Uncle Joe

I've neglected to mention this, but my Uncle Joe died last week. Mum's been over in Dublin (fair city etc.) to the funeral. She wore her bright pink "PARIS" rain cape to the funeral (which was awfully rainy), and says that Uncle Joe looked wonderful when he was laid out. I've only ever met him once, so I feel no great personal loss, but it's always sad to have a death in the family. Auntie Thérèse phoned the other day and she was lost in reverie, so Mum is obviously suffering a great deal too.
Uncle Joe lived in Dublin, then moved to England (up North, for work), then back. He complained he never "fitted in", and Auntie Thérèse reckons it's because he never truly grew up; he always remained a bit childlike, and couldn't bear to see a child suffer. One time when Thérèse was little (it's complicated; Thérèse is technically my cousin, but my Mum was the youngest of 16 so she's younger than some of her nieces), she scraped her knee, and Uncle Joe gathered loads of daisy "so many, [she] couldn't hold them in both cupped hands!". He lived quite a lonely life, and suffered from narcolepsy. His last days were not very nice, with near-daily dialysis, comas and amnesia. It's really a release.
On a lighter note, there's a plethora of Dublin stuff now! I just had a chocolate guiness (it certainly has alcoholic undertones), and there's loads of postcards for my wall of travel. Oh, also, I bought some canvas and am setting to work making a school bag!