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Fresh Flowers for you, my dear.. freshly picked flowers for you, every time I see you…“, is what he used to say… Always with a single Rose or Hibiscus flower, in his hand, whenever he visited. And, as a child I loved this. I had received a flower, a present, a gift… and he had received a hug, a kiss… and a smile.

But then I started growing up… not making the time. Not understanding that time would not always there. His visits became less. His family moved, and he’d travel to visit them. We hardly saw him. I grew up, or so I believed, and didn’t make the time to see him.

He was a part of the core people we called our family. People who welcomed my parents, when they arrived here, away from their own family. People who were sometimes, most times closer to us than our own family. People who you could count on… but as time passed by, it was hard to rely on these people. They were all we had but they weren’t our blood. We weren’t their family. Times changed. People changed…

I saw him a couple of months ago… “Do you remember when I used to bring you flowers? The flower each time? The Hibiscus; the Rose? Just for you. Do you remember? You know I’ll always bring you flowers, my dear… freshly picked flowers…

That was before we found out he was sick. About the Cancer that started in one part of his body… and then took over…

I’ll always remember the flowers, Uncle.. I’ll always remember the Hibiscus, the Rose. Thank-you for always bringing them. Thank-you for remembering. I know they made you happy… and they make me happy thinking about them. I am sorry I wasn’t around… but Thank-you for being you.

R.I.P Uncle L.
You are a part of our family… and you will be missed.

(press publish, and then let go…)