It was Notte Bianca and I happened to be having a coffee when a phone call came through on my mobile. Uncle Edgar died suddenly while celebrating his 50th wedding anniversary. Somehow, I pushed my way through the crowd in Valletta and made my way to my aunt’s house. My other aunt had told me about my uncle’s passing away. I wanted to verify whether it was true or not.

Wave after wave of pain engulfed me when I realised it was not a matter of having a bad dream while I was awake. It may sound like an old cliché but it’s all so true. To the world uncle Edgar was just one, to me he was the world. How could I ever forget the way he was a pillar of strength to my mother during her short illness and how he was there beside her when she drew her last breath? How could I forget how quick he was to get to my house when dad died suddenly in his sleep a year and two months ago? How could I fail to remember his coming to pick me up in the early hours of the morning to take me to the safety and security of his home last June when I was ill myself?

My uncle Edgar had always been ultra special to me. He was the kind of man everybody loved to hang around with. He was as brilliant as Perry Mason when it came to serious arguments about anything. He was nice to anyone who needed some comfort and a barrel of laughs when he was socialising. Even though his son’s death 16 years ago left him totally devastated, for years on end he devoted most of his time appearing on television shows and giving lecture upon lecture about abuse of drugs, which must have taken a lot out of him. He still was an adorable man who had a kind word for everybody.

I can find no words of consolation for his wife Evelyn and his children Kevin and Moira. I cannot even find any kind of solace and consolation where I am concerned. What was Notte Bianca turned out to be the “blackest” night of my life. Farewell my lovely... indeed the world is a better place for having had you in it. Say “hi” to mum and dad for me, my grandparents, your brother uncle Alfred and your precious son Steven.

Valerie Borg

Valletta