitting in that chair making the decisions. I hope that time never comes, but it will have to one day. I think I'll be sure to make my arrangements myself so no one has to.

On Friday we had a private family viewing with an open casket. We all wanted to have a final image of him in peace, instead of swimming in a sea of tubes. My father gave Craig some of John's personal possessions, which he laid out beautifully in the casket. He did a wonderful job and I know it couldn't have been easy. Handling dead bodies all day can make you desensitized, but I think it must be different when it's family. He then closed the casket and we did a 3 hour reception that night.

Saturday was another quick viewing, followed by a quick service in the chapel. My father had written John a letter, which he asked me to read for him. It wasn't easy, but I made it through without cracking. The interesting thing about that letter was I had to transcribe it that morning from my dad's chicken scrawl into something legible. I tried to type it out on my mother's computer, but the damn thing wouldn't work. The printer wouldn't turn on, and the computer would only boot halfway and then stall. I tried to fix it (since that's what I do for a living), but didn't have the patience, so I was forced to write it out by hand. To me, writing something in ink is much more personable than typing on a computer. As such, it was difficult for me to write that letter out. I didn't make it to the end without bursting into tears, but maybe that's what helped me when reading it out. The next day the computer worked fine. Weird.

The drive to the cemetary was a beautiful one. Craig decided to alter the route slightly so that we drove by John's farm. It was a serene and peaceful drive through the country. I was also astonished to look in my rear view mirror and see a line up of cars about a kilometer long. The burial itself was also a short endevour. My father took it really hard. We all did. I just hope that I never have to see him like that ever again. I was more upset at the sight of him than I was at the passing of his brother.

John's death wasn't all in vain though. He still lived at the farm with my grandmother who suffers from dementia and alzheimers. We had tossed around the idea of her going into a home years ago, but he was against it. As a result my father was burdened with the responsability of her well being. John may have lived there, but didn't do much but keep an eye on her at night. My father looked after her meals and made sure that she had someone checking in on her during the day. (I know you'll never read this, but Yvonne you're an absolute angel for caring for my grandmother these past few years.) As I said, John was against the idea, but now that he's gone we can get her into a home with full time care. I'm sure my father's blood pressure will go down a few points.

John's passing also kickstarted some much needed dialogue in my family. Dave and him hadn't spoken in more than a decade. Dave is a little coocoo and drinks too much as well. This causes him to create lavish ways in which people have wronged him, and causes him not to listen to logic or reason. Dave and dad had also not spoken these past few years either, except through lawyers. Again, due to Dave being an absolute idot. The death seems to have brought him around a little bit. He actually came down to see my parents, and was very agreeable to all the funeral arrangements instead of being an obstinant, arguementative clod. Dad's been trying to get him to agree to separating the family land that they all have their names on for years (mostly because Dave's been hindering anything he's wanted to do with the farm for no good reason). Now, he might actually agree to something reasonable.

It's funny how things can trickle down from generation to generation. I also had not spoken to my brother in about 10 years. Neither had my sister. In fact most of my family can't stand him or that bitch wife he married. My parent's kept in touch because he has 2 kids. Unlike Dave, who made things up, my brother did some pretty terrible things a decade ago, which I find hard to forgive. If he'd only take responsability for them, then maybe we'd talk.

As it was, he was at mom and dad's on Friday, and since we were all going to the funeral home, I offered him a ride in my car as well. To be cold and angry takes so much energy, and I just didn't have the resources to pull that off. I needed every ounce of energy to support my dad. Plus that point in time wasn't about him and me, it was about my father. There are times to set differences aside, and this was one of them. My sister was even nice. We ended up talking a few times over the next few days, and I could tell how much it meant to him. I was even nice to the bitch-wife. Apparently this didn't go unnoticed by my mother. She made some sort of comment to Q, with tears in her eyes, about how nice it was that we were talking again.

It's been a long, tiring few days. Only now that it's all said and done am I letting myself feel tired and emotionally drained. Having Q there helped me tremendously though.

Sunday, however, was my 29th birthday. Q and I just bummed around town and went out for a great birthday dinner. I had a fantastic steak, 2 Belevedere martinis made just right (straight up, dirty, olive), and topped the meal off with a deliciously decadent chocolate sin cake. (thanks for the birthday wish snooze!)

Today was spent doing mundane things like laundry. Thank god Q and I are off to Las Vegas on Thursday.

I need a fucking vacation.