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  • Jupiter must have just completed a turn around the Sun since my Uncle Hamilton was killed in a car crash, three days after he completed 43.

    He was dad's youngest brother and I know how dad protected him. Grandma Zelita in her deathbed asked dad to take care of the younger brother while dad could or were alive. Dad couldn't take care of Uncle Hamilton for more than ten years.

    Dad and Uncle Hamilton were elected respectively mayor and president of the town-council a few months before the accident. Uncle Hamilton was transporting some stuff of his moving in the car when it skidded and collided to a tree. He didn't know he had the accident. He didn't know he died immediately. Dad could see the dramatic scene as soon as the cops and the ambulance were called.

    Uncle Hamilton had a proper sense of humor when he helped children in a play, or when he talked about Miriam his wife since the time they were lovers. She told us that Granddad Manoel told him when he was a little boy that when he went into the house of a girl, he would marry her. So he did until when he remembered Granddad's word. As she told the story to us, he said he almost ran away from her house.

    I couldn't capture Uncle Hamilton's passing away. Somehow he became dad's step son when dad left us in Curitiba - his prefered boy to be his partner. This condition behooved for everybody around dad, excluding me and my brothers, and mom. It's something sad to reveal to myself, and I don't believe dad would admit it, but it's how I feel.

    February is not a particularly sorrowful month more than other. Our uncle was not the only loss we had in February: there are a lot of people around to die, and twelve months to choose when, yet some coincidences happened to be a remarkable time. Februa's tides took some significant people from me. Significant.

    But Februa's tides also showed me as ambiguous and cold indifferent as Neptune, or as incognito and outwards as Pluto to my family. I couldn't attend to the ecumenical ritual in his memory, but I've known the minister of his Church had told the people that Jesus Christ was a Living God, and not a tortured corpse in a cross. Oh my! The only relief we have is to know the Lord perished as the poorest Human body to finally win death forever gloriously. My uncle had his head smashed, and didn't have living time to regrets or suffering in the body to purge Human's weakness or sins. Or may I say he died as a good protestant?

    His sudden disappearance made our family quiver like in tides of a purging fever. So moony-guided has been my sharing of feelings with my people - it's still not everybody there who can see my whole face.

    Now that dad has not Uncle Hamilton anymore, I keep distance. Someone needs to be safe from that risen madness which seems to have taken uncle's place. Or the tide of tears would swallow me.
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