I don't remember the first time I met them.
OP Uncle and Vinnie Aunty.
But I've grown up in their house. Counted the subzi in their fridge for fun. Made that window sill my most favourite spot in the whole wide world. They still tell stories of how they've known me since the time I couldn't reach up to the dining table.
I didn't want to just call them Uncle and Aunty. It was too impersonal. But somehow no other word stuck.
Years have rolled on. They have their own grand children. I don't mind the fact that I have to share them. I'd like to believe that we're all one big family.
November it was when Uncle got sick the first time.
He hasn't been better since.
I see him wasting away every week. Ten kilos lighter now.
Memories of our early morning walks come flooding back. He taught me to not be scared of anything slimy. Entertained me with all his stories of flying.
And there he is now.
I can see the pain on his face. How he masks it with all that sarcasm.
I went to meet him early one day, sure that we'd run of of conversation soon. The silence wasn't unnerving. I wanted to tell him to be strong but I couldn't whiteout crying.
He looked at me. Sighed and said " What a life".
I was stunned. I hugged him and told him it'd be alright, the word sounding hollow in my head.
I came back home and I realised how I'd never told him how much I loved him.
Next time around, I lay my head right next to him.
Told him there was something I needed to tell him. Something I'd never managed to say.
"I love you so much."
He looked at me, smiled and fell right back to sleep.
I was glad he hadn't seen the tears rolling down my face.
