An Expert In Grieving, Or Maybe Not
At an early age, I grieved. I grieved my lost childhood. I lamented what I could have been: a quick and sassy powerhouse whose success might have masked a distinct lack of empathy. My parents ensured my kindness grew through valuable experiences tinged with hurt.
I grieved for my sisters’ innocence, an innocence torn away without their permission.
My junior year of college was interrupted by the death of my first niece. A horrible accident left a hole in my sister’s family and our collective hearts.
I grieved greatly in my early twenties when my first love was hit by a car and killed. I ached for him and the future we had planned together. I lost time seeming to forget what I did to move forward.
A year later year, I grieved my grandfather, my best friend, as he succumbed to his conditions as we cared for him in our home. Before passing, he had a lucid moment when he grabbed my hand, looked me in the eye, and told me firmly and clearly, “I love you.”
My next journey saw me provide care to my aunt during her short but fierce battle with lung cancer. I was with her as she struggled with her last breath.
Most recently, my heart was torn to pieces as I comforted my sister while standing at my nephew’s coffin. It was I who gently reminded her that we had to…
