I hope the title isn't too harsh.  It's a quote from Monty Python's The Holy Grail.  If my memory is working today, it's from a scene where the knights are discussing the infamous and highly dangerous white rabbit.  Who ever thought that such a small bunny rabbit could be so violent?  That was such a great movie.  Those guys were absolutely brilliant.

Unfortunately, that's not what my post is about today.  This week I came face to face with a foe that I have avoided for some time.  Death.  I have never really had to deal with the death of a relative before, and the unexpected passing of an uncle this week has both shocked and saddened me.  The uncle that passed was actually in-law, but he was no less of an uncle to me than any of my blood relatives. 

I've dealt with death in general before.  Earlier this year, I had to have my best friend, Rogue,  put down after she snapped at my youngest.  That was the hardest day of my life.  My loyal and friendly family pet meant the world to me and I was completely heart-broken when she was laid to rest.  I'm still not anywhere near over that.

The situation with my uncle is completely different than the one with Rogue.  I've spent the past few days grieving the loss of a truly great man and consoling family members who are also grieving.  This man was loved by everyone he came into contact with.  He was kind, generous and always so full of life.  He brightened rooms just by walking into them.  He was always ready to give you the shirt off his back, and expect nothing in return. 

He welcomed anyone and everyone into his home, where he was always ready to host.  He was an excellent cook and always made sure that you had enough to eat.  The males of the family used to gather at his home on Wednesdays to enjoy a feast that was prepared from the wild game that was acquired during their hunts.  Once a year we would gather around a large table in my uncle's basement and spend 3 days making salami and pepperoni, all the while cooking up the biggest and tastiest burgers that I have ever eaten.

I have not one bad memory of this great man.  When you looked at him and listened to him, you could immediately sense the intelligence and class of a man who excelled at everything he chose to.  His home was very eloquent, and the only one that I have ever been in that had a library.  Everyone I talk to has similar memories.  Everyone loved him.

I'm fairly sure that I am still in shock.  The whole thing seems completely surreal.  I was at his house yesterday and just kept waiting for him to round the corner into the kitchen with a plate full of steaks, shouting "Come on - eat up.  We've got to get some meat on you!  Fatten you up!".  That's good though, because that's how I want to remember him. 

I'm going to do my best to digest every bit of wisdom he ever passed my way, and apply it.  I'm going to take this tragic situation and grow from it.  He wouldn't have wanted any of us to wallow in sorry and self-pity for the loss we now have to bear.  So, I won't.  I will rise to the occasion and do my best to remember that life is short and comes with many unexpected twists and turns.  I will make the best of my time here.

I'm going to miss you, Joey.  We all are.