There is always one image I'll have of my Uncle Doug;
We're standing outside Uncle Peter's house, on the front porch.
There's a smile on Uncle Doug's face, I can see the gap between his teeth.
There's a cigarette burning away between his fingertips. He lit it when we first stepped outside, but he doesn't so much smoke it as let it burn while he talks.
He'd impart words-of-wisdom, phrased perfectly and arriving at just the right time. I didn't always heed his advice, which ranged from how how to behave to what to do over the summer, but I'm going to miss hearing it.
From Jesse, speaking for the nieces and nephews