Next of Kin

You know the moment the phone begins to ring that it is going to be bad news. Something about the ring or the time of day or the person whose name shows up the caller i.d. tells us that it is not a phone call we want to receive but have to answer. It was 11 pm when my phone rang. It was my mother, gasping.

"Your uncle died," she cried.

My uncle was a textbook example of someone who noticed an abnormal growth on his skin and chose to ignore it. The next thing he knew he had several malignant tumors all over his body. His doctor told him to quit drinking.

"Whaddayah mean quit drinking? What does drinking have to do with skin cancer? Nothing! That's what," he slurred.

"But-"

"But nothing! I know what you think of me, Mr. College Graduate. Poor, dumb fuck of an old man and his dumb fucking dirty blue collar. I'll show you something they probably didn't teach you at Harvard!" and he swung at the doctor, busting three of his teeth.

Soon after the restraining order was filed a doctor at another hospital gave him four to six months to live without treatment. That was eight years ago.

I pictured my uncle's wake: Relatives grieving, distillery execs  posthumously awarding him medals for his dedication to the industry and an open bar for those who chose not to cry.

In reality his wake was odiously beautiful. My father gave the eulogy.

"Jack was... Well, he was a man with crude intentions and an impeccable taste for liquor."

People began to whisper and I was in nearly in tears trying to hold back my laughter.

"One must wonder how many diseases could have been cured with the money he spent on brandy and vodka."

He paused, surveying the stupefied looks on people's faces.

"But, as his family and friends, we must remember that not all of Jack's life was negative. He never once got a D.U.I. How this is possible no one will ever know because our Lord works in mysterious ways. Thank you."

Everyone silently watched him step down from the podium in front of the casket, except for me, I was trying my best to mask my hysteric laughter as crying. My cousin rose reached out and put her hand on my shoulder, saying "It'll be okay. Be strong."

We all knew that although my father's eulogy was grossly inappropriate that he was right. Everyone left the funeral home that night without saying goodbye.