"Conflicted"

I'm sick so this may not be very well thought out, or make sense.
My uncle died today.
I may have mentioned this uncle before. He was 54 and lived in L.A. not far from where my mother and he grew up. My mom has lived in the midwest since she was 18. Partially because she was running away from her California home.
My uncle died today, probably of a heart attack. He was found slumped over and blue, stiff, in a hospital bed that had been his home for quite awhile. It was approximately 9AM our time when he was found and the paramedics knew they could not revived him when they got there.
My uncle has a 14 year daughter and step children who have grown up in relative poverty. He has been married for about 15-16 years to a woman who stayed by his side despite his problems, in sickness and for poorer mostly. My uncle was a funny guy. He liked to be the center of attention at times, he was sort of a party animal sometimes. He wasn't always easy to understand, it hurt to realize that at 10-12 years old we were probably smarter than he would ever be again.
My uncle started drinking when he was a teenager, and my mother started to mourn the loss of her brother then.
She hasn't stopped.
All the memories I have of this man can flash by in less than two minutes.
All the memories are good for the most part.
All the memories I have of stories people telling me take longer.
They are pretty bad for the most part.

A few months ago after talking to my uncle I got really angry. I got angry because I had to treat him like a child, when I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to shake him awake and make him realize the reasons he has to live, and the people he has to live for.
But when I realized I could never do that. I got angrier, and wanted him to die.
I wanted him to die, so that his family could live. I do not know what will happen to them now. but I have hope for them. I have hope that my cousin will be able to finish high school. That she may even go on to college. That she may be successful and maybe find someone to treat her well.

My family keeps using the term "conflicted".
Because they feel hurt at the loss, but they are so sure that his suffering needed to end (partially so that it would end the suffering of those he lived with).

My mom and my grama spent years of their lives trying to help him and failed. I don't think they care about that, but I want them to care about my cousin. Because they can still succeed with her.

I hate the idea that this girl should have the same opportunities and shot at happiness that we have, but has been held back by her own father. I'm not saying happiness comes with money, I'm saying I want her to know that there is a better life than having an abusive, addict, father who has been slowly killing himself her whole life (with the whole range of awfulness that comes with that)
and that she deserves better.


******added after************
I sound so harsh. Its so easy to cut yourself off from the idea of humanity, especially in the name of humanity.

How do we respect those who have lived?

Uncle,
At the news of death
women ought to be screaming and crying, rubbing your body for the traces of warmth that slip away... who cares about colors and funeral arrangements... who cares at all? The hero has move on.. Men, tightly holding themselves back, only to embrace in the strongest hugs that whisper "Please don't let go right now! my strength is gone, I have no will and no pride left..."
Words unsaid, the gleam off an eye, the strain of the voice, the voiceless. The senselessness.

As the arrangements are made
Even the timid should want the best. The gold and silver, the flowers and prayers. He shall be wrapped in silks and laid out on a hand carved wooden bed. The flame or dirt will take him as we sing of his glory. Sing how things won't ever be the same again, the clouds seem darker, the trees so rigid, the mountains so much more intimidating.

At the mourning
the dark should infiltrate the eyes and skin of those you leave behind, their sadness so deep and intense that no cheek is un-wet, their hair shed, their heart burst, they should fall all over themselves with despair.

At the celebration
they should speak in weeps loud and unfiltered of your beauty, with smiles that tremble, the emotions so thick with the warmth you have shed that the room of gathered still feel wrapped in your presence, the sheltered, the secured. They beam and sparkle having known you, having experienced your wild, your steadfastness, your strength.
And the many who were touched should tell stories till the morning,
dance and drink like their movement alone, was the radiance of the moon.
They should leave still feeling the loss though with renewed connection,
with a spirit like yours, heartily joking, greeting the dawn with hope for the better.

Oh uncle,

Where is your grand funeral march?