Sweets and I celebrated our five year anniversary of our first date on Wednesday. We went out to dinner (ethiopian) and the food wasn't as good as usual, which was a disappointment. Then we went home and stayed up too late and I was exhausted and overtired and I couldn't fall asleep. Overall, I would do it again if I could. but that is the way things go.
The nice thing about this anniversary is that it marks a time in my life when I was completely reborn. I went from unhappy caterpillar to very happy butterfly in those months before we started dating. And then I met him and my life went from exhilarating to exhilarating plus one. It was an incredible time to be me.
But there is a bad thing about the anniversary too. Something very bad happened the day of our fourth or fifth date.
The phone rang on Tueday morning very early. It was my father. Even with the time difference it was early for him, so I instantly knew something was wrong. He had only done this once before, so I knew what was coming. Indeed, it was true. My uncle had been murdered. I had to go home.
But first I went to work. I had a date with sweets that night and I so wanted it to be good. He was the biggest joy and spark in my life, and for some reason I didn't call him to cancel our plans for that evening. Maybe I didn't want to call him because I didn't want to say out loud on the phone what had happened.
As it turned out, I waited to tell him until we were in the elevator on the way down from my office, where he had picked me up. He led me out of the building and we sat on the edge of a planter while I cried for awhile. Then he took me to his house and made me dinner.
It was a good distraction. I can imagine it must have been incredibly uncomfortable for him, having to console this women he hardly knew after the murder of her favorite uncle. He must have really liked me, to have put up with that. (I guess he did- he married me after all...)
The story was horrible. A random guy broke into my uncle's house, tied him to his easy chair where he had been sitting watching television, and then shot him in the head. Then the guy stole his truck and drove to alabama, where he confessed to his brother. The brother took him to the police and turned him in. My other uncle got a call on Monday to go see if everything was okay. Of course, it wasn't okay at all. my uncle was dead, and had been so for more than a day.
The police gave my father and uncles a photograph of the murder scene, complete with an image of my uncle. They looked at it, then together they went and burned the photo, in a ceremony.
His body was cremated. There is something about cremation that is just wierd- a pile of ashes left where a body used to be. Sometimes I forget he died, and then I imagine what that photo looked like, and I remember that urn we buried in the family plot.
He was my favorite uncle. He was gay, and had returned home from a lifetime in San Francisco after his sweetie died of AIDS. We were all waiting for him to die of AIDS too, but it turned out he never got it. funny how life is. So he picked up his things and started over, working for the family business and cheering us up with his sardonic wit. He always sent me wonderful cards, signed with his perfect signature. He had just bought his home, had it built to look like a San Francisco apartment building. At least on the inside. It was a fabulous home, and he was so happy to finally OWN something. He was very proud of that house. I hate to think that the same home that he waited his life to own became the place he would be killed.
I'm sorry this is such a morbid entry. I just had to write something about it, five years later. Mourning takes a lifetime, I think. I miss him so much. We didn't get to enjoy him for very long. life is so unfair sometimes.