N.K. Murray

Grief and I have a complicated relationship. He and I have danced many times in the course of my life, and his talons have been firmly latched into my back since April 12, 2001. At times, he’ll release his grasp for a brief moment, and then in a flash, he’s back and hanging on to me for dear life. Ironic I say that, considering his presence is as a result of the overwhelming losses I’ve suffered.

I’m doing well, all things considering. I’ve learned to deal with Grief’s weight pretty well, and there are times I nearly forget he’s there. And then, the calendar flips to the next day and he’s hugging me so tightly I can’t breathe. That’s today.

The picture isn’t the best. It’s off-center, a bit hazy from the flash being used in a dark parking lot. It’s a bit crinkled from being in my drawer. But it’s the best picture. You see, I lost this man 6 months after he walked me down the aisle at my wedding. He wasn’t my father, but he was my father in every single sense of the word. When I lost my dad, he was there for me. He knew my dad in a way I didn’t, and he continued my father’s tradition of calling me after Monday Night Football. I could talk to him about anything, literally anything at all, and he thought it fascinating, because he thought me fascinating.

Because he loved me. I mean, he really LOVED me, even though I was only his niece. You can tell by how he’s looking at me in this picture. He does that a lot in the very, very few pictures I have of he and I. He loved me, and he was so proud of me, for no reason at all other than that he loved me, and I loved him. There was no one else I would have asked to walk me down the aisle, and there was no one else who would have attempted to step into my father’s shoes in such a way that made Grief loosen his hold on me enough to allow me to live after my dad’s death.

Grief knew how much he loved me. I told him all the time, and how grateful I was to have my uncle in my life. He gave me almost 6 more years with him after my dad died, until March 6th, 2007, when he passed from complications of an Aortic Abdominal Aneurysm. I was fortunate, I told Grief. I was able to be there when I lost three of the most important people in my life. My dad in April 2001, my uncle in March 2007, and my mom in August 2012. It’s a terrible burden to witness someone you love leave you in a way that was both unexpected and way, way earlier than they should have left.

Grief and I have been friends and enemies for a long time now. Most days, I hate him. I hate the grip he has on me and how I can’t ever seem to shake him off fully. He’s changed me in a fundamental way. I hate that he’s a part of me now. I hate how I forget the times that were amazing because his visions cloud my head. I’d like to think I have learned to walk through this world with his weight on my back as best as one could, but I know there are times when he’s particularly present that I’m just not at my best. There are days when the breath leaves my lungs, and the tears leave my eyes because he’s clutching me so tightly. On these days, I can’t function without watching the clock, remembering what I was doing on that day all those years before when I lost a piece of me to Grief.

But, as with all relationships, Grief isn’t all bad. I remember everything from the days I lost my dad, my uncle, my mom. I remember EVERYTHING. I remember how my uncle wasn’t able to speak due to the trach in, but he mouthed how badly he wanted my Pepsi that I was holding. I remember going to his nurse EVERY SINGLE HOUR in his last 24 hours reminding her to give him his pain meds so that he wouldn’t hurt as he left us. I remember being the one who realized his next breath wasn’t coming, and standing next to him realizing we weren’t ever going to talk about everything and nothing ever again. I remember being driven to the airport by my cousin, who asked me if I was okay. . . when he just lost his father. He joined the dead dads club that day, and his thoughts were to get me to the airport and make sure I was okay. I don’t think I ever thanked him for that. I remember sitting in the bulkhead row of the plane as people boarded with tears running down my face, and the gentleman beside me asking me if I needed anything. I blurted out how I had just lost my uncle and had spent the last 36 hours flying in, staying at the hospital all night and then losing him, and how I had rushed to the airport to make my flight and never ate anything. He handed me his Cinnabon, and patted me on the arm, saying “Here, sweetie. Eat this.”

Grief reminds me of kindness. Grief reminds me of strength I didn’t know I had. Grief reminds me that I’m human at times when the pain is so bad that I can’t function. Grief fuels me to do things I didn’t think were possible, or even probable. His buddy Anger helps with that quite a bit too, as anyone who knows me can attest to. Maybe, they aren’t the demons I call them in my daily ministrations in this life. Maybe, just like the Devil being cast out of heaven, they are my fallen angels who relish the pain of this life and allow me to feel them enough to turn them into the good from the bad. Or maybe Grief and I will continue to dance through this life – some days he leads, and others, I do. Today, I’ll let him take the reins and remember my lost loves as I try to breathe through this day.