Eamonn.

Woke at five this morning to try and join a Zoom funeral in Australia. A Zoom funeral. At dawn. The link came in WhatsApp and I couldn't get it to open. I struggled in vain for twenty minutes. I've been using Zoom for two years without difficulty but never on WhatsApp before. My sister later asked me - as I whinged at her - why didn't you just send the link to your e -mails, where you have had proven success in opening Zoom?

The Lads. 

Well, because I didn't think of it. Because I'm not very bright. So I missed my first (and I really very much hope last) Zoom funeral. 

It was my uncle Eamonn's funeral. I didn't know Eamonn well - he lived in Australia all my life - so I met him mainly at the big family events - a Golden Anniversary here, a funeral there, that sort of thing. He was the youngest brother, and a care-free, untroubled sort of man, I think. He seemed blithe and chilled, surfing on the surface tension of life. Completely unlike my Dad, though they shared a face. I still remember the uncanny quality on meeting him: My Two Dads. I'd come into the kitchen and there was another one: Dad's clone! The same big blue eyes, the silver side-parting, the sensible grey slacks.

Eamonn remained Irish all his life, in a way that my dad didn't manage until he retired. Eamonn was always relaxed. I don't know if he ever leaned on a five bar fence, chewing on a wheat stalk, waiting to chat to strangers - you might be waiting a while in Australia - but I can imagine it. My Dad did eventually relax. He let his hair touch his collar, he took off the tie. He didn't have to be in an office in England with the English. He finally unclenched. But Eamonn seemed to go through life unclenched. 

I didn't know him well - turns out his name was Edward, not Eamonn - that's how little I knew him. Only slightly better than the priest doing the mass, by all accounts. But he seemed like a lovely bloke. And he was my dad's little brother, with the same face. RIP.