So for Thanksgiving I went went to my dad’s first cousin Judy’s house and brought Mona. Judy’s husband is Bill. In his 70s. Proper, old fashioned, conservative yet a union man, with an occasional fun side.  They’ve been married probably 8 years now.  I go there on the occasional occasion,  thanksgiving or easter or a random Sunday dinner.

Bill’s brother Stan goes to those holidays. He’s 82 this year. Introverted,  quiet, kind of zoned into his own head.  Nice guy though.  We’d talk about his playing guitar or my infrequent attempts at piano, or Brooklyn in general.

Stan was at Thanksgiving last week.  I’d heard his health was failing and then I saw it. He was very thin and fail, had difficulty paying attention, and made awful noises when he napped post-entree.

He didn’t look good.

Sunday he passed away. No autopsy.

I’ve only seen him ten times or so in my life, still sad to see him go. I’ve grown fond of his brother/my cousins husband and his family.

The wake was Wednesday.  The funeral on Thursday.  It’s surreal that in a week I’ve gone from talking to him and had dinner with him to saying goodbye to him for the last time.

RIP Stan. Enjoy new and perpetual health in the afterlife.  Play your guitar for the angels.