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01 August 2006 @ 05:01 pm

I sat on the couch, reading the book I had taken out of the library a couple of weeks ago.  I had just started reading it that day, and surprisingly, was almost finished considering how unbelievably long it was.  I was half-heartedly concentrating on the murder mystery as my uncle and mother chatted quite loudly on the other side of the room.  I was upset.  My mom had just embarrassed me infront of my uncle by complaining about my temper, or my laziness, or something that I can't exactly remember now.  For some reason, she had stepped out of the room.  At which point, my uncle went over at sat on the couch behind me.  I could feel his eyes on my back, but I didn't say anything.  I pretended to continue reading.

"How are you doing in school?"
"What kinds of marks are you getting?"
"Usually 70's and 80's.  Maybe a 60 here and there, depending on how hard the course is."
"You know, I've been wanting to get you something, but I'm not really sure what you'd like.  Do you like sports?  Maybe I could get you a soccer ball or something."
"No.  I hate sports."
"Do you like to paint?  I could get you some paints."
"No.  I can't paint very well."
"Well, what would you like?  Just name it, honey."

And then I woke up.

I haven't seen my uncle for at least three years.  For some reason, he simply cut ties with the rest of my family.  I hear he's doing drugs now.  Like me, he's been diagnosed with diabeties during the past couple of years.  My mom's been worried about how he's managing it, what with his addiction to drugs and all.  He won't speak to any of us, won't so much as answer a call, or even show up for his brother's wedding.  But he wasn't always like this.

When I was little, he treated me like his own daughter.  He'd take me out, buy me toys, spoil me like you wouldn't believe.  He'd throw me over his shoulders and run around 'til I was laughing so hard I couldn't breath.  He'd call me everyday and we'd speak for hours.  He was my favourite uncle.  I loved him a lot.  Still do.

But he has some problems now.  My mother says that he's simply cracked.  He's been through a lot in his life.  He was a soldier in the Golf War.  He watched his friends die, and nearly died himself.  He watched as his mother died before his eyes.  A few years before we lost connect with him, he'd tell my mother all about how he used to wake up in the middle of the night, sweating, haunted by horrible images from his past.  I guess he simply couldn't take it anymore.  Perhaps we remind him of all those horrible times.  My stupid family pushed him away with all of their drama.  I don't blame him.  Sometimes, I wish I could get away from them too.  You can only push a man so far until he cracks.

I just hope that I see him again.  I'm older now, not the little girl that he used to know.  But I still love him as much as I did, still think about him a lot.  I just hope he thinks of me, too.

Wherever you are, I love you...