I never said goodbye to you. I was too afraid. I hardly even glanced at you in the casket because I felt so sick to my stomach. Reality was setting in: you were actually gone.

No, I didn't cry for you. I felt as if I had no right to. I wasn't at all as close to you as I should have been. There was a distance between us that I had never cared to close in. I know you loved me, and I loved you too.

But I didn't know your birthday.

I didn't know your favorite color or that you even had four children. I thought you only had two. I didn't know the woman you were married to was your second wife, not your first.

You were a stranger to me, but I loved you because you were kind. You were sweet. You were the person that had a feel-good vibe and everyone knew your heart was pure. You would never harm anyone. You were just my uncle that battled his own addictions, loved everyone wholeheartedly and was an amazing cook.

I feel like I should have known more about you. I remember the exact day I learned that you were gone.

It was 8:52 in the morning to be exact. I received a call from my sister and I knew it had to be serious because she never calls. I felt my heart slowly sinking into my stomach and I thought to myself, "I shouldn't answer it." I was so close to hitting the reject button. I had eight minutes before I had to go to class. I didn't have time to deal with whatever she wanted. Especially not this early.

But I answered it. Of course, she was crying and I could hardly understand her. You had died and no one could reach Dad to tell him because he was overseas. My grandmother tried calling the Red Cross. No one could reach him. I was the last resort.

I sighed and I remember snapping at her about how I had to get to class and I would deal with this later. Two minutes to go before I needed to leave. I quickly called my mother and told her before saying that I had to go to class and we would deal with this later.

I treated you as if your passing was a chore. Just another responsibility; another duty I had that day on my piling list of "to do."

Plans were then arranged and it was decided that my father and me would fly to the funeral. I would spend my entire Spring Break in Arkansas with him while working on my midterms. I was so frustrated and angry. It wasn't because I was missing Spring Break (I didn't have anything planned anyways), but because of the fact that everyone believed that if we came to Arkansas, you would magically be brought back to life and everything would be okay.

But this is real life. You didn't resurrect. I didn't walk into the backyard and see you sitting with a beer in your hand and a spatula in the other, waiting for the grill to heat up. You weren't in the chair that you always sat in, leaning dangerously back. There wasn't a smile to be greeted with and a, "Hi, sweetheart." No hugs. No warmth. No love.

Just a house full of broken-hearts and tears. A quiet, unsteady home ready to topple over. A family made of glass and ready to shatter; hoping to break and never be repaired because they knew they couldn't deal with the fact that you were gone forever.

Truth began to set in. Still, I held my composure. I had to be strong for everyone including the men that pretended to be together.

I didn't want to cry until your sister played her memorial video. It was so beautiful and it filled me with overwhelming sorrow. I had to go to the restroom for a moment to keep myself together. My eyes watered again as I watched one of the strongest warriors, your same sister, crumple. I felt my own heart breaking as she was crying and I remember her distinctly saying, "Why was I so stupid? Why did I think we would all live forever?" Then I saw my grandparents. I've never seen my grandfather cry, and he didn't that day; however, his expression was so pained he had to leave the room before returning. Never once have I seen him go a day without smiling or cracking a joke, but that day, he did. I know he always acted like you were an idiot and told you that you were many times, but the old man still loved you so much.

I'm not writing this to make you feel guilty because you're gone. I'm writing this to admit to myself that I'm finally wrapping my head around the fact that I am never going to see you again. That now, I'm sitting here horrified because I realize you're never coming back and one day, the same will happen to my very own siblings. I'm upset because I miss you. I'm upset because I can't go back in time and say, goddamn it, let's be closer. I'm upset because I lost out on the opportunity to know a very great man.

We can't stop time. It's the scariest concept in the world: that we can't stop time, and we all have to go through the physical and mental process of dying. It's absolutely terrifying. I should have made the most of out of my time with you, but I didn't. I missed out. I hope this will be a lesson to others and to myself that we should make the most out of our time with those around us. I think since losing you, I've grown kinder to my peers and my friends. I've realized that tomorrow they may be gone. That tonight, I might eat my last meal with my family. Do I have to try and be nice all the time? No, but the compassion for others has come much more easily since you left this world.

I hope you're resting in peace.

I hope you're okay.

I know I'm supposed to believe in something, but...wherever you are, I just hope you're happy.