lee

My mother calls early this morning.  My Uncle Lee died.  It was expected.  He was 78, and married to my mother’s sister.  He was the father of three grown kids, the grandfather of five.  He was well loved.

When I was 15, my dad came home one night from his weekly bowling league.  “Leo K. had a heart attack, right there in the bowling alley.  I still can’t believe it.  He was only 46.”  My dad was 42 at the time.  I remember thinking, 46, that’s really not that young.  And now I think, 78, that’s really not that old.

I saw my uncle when I was home in November for my dad’s funeral.  Although he had trouble walking and was clearly weakened by his failing health, my uncle wanted to come to my mom’s home while we were sitting shiva.  He knew the next funeral would likely be his.  I can’t imagine what that must have been like for him.

I was not particularly close to my uncle, but I know this is heartbreaking for my aunt and her family.  Expecting a death doesn’t it make it less difficult when it happens.  After all, he was only 78.