My uncle was kind
He was the type of man who would encounter a stray kitten by the side of the street and would rescue it, ensuring he found it a home (which he actually did do).
My uncle was a family man
He called my grandparents every night, and was always there for us to lean on if we needed anything. He was devoted to his family.
My uncle was a generous soul
He was my dad’s brother, but he took my cousins on my mom’s side under his wing and treated them as if they were his own nephews. They adored him, and always looked forward to seeing him at family functions. He always had love to share.
My uncle was thoughtful
He called to congratulate me on the little things, or to check in when I was sick, even if it was a mild cold. He paid attention to and cared about those he loved; at family gatherings, if I was not feeling like myself, he could sense it and would keep me company. His presence was a huge comfort.
My uncle was not the drug that killed him
The circumstances of his death do not change how much he loved his family, nor how much I love and admire him. Much like how a cancer patient is more than their condition, my uncle was more than his substance use. He should be remembered for the kindness with which he treated strangers and family alike, for his humour, for his joyful presence.
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