My Favorite Uncle Died Yesterday Morning
I have such a strange relationship with death. To be honest, its the most boggling concept I’ve ever been introduced to. When I was younger, it seemed a lot simpler; I toyed with it so many times, thinking that it meant finality or a close. But it is so much more dynamic than that, so much less sure than that.
It’s often said that death happens in three’s, (which does not make me feel any less disturbed) and my Uncle is the third person to go, this year. Here is what someone said about him on a political forum that he and my father own:
“Brian “The Toughest” was the most skilled PRA in the entire army during the revolution.
He used to repair the Anti Aircraft guns before the Cuban technicians showed up. He was the only member of the PRA who was able to shoot 29 bullet targets out of 30 bullets. I saw him do it.
If Brian was born and raised in a more developed country, he would have become a scientists, or some kind of great inventor.
He was also a good mechanic too.
My sympathy goes to his entire family.”
This is the hardest. My uncle and father are my role models - I am the only child in our family who has been trained and coached (by my father and uncle) in theories of revolution and revolutionary tactics. My poppa and uncle were my age when they, along with Maurice Bishop, overthrew the Grenadian Army and political office of the time. They controlled the government until America invaded in 1983, and then defeated the American Army. Fidel Castro titled it “Small country, big revolution.”
There is so much more I need to learn, and so much that they expect from me (collectively). But what now? With my uncle and his genius gone? Yesterday, Daddy said to me “You are the last of the Mohicans, haha” - I don’t know what that means for me. Any of this. This void is gaping and ugly and I’ve yet to actually grieve (save for a few tears and the spazz I did when first finding out) - I don’t know when its coming.
Death leaves me with so many questions and so little comfort - it makes me feel like I know nothing.
The Grenadian Revolution began with the burning of the Army’s Barracks at True Blue. My uncle lit the first flame at 4:15 AM that morning.
He died yesterday morning at 4:48 AM.
Revolution means full circle.
