I guess sometimes, things just have to be rough. I�m having an emotional morning. Went to pick up my sister last night, she was angry, full of attitude, made my life a living hell. Funny, I rarely put up with bullshit in any area of my life. Yet I let her get to me. And that pisses me off. She blew off work entirely yesterday, went to the movies with her friend and took a bus home. She was angry because she waited half an hour at the station before I got her. It would have been a four dollar cab ride, had she chosen not to wait.

I have a lot of shit going on. I didn�t need to go home to her slamming doors and blasting the TV, muttering rude things under her breath about me, about how stupid I am because I didn�t get her message regarding the time she�d get in. Repeating everything I said in a mocking tone. How frustrating it is to try and explain to someone that there are other things in life than their transportation, that I have other major things on my plate, that my world does not begin and end with that person. How frustrating, indeed. I sent her a very long, very eloquent and articulate email. Hopefully my words will get through her selfish, indignant exterior and she�ll be able to take a step back and look at the world through another perspective. I guess we�ll see.

I got an email from my father this morning. Uncle Gerry is in the hospital again. He�s been placed in the psychiatric ward, is no longer lucid. Every other time he�s gone to the hospital, he�s been aware, conscious, though detrimentally ill. My father went recently to visit him. Now, if he dies, Dad cannot leave the operation in Germany to come to the funeral. To be there. I think he can only leave if it�s immediate family, and this is �just� his cousin. Just.

They grew up together. Riding Harley�s with the Angels, wreaking havoc all over Brooklyn. Gerry always looked up to my dad, grew up hearing, �You should be more like CC,� until he came to believe it. Never with resentment, though. He always genuinely respected and admired my father. My dad went on to have a family, 4 daughters, a career, etc. Gerry continued his decadent life. A life that he is paying for now, with regrets and physical pain.

I�ve never met my Uncle in person. Seven years ago, I went through something traumatizing, I was wronged by a friend�s boyfriend. I told my mom. She told my dad. That�s when I first heard from Uncle Gerry. See, I wouldn�t give my parents the name of this boy, I wouldn�t tell them because I could see the fire of vengeance in their eyes, their need to hurt the kid who had hurt their little girl. I didn�t want violence, I was over it. My parents, on the other hand, having grown up in the streets, having family that was rumored to be �connected�, having friends who did very bad things in the name of respect, for the benefit of money� well, violence wasn�t an issue. So suddenly, I was told that this long-lost uncle I�d never met wanted to talk to me.

Thick, New York City accent, deep, rough voice. The small talk didn�t last for long, before he said, �So, I hear there�s some stupid shit who fucked with you. Where�s he hang out? C�mon, he�s not gonna die or nuthin�, but he may visit the hospital for a few weeks, no names, he won�t know what hit �im. C�mon.� The idea was ludicrous. But I must admit, I got this sick little pleasure at the idea that someone I�d never met was willing to put his life on the line in the name of my virtue. I never gave him the info. But we began speaking on the phone regularly after that, becoming fast friends. He�d tell me stories about my father that I never heard (and probably wouldn�t to this day). In a way, he made me closer with my father and all of my family in New York, with his stories about their past antics.

He made me feel good. He told me that there are two people in this world he would die for: my father and me. My father could do no wrong in his eyes. And here was a man, like a father-figure, that I could tell all of MY antics to, drugs, tatoos, parties, craziness� it was like telling my father, in a way, without fear of him worrying. This guy had been there. He was removed enough to be able to give advice and relay his own experience without freaking out that I might hurt myself. At the same time, he�d keep me in line when he thought I WAS being stupid. We were good friends. He started getting sick a few years ago. Bad liver, he�s already on a lot of drugs, prescribed, and is paid for by the government (along with other monies, which is proof of his stories about military intelligence, though he was on the opposite side as my father � the man who carried out the plans my father made).

None of my sisters know him, they�ve only spoken to him once or twice. We exchange cards, presents, words, via mail and phone. My father is his only true brother and close family member. So, that�s Uncle Gerry in a nutshell. There�s so much more to him than I could fit into one fucking entry. But I think you get the idea. He told my father once that the greatest joy he had was when I would say, �I love you Uncle Gerry,� at the end of a call. Being told he was loved, despite his past. Being called Uncle, part of a real family.

He�s crazy, narrow-minded, occasionally belligerent, perverse, lonely, lugubrious, remorseful, and the most giving and selfless man I may know. And I love him dearly. I told him once, when he called, scared that he may be going to hell when he dies, that he had too big a heart for God to overlook and/or shun him. For his sake, for now, I�ll believe in that space that people call Heaven. And I�ll use all of my energy and love to send him there when he finally does exhale the last bit of life left in him.

God, I�m a wreck today.

-Barbarella

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