This story was published in 1995.

Hello, I'm Jefferson Moore. Patrick Moore's grand-nephew. I think I should give you the rest of the story. 

I found this little story in one of my grandfather's, Richard Moore, many boxes. He passed away two years ago.

I always knew about Uncle Patrick. My father had a few good memories with him, like going fishing or catching bugs in his yard. He didn't really see him much, though. After he passed on, my father would tell me stories about him that his father told him. I never knew about this one, though, and I don't think dad did either.

Aunt Gloria was always nice to my father. He was her favorite. She would bake him cakes and save up money around his birthday to buy him a little something. She always said he reminded her of her youngest sister. After reading this, I feel so much pity in my heart for her.

Unfortunately, my uncle didn't have the happy ending he wanted. When War World ii was going on, Uncle Patrick went to join. I don't know what he was thinking. He was a little older, tired, and from we were told by the doctor, beginning to go deaf. Maybe it was for fame, riches, the cause, but whatever it was, he went.

He never got to fight. The conditions weren't great, and neither was the medicine. He caught pneumonia and went somewhere that only God knows two weeks later in Japan. We never got his body back. He's buried somewhere there. I don't know where.

I remember when my family found out. I wasn't even born yet, but my father described it in so much detail often enough that it feels like I was almost there. My grandfather and him were at Aunt Gloria's house when they got the knock on the door. My father said his father crumbled and wailed. Gloria fainted, then disappeared. She left in the morning without telling anyone where she was going on the hottest day of the year. I'll like to think she just ran away and went back to New York, but now I don't think that's true. Besides, she was born in 1906. If she didn't do what I think she did, she probably isn't alive anymore.

But for the rest of us, life went on. My father grew up, met my mother in 1967, had me in 1970, then all my other siblings, and I grew up too. I'm not married yet, but I'm not in any rush, to be honest.

My great grandfather kept in touch with the other family until he died a few years after Uncle Patrick. Gloria's parents never found out, those assholes. Only one of her siblings is still alive; the little baby. Well, not a baby now. She's seventy, I believe. I showed this to her. She cried, but she was grateful to know her oldest sibling enjoyed the time she had and how much she loved her.

I get sad thinking about them. Uncle talks like a teenager. I learned so much slang. Saps. I hope wherever they ended up, they get a kick out of this book going on sale. So hard to believe they were both so young, and now they're probably both gone.

For Uncle Patrick and Aunt Gloria