my great uncle died. he was old his body was older and it gave up. i didn't know him well. his name was willard. willard. willard is dead. another dennis patriarch dead. another connection to my youth lost. willard. dead. i remember playing once in his yard with a ball attached to a poll by a rope. it wasn't fun so i stopped. they had venison in their garage barn and they gave us some. one bathroom in a tiny house and one story and one everything but fifteen kids. missing teeth and too much beer. someone sitting in a chair and knitting. rain and mud and gravel driveway. fifteen cousins more cousins their children that i don't know. how many carry the name? willard. always uncle willard. dead at 81. i feel nothing for the man i didn't know and the life i wasn't a part of. i can't remember his face and i can't remember him at my grandfather's funeral last november but he was there. he didn't miss his brother's funeral.

i feel more guilt for treating my living loved ones like crap than hurt for my dead uncle. great uncle. dead great uncle. his last request was a beer. he died before his son returned with it. i can't decide if that is sad or not or simply life or if there is grace in that. a man couldn't be more himself than willard requesting a beer in his final moments with breath in his body.