Mr H’s uncle died Sunday, one of his father’s older brothers.  He contracted Guillian-Barre Syndrome 5 or 6 years ago and his health just went downhill ever since.

Mr. H’s mother and father are both the youngest of 8 – while not the same eight they are still the youngest in their families (they might be from Oklahoma but their family tree did have a few branches on it).  They didn’t have Mr. H until they were in their 30’s which means that most of Mr. H’s cousins are my age or older.  This translates into the fact that Mr. H is loosing extended family members at a younger age than most.  We lost one of his aunts (his mother’s sister) last November, to cancer, and all of his grandparents are gone.  Another of his aunts died a couple of years before I met him (also to cancer).  I have 1 grandmother remaining who I wish would die but apparently the mean ones just keep on living forever.

Last night, when Mr. H. finally got home, around 8 pm, he was rather upset because the funeral is tomorrow in Oklahoma.  I met him in the laundry room, which is the entry into the house from the garage, and he told me about the funeral and started crying, or maybe I should preserve his manhood and just say that his eyes were red.  He must have had something in his eye because they were watering – yeah, that’s what happened - he had an eyelash in his eye that was making it water.

Now here is where I get bizarre.  His crying did and always has made me feel uncomfortable.  Thank God that he doesn’t cry very often.  I was raised right smack in the middle of 2 brothers and my dad was old school and didn’t believed that boys should cry.  Some, ok, ok most of this attitude sunk in, even though it wasn’t directed at me, and I don’t like men that cry.  That is not to say that I don’t like Mr. H but when he cries I don’t know how to comfort him and rather feel uncomfortable and want him to “buck it up and stop”.

The other trickle down effect of learning this lesson growing up is that I’m not comfortable crying in front of people and yes this includes Mr. H.  We go to funerals and I won’t cry and instead will use humor to try and diffuse the situation, but then again I use humor to diffuse most situations in my everyday life.  Later on, when I am by myself, late at night, I will break down and have a good cry, when no one is around to watch.

Crying = weakness

Men aren’t supposed to be weak!

This is a horrible double-edged sword because Mr. H is sensitive, not a girly-man, but rather is in touch with his feminine side – or so I say.  He isn’t a small man and some people find him intimidating.  He is strong (The Devil can attest to that after having to eat concrete one day) and has a strong personality, but that is what it takes to deal with me and not let me run over him.  I am spoiled due to him but he also knows when to draw the line in the sand and not let me push him around (I’m a bully like that).  I like the fact that he has an opinion on what kind of wallpaper we used in the kitchen, that we both went to pick out the tile, that he helps with both taking care of Magpie and taking care of dinner.

The thoughts that ran through my head were that I couldn’t understand what he was so upset about.  In the 12 years that we have been together we have only seen this particular uncle once.  Mr. H was 21 when I met him so from 21 to 33 he has visited this uncle one time.  Also we have known for years that this uncle was sick and was getting sicker so it was just a matter of time before God drew his card and took him home.  I’m thinking that if this particular uncle meant that much to him then we would’ve visited him more often.

And then I feel like a real bitch for thinking this way.