Tomorrow I'm going to the funeral of my Uncle Joe Matthews. He is the last of my mother's brothers. My mothers hasn't been dead quite 2 years yet. Her youngest brother, Billy, died in 1965 and W. V., the oldest, died in 1976.
I am the oldest of 7 grandchildren. So now I am the oldest in the blood line. I will be 65 in December. It's an odd thing to be the oldest. I'm the oldest of my Chosen Family.
The Matthews will die out with our generation as will the Adams with John Michael.
There are children but not with the Matthews or Adams name.
I'm afraid I'm going to be really sad tomorrow, I'll probably be the chief mourner.
My uncle and my mother looked so much alike, they had the same facial expressions, and they held their hands the same way, their fingers intermingled and folded. They had the same sense of humor although mama was quicker to talk and tell tales than Joe but when it did it was memorable.
I've been practicing not crying but it isn't working. Waves of grief wash over me and I can hardly stand it. But I will.
