...Yeah. Don't even know what to put here.

Uncle Phil died on Friday morning.

We found out on Saturday... which, incidentally, was my mother's 53rd birthday.

Kelsey and I had rushed out to Wegman's to pick up stuff for Mom's dinner and cake and whatnot. We had to rush because Dad needed the truck for work. When we walked back through the door with the groceries, Mom was sitting there, crying. Two feet farther in and we could see Dad sitting there, crying. And we all just kind of looked at each other for a second. It's horrible- when you know that someone died, and for those ten seconds or however long, you just think, "Who?" The Mom told us about Uncle Phil. Dad broke down all over again, crying into his hands and telling us that Uncle Phil hadn't even gotten to play the new drums he'd just bought.

Cried for approximately thirty seconds, went upstairs, read a chapter of Memoirs of a Geisha, and then went and cleaned the kitchen. Then I made Mom's birthday cake. Then I cleaned my room.

Now it's Monday and I still can't believe it.

I mean, I really can't believe it. After my brief crying bout, I decided that my entire family, immediate and extended, was collectively on crack and lying. Because Uncle Phil can't be dead. He can't be. It's absolutely fucking ridiculous. But it's obviously very real to them, so I tried not to get mad at Kelsey when she hugged me or spent most of Saturday afternoon crying.

The rest of the weekend was spent on the phone. Not me, actually. My mother was on the phone. Constantly. Everyone is freaking out. My parents are driving down to Staten Island for the wake today- assuming the transmission doesn't go. They'll be back sometime on Wednesday, and are allegedly staying with Aunt Sean and Uncle Kevin, after a giant fiasco of figuring out where to stay. They would have stayed with Uncle Mike except everyone there is sick and Uncle Mike is delusional with a fever or something.

Jesus. I keep saying I can't believe it, but I can't. This is all some horrible sick joke or something.

Uncle Phil. Christ. What are Aunt Patty and Katie going to do? Katie's younger than I am. We spent the first years of our lives together. I haven't talked to her since That Summer- I guess I was fifteen or so- and once when we ran into her on Castleton Avenue. But we all kind of knew what was going on with them, because Dad talked to Uncle Phil all the time... I was looking through a scrap book that my grandmother made me for Christmas last year. There's all these pictures of me and James and Katie. And I don't even know this girl anymore, really, and her dad is dead. God.

Spent the weekend studying and sleeping and not believing anything. Seriously, I'm developing this bad habit of not sleeping during the week and then catching up on the weekends. Which is why I was asleep when you called, Karen. I'll give you a call tonight, okay?

I am not going to cry in the computer lab. I will not disgrace myself like that.

...Yeah. Don't even know what to put here.

Uncle Phil died on Friday morning.

We found out on Saturday... which, incidentally, was my mother's 53rd birthday.

Kelsey and I had rushed out to Wegman's to pick up stuff for Mom's dinner and cake and whatnot. We had to rush because Dad needed the truck for work. When we walked back through the door with the groceries, Mom was sitting there, crying. Two feet farther in and we could see Dad sitting there, crying. And we all just kind of looked at each other for a second. It's horrible- when you know that someone died, and for those ten seconds or however long, you just think, "Who?" The Mom told us about Uncle Phil. Dad broke down all over again, crying into his hands and telling us that Uncle Phil hadn't even gotten to play the new drums he'd just bought.

Cried for approximately thirty seconds, went upstairs, read a chapter of Memoirs of a Geisha, and then went and cleaned the kitchen. Then I made Mom's birthday cake. Then I cleaned my room.

Now it's Monday and I still can't believe it.

I mean, I really can't believe it. After my brief crying bout, I decided that my entire family, immediate and extended, was collectively on crack and lying. Because Uncle Phil can't be dead. He can't be. It's absolutely fucking ridiculous. But it's obviously very real to them, so I tried not to get mad at Kelsey when she hugged me or spent most of Saturday afternoon crying.

The rest of the weekend was spent on the phone. Not me, actually. My mother was on the phone. Constantly. Everyone is freaking out. My parents are driving down to Staten Island for the wake today- assuming the transmission doesn't go. They'll be back sometime on Wednesday, and are allegedly staying with Aunt Sean and Uncle Kevin, after a giant fiasco of figuring out where to stay. They would have stayed with Uncle Mike except everyone there is sick and Uncle Mike is delusional with a fever or something.

Jesus. I keep saying I can't believe it, but I can't. This is all some horrible sick joke or something.

Uncle Phil. Christ. What are Aunt Patty and Katie going to do? Katie's younger than I am. We spent the first years of our lives together. I haven't talked to her since That Summer- I guess I was fifteen or so- and once when we ran into her on Castleton Avenue. But we all kind of knew what was going on with them, because Dad talked to Uncle Phil all the time... I was looking through a scrap book that my grandmother made me for Christmas last year. There's all these pictures of me and James and Katie. And I don't even know this girl anymore, really, and her dad is dead. God.

Spent the weekend studying and sleeping and not believing anything. Seriously, I'm developing this bad habit of not sleeping during the week and then catching up on the weekends. Which is why I was asleep when you called, Karen. I'll give you a call tonight, okay?

I am not going to cry in the computer lab. I will not disgrace myself like that.