My uncle died this week. He was something like 49 years old, and my cousin (his son) is nine years old. It didn't hit me until I was describing the situation matter-of-factly to a co-worker and then (as it was the end of my shift, and I was going home in the AM to sleep) I couldn't sleep. I sat in bed thinking about how most of my memories of my Dad are from about that point on, (I mean we all have occasional memories, from earlier, but not with the same clarity) and my Dad's still alive. Hell, his father didn't die until I was twelve, and I was broken up about that.
I comprehend, but I can never know what this kid is going through. Philip Chin was a great Dad, and I hope his son remembers him as fondly as I will remember my childhood with my parents.
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