GRIEF

Grief.

Merriam Webster defines grief as a,

“deep sorrow, especially one that is caused by someone’s death.”

& I’d have to agree with that. It’s a deep sorrow that guts you. That sometimes feels like you’ll never get out from under it. It swallows you whole and on what’s supposed to be your best day — it makes you feel at your worst.

On April 21st at 8:30PM, I experienced grief for the first time in my life and I’ve been feeling it everyday since.

At first I stood silenced by shock when I was told that one of the best days I’d had at work in a while, was actually the worst day I’d have for some time.

My uncle, a man I’ve known all my life… a man I respected, love/loved, my dad’s best friend/older brother had passed away from complications secondary to Coronavirus 19 in New York.

The epicenter of Coronavirus.

It’s an unreal feeling when the thing you spend 3-4x a week fighting off for others at work is the very thing you weren’t able to fight off for someone you love… loved dearly. When you see your patients come in one way and get to go home better, back to their loved ones in better condition than when they first made your acquaintance — is a feeling I can’t put into just one word because…

It’s a feeling of anger, of sadness… Hell, it’s a feeling that is unlike any other..

It’s grief.

A deep sorrow, one especially caused by a loved one’s death.

I feel it now recalling what my siblings breaking that news did to me, after a long day of caring for others.

I felt broken.

For my family in its entirety, for my cousins, for my dad.

Grief.

It seems never ending. It comes in waves. As heavy as it comes, you can only imagine how long it’ll take to leave…

I’ve been told that true enough, it is never ending and that’s what scares me.

Will I always have some underlining sense of sadness for him?

I’m almost positive, but I’m moving through it and my family will move through it just the same.

We can never leave the love behind, but we can move through love so that we always cherish what we lost.

Uncle Paul, I will miss you for the rest of my life. I hope that you know that and even though physically you were alone when you took your final breaths… in spirit we were with you and so was God.

I’ll miss you calling me to check in and leaving me a voicemail, always announcing yourself like I didn’t have your number saved.

They always went a little something like this,

“Thelma, it’s Uncle Paul. Call me okay? I’m thinking about you. I hope you are doing okay…”

le’sigh.

My one true solace is that you are finally with the man you loved the most. The man whose words you shared with others as often as you could while in the pulpit on Sunday mornings and beyond, God.

Take care of yourself, but please take care of all of us you left behind.

Thelma