Stripped

Rainy Days And Mourn Days

A tribute to my dear uncle whom I have written this piece for the day he passed away.

There's always something about the rain that pisses me off: ruins your hair, gets mud on your feet, floods, lesser vehicles around so you don't get home earlier...and now a memory of loss.

Weather has always been shitty and confusing. The sun is out in the morning then it starts pouring in the afternoon. And there's no analogy more accurate than what happened on the sixth of December and bipolar weather.

My uncle, my dearest uncle passed away. He left three children and a widow, all scarred by the loss of the most important man in their lives but comforted by the thought that he could finally rest at last. I saw it coming. My uncle did as well. He was ready. Machines, medicines, and hopes were trying to keep him alive. The logical side of you would say, "He won't make it that long" but the human side of you denies because you never want to let go. How can you ever let go?

Now as I lay in bed remembering the man with the kindest heart ever, I guess my only regret was being a fucking introvert. I wish I could've responded more to his talks, I wish I could've laughed more to his jokes, I wish I attended more to the feasts he'd hold, I wish... I wish.

I guess all we have now are the memories, the best ones, of him though we may not consider it as enough but I know he thinks they're more than enough. I will remember him as how he lived not as how he died. Probably, in this way, rain won't piss me that much.