Thoughts on the Uncle I Never Knew

The days of our years are threescore years and ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labour and sorrow; for it is soon cut off, and we fly away.

I last saw you when I was three or four,
I long had the gold Matchbox my cousin gave me.
I saw him thirty years later,
but I didn't see you.

He had lived alone for years,
Had been dead for days before he was found.
Had disowned his sons and his first brother, my father.
Or (let's be frank) was it the other brother he hated,
Leaving him to deal with the wretched house and the estate?

What troubled you so? Was it always like this?
I can only guess.
The cerebral aneurysm of your young wife,
(The aunt I never knew)
Surely, one likes to think he's not controlled by his circumstances,
But that couldn't have been easy.

As a claim to fame, you were the man with one name,
(I hear that the cops didn't see the humour in that.)
Interestingly, M² was one of the gentlest people I've ever met.

I'd send a card, but where should it go?
Is anybody grieving?

For whosoever shall do the will of God, the same is my brother, and my sister, and mother.

K²: 1937-2007