It's been a while and I've grown up a lot, but one thing that I've always had on my mind is love that I have always had and I've never really known the person with the exception of a few vague memories.

What I mean, is that I have loved ones that have passed away that I still very much love and think about. My Aunt Gerri, who passed away in the early '70s, is someone I never knew, but have a large amount of love and respect for because of the positive influence that she had on my own mother's life. Hell, I'm a very spiritual person and I believe that my great Aunt has been a very large part of my life since day one.

I'm also speaking of my Uncle Mark who we lost 8 or so years ago. I never really knew him and only saw him every 2 to 4 years. It was explained to me that, just like my older sister, he was bipolar. It was explained that when he went through his manic episodes, he would cut himself off from the family. I know this much, I loved him and I adored him and I still think of him often, I miss him so much sometimes it hurts knowing that his death was never investigated and that no one even cared enough to fly to the west coast to identify his body. I know that my family reads this, and I mean no harm, but this weighs heavily on my mind now that I'm old enough to understand.

Why couldn't he be around more while I was growing up? What was so wrong that I wasn't allowed to know him very well? All that I know of him is that he was very artistically talented, a tattoo artist and he carved wood. I know that he had the most badass moustache you'll ever see. I know that because of his traveling his Southern accent became non-existent. If you'd heard him speak, you'd never know where he was from. I know that I miss him. I know that my parents, especially my dad, miss him.

I can't help but to think of the loves that I'll never know and always love.