May 27, 2025

Dearest Uncle Tom,

It’s hard to believe you were only 74 when you died. How fitting it was that you were sitting in your La-Z-Boy in the house you loved in Hollywood Beach, Florida. It saddens me to think of you dying alone. Your younger sister and my mom, Mary Jane, will be 100 years old this year. I can only imagine the party you would’ve thrown for her if you were still alive.

Do you remember my husband, Peter? You met him once. Peter and I were staying with her at her house. Well, mom and I got into in an argument over where Peter and I would sleep that night. She said we couldn’t sleep in the same bed because we weren’t married yet. I was incensed. I said she was being ridiculous and stormed out the front door, with Peter following after me. Well, Mom was even more angry and locked the door behind us. Good girls didn’t talk back to their mothers, no matter how old they were. Peter and I walked around the block a few times and ended up sitting and talking on Gramma’s front steps, where you were living at the time. We must have been talking pretty loudly because before we knew it, the front door swung open and there you were in front of us, half-asleep in your pajamas. I was afraid you might yell like you did when I was younger, but you didn’t. You very politely asked us if everything was as ok. Peter and I looked at each other, then back at you, and nodded yes, everything was ok. You weren’t the terrifying uncle I had remembered from childhood. You were a tired, old man who wanted to go back to bed. “Well then, keep it down.” you muttered and closed the door. That was the last time I saw you alive.

I hope you’ve found peace in the place that you finally landed.

Your niece,
Sarah