We always think there's more time

We always think there's more time.

"I'll ask him next time I see him."

"I'll tell her that funny joke tomorrow."

"Next weekend, we'll rehash that story."

But too often there's not a next time, a tomorrow, another weekend. And we learned that, yet again, this week in the unexpected loss of my uncle, my dad's oldest brother.

My Uncle Larry was a genuinely good man. The oldest of five siblings, he was an intelligent veteran who was dedicated to his kids and his country. Ever the historian, he always had stories of our grandparents or my dad and his siblings or could tell you unique tidbits about his time in the service or Jewish American history.

Though he was quieter than my Aunt Lucy or Uncle Jack (consummate middle children, I suppose), we will feel that loss in his empty chair at Passover, Thanksgiving and especially at the Army/Navy game each year. He was a father figure to my dad -- the youngest of the five -- since my grandfather did not handle my grandmother's passing well. He reminded us of our heritage whenever he could, even maintaining contact with our French relatives and working with my dad to host them whenever we could.

Just this past week, I had started to wonder more about my grandmother, who we assume was BRCA+, and I figured I would "just ask Uncle Larry next time I see him." Now, I won't get that opportunity. I just thought there would be more time.

So, ask your questions. Tell your jokes. Hash out your differences. Because you never know when time is up.