An open letter to Uncle Bob

Dear Uncle Bob

What the hell have you gone and done now?

The last time you were in the UK you were my rock. You listened, you offered your words of wisdom, and you helped me move heavy furniture around. And, as always, you made me laugh out loud - sometimes laughing with you, and sometimes at you!

We lunched together on your birthday (although at the time I didn't realise it was your birthday). And we fiercely argued about something. But we quickly cleared the air, and tucked into our pie and chips, in that dodgy pub in Leominster, the rain belting down outside.

You had just turned sixty-seven, and I thought you were looking really sprightly.  I loved your enthusiasm for your new 'expensive-looking' pumps, that you found for £10.

I still wear the fake red Crocs you sent me almost six years ago (in fact I am wearing them right now) - they are two sizes too big, but I have always been loyal to them, but only in the house, where no-one else can see me.

I feel so sad that recently I let the little wooden bird cage (with mechanical flashing, chirping bird) go to a charity shop - I would love to have that cage and bird back right now. It always brought a smile to my face, and made me think of you and your slightly eccentric and whacky ways.

But, we still have all sorts of reminders here: the dodgy orange outfits for my girls (which reside in their dressing up box and are brought out at Halloween), the plastic bunny rabbit that changes colour, the beautiful wooden hair pieces,  the dominoes, and the incredible personalised money box that you made out of a coconut shell for Betty when she was a baby - and you changed the spelling of her name because you thought it looked prettier your way!

Your voice is like a foghorn - for this reason I once remember leaving you in the car while I went into the supermarket - because I didn't like the attention you drew. 

You are brutally honest and you have no filter whatsoever - hence the argument we had on your birthday.  Although looking back you were probably absolutely right.

You don't like the way I cook sausages, and you tell me when I am looking fat.

You often speak a lot of sense, but also a lot of  nonsense.  You have a big heart, and you will work your butt off to help out.  You are a very loveable character - although you would scoff if I told you that to your face - I now desperately wish that I had the chance to.  

I loved receiving your incomprehensible one-line emails - but you told me off for being crap with my responses, and I was, and for that I will never forgive myself.

I wish with all my heart that I could email you right now, but it's too late.  

It seems incomprehensible that I will never see you again.  I (like the rest of the family) am in total shock about your untimely and sudden death.

Rest in peace Uncle Bob - I will miss you dearly, and our banter, and your foghorn voice, and your eccentricities, and your kindness.