We came to Ireland yesterday, for my Grandmother's 80th Birthday Party. Amid the snow and ice-like conditions on the road most half of the family haven't been able to make it to Dublin for the party which has now been cancelled. We only came really because we already had the tickets and Mum wasn't wasting all that money.
So Dad went round to Nine's (my grandmother's) this morning to see her and he phoned us at my auntie's place to tell us that Uncle Dick had died in the night. Don't get me wrong, I'm sorry for the loss, but I didn't know the man.
I feel worst for Nine, she doesn't have anyone from her generation left in the family. She's lost all her siblings now and her husband. It was alright when she had someone around, it was like a sort of cameraderie between them. The sad thing is she'll probably give up now.
I say I didn't know Uncle Dick (he was my Dad's uncle), but I do know that his name wasn't Richard. Although for years everybody thought it was. His daughter even named her son Richard after her father.
His name was Kevin, no one knows why we called him Dick.
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