understanding...

It feels like I'm intruding on them, or him, so I avert my eyes as the screen name logs in and out.  I hear the door creak open, hear it slam.  And I know what they (he) are (is) doing.

I remember a customer from the restaurant.  Handsome man - quite a gentleman with gorgeous blue eyes.  He was a Viet Nam vet who worked with Special Forces.  Civilian.  He was the picture of health - came in every morning for a large black coffee.  We dubbed him Twinkles because he had twinkly blue eyes.  He didn't show up for a few mornings, and then, one day, one of the POW instructors told us Twinkles had died of lung cancer. He had been exposed to Agent Orange in Viet Nam.  It was very quick - he didn't even know he was sick until he was climbing stairs and had to sit down.

Anyway, months later, a lady walked in and introduced herself as his wife.  She was retracing her husband's route, seeing what he saw, meeting the people he knew.  It was almost like a pilgrimage for her.  She asked us - did you know him?  what did he like best, here? 

I think that's what they're doing tonight.  Retracing my uncle's steps, so to speak, through his screen name.  Going to the places he went, seeing friends he might have made online.  Maybe telling them the sad news about the funeral today.

I'm not sure which of his sons it is - Ken, or Terry, or both...but I think I know what they're doing, and it moves me.