On Grief: An Essay

We’d all gathered there in that two-bedroom apartment. My uncle was lying in bed, scarf on his head to hide the balding. His hair had been a source of pride for him for my entire life, and probably much longer than that. But now, it had thinned andclumped and so, he hid behind a bandana, covers pulled up. He was so skinny lying there, face and hands bloated from steroids, nailed curved and dark. He was him, but he wasn’t. He still had that great smile, even though his sweet tooth had cost him most of his teeth. And there was still love in his eyes. It hurt seeing my uncle this way. "I’m tired.” Those two words carried weight. This was the kind of bone-tiredness that couldn’t be remedied with a good night’s sleep. This was the kind of tired that only the Lord could alleviate.

But what could I say? I was just a girl, a niece, and could barely hold it together. I couldn’t cry, not in front of him. I didn’t have the right and truth be told, I wasn’t sure if I had the tears left—I’d cried so much already. But what I could do was be helpful. I could fetch water and tissues. And when my cousin came out of that family-filled room and needed a hug, I knew what to do. I let her cry on my shoulder as I pat her back, the same way I’d done many times before. She was scared, I could tell. Scared of forgetting his voice, his smell, his laugh. He’d made promises to us all and she was scared he wouldn’t keep them, although deep down she knew he wanted to. I rubbed her head and shushed her, told her comforting lies and prayed my voice wouldn’t crack. In the other room I could hear aunts and cousins cracking jokes, trying to lighten the load.

My cousin dried her eyes and we separated, knowing we had to go back in, knowing we had to make the most of the moments left. But deep down, I was scared too. The light was on, the room warm—too warm for me, yet I could tell my uncle was freezing. I wanted to be like my cousins who’d hopped in the bed and pretended this was just another sleep over, harassing and annoying my uncle like only family can. But I couldn’t. My stocking feet couldn’t carry me much further than the doorway and I pinched myself hard to keep the panic down, to pull my mask back up. I’m sure my uncle’s girlfriend was sick of all of us in her apartment.

I looked out across the hallway, another bedroom designated just for me, my uncle’s favorite great-niece, a room I had never stayed in. The bed was made, light coming through the half-opened blinds. I was home from college, I had the time bow, but could I stay there and not allow my emotions to spill over? My uncle coughed, calling me back from my “what ifs” and smiled at me, “Hey, Fat Mama.” My dam burst.

Throughout one’s life sorrow and pain are to be expected just as joy and peace are. We lose friends to old age, disease, violence, and sometimes just a difference in opinion. We lose jobs and change cars, homes, even our looks. We bask in nostalgia and the “good old days” regularly, somehow always managing to focus on the good parts. We lose family and gain family each and every year. Loss is a part of life, but knowing that fact doesn’t make the grief any easier.

And just as God made us all individuals, we all process grief differently. While one may break down the moment the news is shared, another may tamp it down hoping that if they pretend long enough the feeling will disappear. Both expressions are equally valid and just because someone expresses differently than another does not mean the loss did not shatter them, did not unwind their life, or make them feel lonely. I have been to funerals with wailing. I have been to funerals with fights and cops called. I have been to funerals with quiet solace and those where the left behind get drunk or high the minute the final procession is over. I have been to funerals where people have fainted and always thought it was just an act until I did the same thing.

My uncle, whom we lovingly called “Uncle Brother,” only lasted a few months from his diagnosis to his passing. The chemo and radiation wore him down and he could no longer bear the treatment and stopped. Did that make him weak or mean he didn’t care enough about the rest of us to stay? No, it only meant that he was human. He got weary and that’s okay. I was away at school, my fall semester of senior year, when he died. I got the news via text from my older cousin while I was in a meeting with one of my professors. Dr. Ballenger was talking about something I can no longer remember and we’d gone past our scheduled time, students waiting for their visits in the hall next to his office. He was always one of my favorite professors, but when my phone buzzed, I checked it. This particular cousin, well, really anyone in my family, rarely reached out. The words were simple: Uncle Brother died.

It’s not the kind of news you want to get via text. And when I read it at first I was numb. I left Dr. Ballenger’s office in Flagler hall. I went to work. And the next day, I took my calculus exam even though everything blurred together. And then I wanted to give up. I was so tired and I absolutely hated Stetson University, still do. But even with my multiple jobs, I couldn’t afford a flight. I called my Granny, his older sister, and we talked and I cried and she was there. She promised me that there would be no funeral until I was back in Akron, Ohio.

Somehow, someway, I booked a flight. Had to put it on my credit cared and when I arrived in my hometown, I discovered that American Airlines had lost my luggage—the funeral was in a day, literally. I witnessed grief on my loved one’s faces, my grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins. All types of it and even though we all showed it differently, it was clear we all loved my uncle.

The funeral came and went, the repast was normal, and I arrived home to find my luggage (battered and broken) on the front porch. I will never fly American again. Not long after, I flew back and my manager at the time forced me to give her my copy of the funeral program as proof as to why I needed the time off. I broke down crying and asked her to make a copy because it was the only one I had. She did and then sent me home because no one wants tears on their bagel with lox.

Grief looked like moments in silence, like no longer being able to eat the things we ate together or drink aloe vera juice because Uncle Brother liked it. Grief looked like pretending everything was fine before bursting out in tears. Grief looked like me passing out when I saw his casket and getting angry because my aunt decided she wanted an impromptu photo shoot while I was hurting. Grief looked like no longer caring if my grades slipped and wanting to drop out. I’d only kept going because my uncle wanted to see me graduate. He was no longer here, so there really was no point. Grief looked like loathing everyone who whispered platitudes, that never comforted anyone, or tried to hug me even though I hate hugs and physical contact in general. Grief looked like isolation in the midst of crowds. And I believe that, for a time at least, is true of everyone.

Grief causes you to feel alone in a way that nothing else really does. Grief amplifies that empty seat at the table to the point it becomes the only spot you notice. And grief reminds you that things will never be the same and that you’ll never have another conversation with this person, that all your photos together are blurry, and that one day you’ll forget the way the their laugh sounded. Grief is a deep pounding thud in your heart that makes you numb. And when I’d experienced grief before, such as the deaths of my great-grandparents, some aunts and cousins, etc., it never hit me as hard as it did with my Uncle Brother. And while I may not have realized it then, that grief started in a two-bedroom apartment filled with family and inside jokes.

This essay came to me while I was at a conference. And instead of polishing it up and looking for a place to submit, I decided to share it here with you. I think that this is my first bit of creative writing that I’m actually sharing on Substack, and it may be my last, I don’t know.

It isn’t pretty or even proofread to be honest! I decided to share the raw musings, because there is beauty in the chaos of those things. Let me know if you enjoyed this post by liking and maybe even sharing! And feel free to leave a comment down below as well.