Finish the story contest - The Sandwich

That story to @owasco's short story contest.

The prompt

"Ugh! The bread is soaking wet! Bread is not supposed to be soaking wet!" he snarled at me as he spit a soggy mouthful of half-chewed peanut butter sandwich into a tissue. I stood at attention next to his bed. He handed the sodden and heavy tissue to me.

He was now vegan, grain free, nightshade free, lectin free, phytic acid free, and deaf to my feeble protestations. He was not free, however, from his acutely tuned palate, which was maddeningly different from mine.

He had requested a peanut butter sandwich. I knew meeting all his new diet criteria would be a bitch, but I rose to the challenge. I had to.

I chose a very small ten-dollar loaf of 'bread' and bought it. I bought some raw peanuts. I shelled the peanuts. I soaked, sprouted, and dehydrated the peanuts. After very lightly roasting them, I ground those peanuts into peanut butter. I then very carefully smeared the freshly ground peanut butter onto the somewhat normal looking bread. I made sure to get the peanut butter to the edges just like I had learned in home economics class long, long ago.

I knew how to make a proper tea sandwich.

I now spent my life trying to make this man happy. I signed up for that didn't I? Wasn’t that my reason for being? To make this man happy?

Well, he was not happy with that sandwich.

My continuation

Why have I cared so much for him all these years? When I was only ten, my parents died in the car accident and Uncle Phil remained my only relative. In fact, we weren't even blood related. He was the husband of my mother's second cousin. Thus our relation was no more than a technicality. Shortly before I became an orphaned, Uncle Phil became a widower. He lived in a spacious house in Seattle’s suburb and as he put it, before I appeared every night hauled at the Moon from grief and loneliness.

That’s how I ended up living with Uncle Phil. At first, he was not very talkative and rarely smiled. I spent much time in school, helping him to run the house as I could. Gradually we both began to melt after our losses. The uncle started writing magazine articles again, and I... began to believe that my life is not over.
At first, he seemed a sad and gloomy old man. Yet, when I became a teenager, it turned out that my 50-year-old uncle – is a very sensitive and understanding friend. "Friend"... How strange it is now to call ours relations "friendship." He became my father, my mother and my best friend. I could talk to him about everything... It was he, who gave me an advice on how to communicate with boys and what mistakes not to make.

Time took its tall though and Uncle Phil grew old and bedridden. His consciousness faded, his character became almost unbearable. Now he was only a ghost of my beloved uncle. Still, I kept making sandwiches for him. Because once upon a time he saved me. I have no idea how my life would have turn out without Uncle Phil. Orphanage... At best, the foster family.
Whom would I have grown up into had he not protected me from the brutal world beyond our cozy home?

Next day after the sandwich incident, Uncle Phil's heart stopped. I cried a lot at the funerals. It was damn frustrating that the last day we spent together, went like this, in a fight over a sandwich.
I knew it wasn't my fault. He suffered very much from the illness, and wasn’t able to control himself. Deep down inside, he certainly loved me... just as much as I loved him and love him still. But how sad it is that we didn't even said goodbye!
According to Uncle Phil's will, I dispelled his ashes at the mountains. He often said that we live thousands lives, and disease and even death have no power over our souls. "Death is just a change of gloves." I don't know if he indeed believed this. Still this view consoled him and me. Besides... if I wouldn’t believe that I'll never meet my parents and my beloved uncle again - does it make any sense to live on? Why wake up in the morning, go to the office, fill out the documents... if we seriously believe that in a few decades this body will wear out, and come to such an empty and stupid end?

I believe Uncle Phil is out there in a different world right now. Perhaps he will be reborn - and become my son... and I can repay him for all the good he did for me. Perhaps...
Taking a mirror out of my bag, I looked at myself... I need to change my hair due. And, in general, to dress up. After all, life doesn't end. There is no death, there is only a change of dresses.