On Monday, my uncle Steve was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, which had spread to other systems, including his bones.
On Thursday, he was sent home, put under the care of hospice nurses, and told that he had three to six weeks.
On Saturday afternoon, he died.
He was at home, with both of his daughters, as well as one of his brothers (though not my dad – he was on his way home from vacation at the time).
I can’t even begin to explain the shock I’m feeling. The first I heard of this was on Thursday. Even though I knew he had been sick, no one, including his doctors, had any idea how serious it was. In fact, a CAT scan from 13 months ago was entirely clear.
I’d been so disappointed that he wasn’t feeling well enough to come to his granddaughter’s first birthday party two week ago, but knew that he was recovering from pneumonia, so understood why he might avoid a crowd.
He gave me my first job, back in high school, at his restaurant. He always told the funniest jokes. He often hosted family parties, especially at Christmas. His daughters are the older girls I always looked up to as a child.
He was my godfather.
I’m in shock, and I’m desperately sad.
I didn’t even have time to go visit him. It all happened so, so fast.
I hope he knows how much I’ve always loved him.