Death and The Third Policeman

I wasn't at work Thursday and Friday. One of my uncles died Wednesday. He was my father's older brother and his only sibling. He would have been 83 years old next month. My uncle had been ill for the past several years, but his health became significantly worse a couple of months ago.

When my uncle was a child back in the days before antibiotics as older relatives are wont to say, he contracted polio. I've no idea if it was actually polio or something else, but it affected his mind. He couldn't take care of himself. He could barely talk. He could say "stop" only it sounded more like top. He could also say "I forgot" which sounded more like something that might have been a rhyme.

For over eighty years, his care had been the responsibility of a family member. His mother, who was my paternal grandmother, died back in 1927. My father had been his caretaker until he had died a little over three years ago. My mother then became his caretaker.

I normally work at the library on Monday nights, but won't. I'll be back Tuesday.

I finished reading The Third Policeman this weekend. Life, death, and existence. Wackiness about men and women turning into bicycles. It's no wonder that this book was featured in an episode of Lost.

This time last year, I was not familiar with O'Brien, and now I've been in a mood to read more of his work. Earlier this year, it was At Swim-Two-Birds. I think the next O'Brien book on my list may just be The Dalkey Archive.