The crossing

A week-long holiday turned into a bit too much, in which I did little, even blogging.  I was planning to rectify this yesterday but a blazing headache for a quarter of the day licked by new flames whenever I espied digitally created light forced my early retirement to bed.  As I say, what a waste.
But there are far greater wastes in this world.  Last night, my wife's uncle died, at only 58, of a stroke.  He was a mining company director and had formerly been a mayor of his local town.  Yet his (second) wife died two years ago and as any loss adjuster will tell you, the death of a long-term partner significantly decreases your own life expectancy (see About Schmidt).  That his two grown-up daughters from his second marriage lived far away in the capital city enhanced his loneliness.  He ploughed his free time into sprucing up his farmstead.  Last year he built a summerhouse.  I sat with him under a demanding sun as he grilled meat and we drank beer before retiring to the shade of the actual building.  Such a shame that he put all that effort into making the summer house and then only enjoyed it for a solitary season.  It's hard on Altaa especially, not just because it happened but because she was powerless to do anything.  He faded away within days.  You think of all the good times you will have with him in the future and it's snatched away, far, far too soon.