Unfortunately, I just lost my Uncle Blackie. He has been fighting COVID for the past few weeks. I don't know what to say. He was my uncle but he raised me off and on so much when I was growing up, that he was a dad to me. He did not have to correct me when I was wrong, he didn't have to go the extra mile for me. He had his own kids but he treated me like I was his own. I did not always like what he had to say to me but more often than not I needed someone to say it to me. When I was in a jam he did not ask if he could help, he just did it. I know that I will never be as good as a man that he was but I count myself lucky to have had him in my life. On the news, we all hear the latest statistic on how many this world has lost because of this dreadful ailment. He was not just a cold number on the nightly news. He taught me how to work on bicycles and then cars. He taught me to drive then took off work to take me to get my license. He was always there to give advice. He settled me down when my adventurers got too adventurous. When I needed someone in my corner he did not hesitate. He didn't have to bring me into his house when I had no place to go. He did not have to teach me to be a better person. He wasn't just some cold number some news anchor reads on the tv. He was a warm, loving family man who always kept his door open because someone might need help. He will always be remembered and missed but he will never be replaced.
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