January's not a good month

My Uncle Steve died.

I don't even know what I want to post about. I'm so...I don't even know. I'm okay; I know that. It's just, I'm sad because he's my uncle, but I'm pissed because he did it to himself.

My dad picked me up from school Wednesday to bring me to work. We packed and left for my aunt's house.

He was living in a hotel in La Crosse. Housekeeping found his body Wednesday morning...the 17th.
January 16, 2004 (almost to the day) my grandpa died of cancer.

Steve had his flaws, but I loved him. After my parents divorced he lived with my dad and I. I used to stay up all night watching TV...he would stay up with me just to keep me company.

He used to tell me all about what happened to him in his life.
This man had been though everything.
He was shot numerous times.
He was stabbed, slashed with a razor, and left for dead.

The thing that killed him?
The medical examiner said he died from huffing paint thinner.

He died in a hotel room alone.
That part bothers me the most.

My dad and I went to the hotel so he could talk to manager about how long he had been there for.
I made the mistake of wandering around...I found the room he died in.

I just stood infront of the door staring at it. The stupid door was open.
I think seeing the room comforted me a little. I don't know why.

I keep thinking about when my cat died. I loved that cat so much. My uncle was living with us at the time and I just remember sitting there and him coming up and hugging me.
And now he's gone.

I'm sorry. None of you people who read this knew who he was. I probably shouldn't be posting about this. I just need to get it out and it's too late to call somebody.