My uncle Ken

 This morning I received the sad news that he had died. I knew he was ill but it was still a shock. He was a constant in my childhood, a calm and kind man who always made me feel loved and valued. He was one of the first people I was aware of who got divorced and this seemed an extraordinary thing and at the same time no issue at all. 

He came with his stories and strong accent and I overwhelmingly think of him with a moustache. He leaves behind two children, my cousins, both grown up and with their won children who will, without doubt be very sad to have lost their loving granddad. 

The thing I most treasure about him is that when he worked, he was a funeral director and when my brother died, over twenty years ago, he brought my brothers body back home and took him safely to the church where we got to say our last goodbye. I always loved the thought that he had taken care of him, as I know he would do for all of us, and for many years comforted myself with the knowledge that if I were to follow in my brother's early fate, my uncle would, without doubt look after me too. 

I'm so very sad for all those who loved him, not least my dad, his big brother. And I see just how strange it must be that my dad has, against all the odds, outlived his little brother. The older I get and the more people who die, parents of friends, cousins, uncles, aunts, brother's sisters I see how remarkable it is that I really thought I wouldn't have my dad around now. That those who have always seemed healthy and strong have gone before, that I can see more people I love experience grief, is a surprise to me. And in the veil of sadness I take a sip at hope and cherish its warmth because I see that I may be here to know and love m grandchildren and be around long enough that when I die, my daughter will have had me around for a very long time.