Through Broken Roses
I am over at Aleteia talking about grief and how I used to try and say all the “right things” to others who were mourning the loss of something they loved.
Grief is a very difficult thing to deal with because it is so personal that it’s different for each of us, even if we lost the same person. We are each different, how we handle our emotions is different and who that person was to us is different.
My uncle was my Tio Roy to me. He was mean, made fun of me, scared the shit out of me but was proud of me. He loved me and walked me down the aisle at my wedding making me laugh. He would cook for me on my birthday and call me on the phone to ask me how I was and then ask to talk to my husband. For my husband my Tio was someone totally different. And for my baby cousin, Tio was her dad. He spoiled her and would do anything for her.
I wrote this in the Aleteia article:
Then three months ago I sat by the bedside of a man who was like a father to me — sat there as he got taken off life support, leaked fluids through his skin, was changed and cleaned up like a baby and struggled to speak to us for the last time. I watched him struggle to take his last breaths and then, just like that, he was gone.
The shock of him being dead was like nothing that I’ve ever been through. My mind went completely blank. It’s gone blank frequently since. My mind isn’t in the habit of going blank. I’ve had racing thoughts and opinions as long as I can remember. But now, I have moments where I don’t think about or feel anything at all. I lose track of time. The only date that stands constantly on my mind is April 18. I remember everything about that day, but I have blank spots in my mind of things that have happened since.
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