We buried my mother’s brother, my Uncle Mike yesterday. He passed from Covid-19 and pneumonia. He was an old fashioned cowboy and preacher, but also funny, kind, strong. His absence was unexpected and will be felt by hundreds.

My mother wasn’t able to attend the memorial due to being diagnosed with the Vid herself on Wednesday along with my little sister and little brother. They are all faring well so far, thank goodness.

The eulogy at the funeral was given by short pink faced man with a white rim and wiry mustache who claimed to be filled with the spirit. He shouted about the last supper and seeing my uncle again in heaven. “This bread is my body and this wine is my blood” he spoke on ritual cannibalism.

My giggles were literally masked, thank goodness. I checked my text messages on my phone to avoid laughing out of discomfort. Within those sixteen missed text messages, a friendship burned and my bookclub died.

I lost an uncle, a friendship and my gang at the start of the day.

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Being born and raised in the south should have made me more inbred and less tolerant, but something went wrong in the grand scheme of these damned rebels. I am; brutally honest, a bad driver with a record to prove it, a connoisseur of stand-up comedy, the eldest child, an aware procrastinator, semi-sweet, the result of my mother losing her virginity, easily excitable, a lover of music, a pretty shit liar, late to any event no matter what, myself without apology.

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