Early this morning I was informed that my uncle, Morris Mitchell, had passed away at the age of 77. As you can tell from the picture, this was my dad's identical twin brother, though, from the age of 7, I could always tell them apart.

It's funny how these things go. Though they were twins, my dad always referred to my uncle as his older brother, as they were eight minutes apart. From what I understand, throughout their early lives, they were inseparable, and no one ever wanted to take on the Mitchell Twins in any way whatsoever, and if that wasn't enough, they would also have to deal with their older sister Lucy.

On my dad's 17th birthday, he joined the army, and the twins were separated from that point on. Each one went on a different road in their lives, different challenges, different degrees of success or lack thereof. Yet, whenever they came together, it was like they had never left each other, never gone on their own journeys in life, and never left their original home town.

People like to talk about this connection between twins, to the extent that one would know what the other was feeling at a moment's notice. My dad and my uncle didn't have this connection. Yet, the day my dad passed away, supposedly within minutes, one of my uncle's grandchildren went to him and said "Uncle Mitchell has passed away." By the time I had finally called someone, most of the relatives had an eerie feeling that something bad had happened because of this, as they were all at the last day of a family reunion at the time.

Over the years since my dad passed away, I haven't had the opportunity to talk to my uncle much. He was pretty sick, and sometimes it was hard to understand what he was saying. At times he was a much different man than the one I knew, though he would show sparks of himself from time to time. In the end, he was at peace, with all of his kids around him. I hate to say I'm surprised by that news, but I'm also gratified by it.

To my Uncle Morris, rest in peace.