February 8 is the saddest day of the year for me. On this date in 1976 my Uncle B died. His name was Wellington Virgil Matthews, such a strong name. I haven't recovered from his death and don't expect I will. His sudden death left us all stunned. He taught me many things, we shared our thoughts and ideas. He always liked me no matter what I did, supporting my every decision. We shared books, he encouraged me to read, we had long conversations about what we had read.
But the most important thing was that I loved him dearly. I grieve for the loss of him and mourn for the years I have lived without him. Many times I need him and long for his presence. Sometimes I feel his hand on my head or patting my knee. I feel his melancholy and I miss him.
But the most important thing was that I loved him dearly. I grieve for the loss of him and mourn for the years I have lived without him. Many times I need him and long for his presence. Sometimes I feel his hand on my head or patting my knee. I feel his melancholy and I miss him.
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