He would have been 57 years old yesterday.

He’s been gone for many more years than I ever knew him alive. I can’t picture what his face looked like in person, only what I’ve seen in photographs. I have no idea what his voice sounded like. There is no relationship with his side of the family. Once he was gone, only my mom ever spoke of him again on a regular basis while everyone else went on with their lives and most never gave us a second thought. There were no stories about what he was like as baby, his first day of kindergarten, first lost tooth, first girlfriend, how his parents felt leading up to his wedding day, or how they reacted on the day he told them they were grandparents, aunts or uncles. These are things I’ll never know. It’s still unbelievable to me to think that there is an entire side of my family that I don’t know and only a handful that I would recognize if I passed them on the street. It’s sad really. Thirty-two years is a long time to wonder why you weren’t good enough.


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