Late Thursday afternoon, I found out that one of my uncles had passed away. When I called cousin (his daughter) to see how things were going, I learned that he was still on a breathing machine, but not yet disconnected. So he was dead, and yet not dead. My uncle and I were not that close, partially due to a language barrier, and part to geographic distance. As we talked, my cousin and I reflected on the fact that we've reached that age where our parents and their siblings are starting to depart this life.

This part of my family is back on the east coast, which means a longer trip out (next weekend) to attend the services and other proceedings. I haven't been back east in quite some time, so I'm looking forward to the chance to see some family, but wishing it were a different occasion.

It's hard to write about death. I feel progressively sad, it is sinking in over the days, as I contemplate the meaning of it. I'm grateful that he lived a long life, that he'd been very happy in recent months, and that he passed relatively quickly and without pain. I can't help but think ahead to the day when it's one of my parents and not one of my cousins. I believe my uncle has gone on to a better place, to live in the presence of his Maker, and that someday I will see him again. That doesn't diminish the pain of his absence from our lives until we meet each other again.