My Uncle Dave died this weekend - he was 56 years old. He was the best man at my parents' wedding, my brother's godfather. Nobody is even sure what happened - he was found dead in an alley behind the motel where he was living.

It's sad how things turn out sometimes. His life was so filled with promise. As a young adult, he was offered a scholarship to play baseball (which he did not pursue), he married my (crazy) aunt (which was probably his downfall, in hindsight), had two boys and a great job in construction.

When his marriage unraveled and arthritis forced him onto disability, things really spiraled downward for him. When we went to California last March, I was shocked to see him - too many years of alcoholism had not treated him well. He was homeless, living in my grandmother's garage, and was hardly coherent. I am just thankful that we did get to see him one last time.

Thankfully, he will have a funeral, since he was a veteran. But I just feel very sorry for my cousins and what they are going through - I will be keeping them in my thoughts.