I heard today that an uncle died in the early hours, quite suddenly of a heart attack. He can’t have been fifty yet.
He hadn’t been ill at all. Apparently the night before he’d been eating and laughing happily with his family. Then when he awoke next morning, he went to the bathroom. But before he had even brushed his teeth or eaten breakfast, he said he felt unwell and had to lie down. He died ten minutes later, before the doctor could even get there.
The family are shocked, he was so young, and seemed so well.
We’ve always lived in different countries, so I had not seen him many times. He was wonderful to me when I last visited, several years ago. Seeing his nephew was obviously very special to him, and he helped make it very special for me. I’m shocked that I won’t be able to see him ever again. Whenever I thought about going, I’d always think: “Maybe next year.” I took it for granted that he, and my other uncles, would always be there.
Time to remember him and his family.
Time to be with my mother, who lost a younger brother.
And time perhaps to think of all the people we might lose unexpectedly, and make time for them while we have the chance.