My uncle died yesterday.

In Japan, it was on 9.11. Somehow, I felt it and picked up a phone to call my mom to ask her about him. The first word from my mom was, "Martin died." Martin was his nickname. I was speechless and she talked restlessly. Obviously, she sounded nervous and tried not to fall into painful emotion. I was close to him while I was young. Then we were apart for a decade, because he did something unacceptable to my mom. It was until last fall that I finally saw him. He'd already had two operations for his cancer. He was skinny like a paper. I collapsed into tears once I saw him. I could not talk, neither could he. He was crying. Nothing came out from our mouth, yet we understood each other. I understood that he did feel bad about what he had done and he apologized. I supposed that he got that I’d forgave him. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to admit about the fact that he was dying; yet he was gone. I could not see him before. Today was 9.11 here in NYC. It was raining and I was down. Now, 9.11 has another meaning for me. The longer I live, the more I will come across someone's death. More and more.... I signed. Then, I asked myself again, "Why are we living for?" To say good-bye?
Good-bye Martin….wishing that you will become one of stars in the peaceful universe. Tell me if that is a good place to be….I love you.