We all pretend we don't know my uncle is gay. No one has a problem with it at all aside from my uncle himself, who has a lot of shame about his sexuality due to some childhood trauma. So we all pretend we think he's just such a hermit that love isn't for him and all he needs is his cabin and his fishing pole.

He knows we know, we know he knows we know - but for now this is how he feels most comfortable.

My uncle committed s***ide to escape the hatred of the family. He was gay and their "Christian" values said to treat him like absolute garbage because of it. After he passed my grandmother tried to destroy all of his things; they were/are apparently possessed by demons.

I was allowed to know him, though. He was still blood, after all. I loved him so much. Now the only memories of him that I have are playing Legos and solitaire in the computer room. I have a few of his things that no one will *ever* get their hands on. I'll just be over here, hanging with my demonic spoon rest.