We were sitting in my aunt’s living room. I could feel the tension and discomfort getting stronger. It was as if everyone knew why we had been gathered together. My uncle spoke up, and I already knew what he was going to say. He announced to my family and I that my aunt (his wife) had passed away earlier that day. I remember everything after that felt like it was in slow motion. I remember some of my family members began crying, and my cousin (my aunt’s son) ran out of the room. I remember my younger siblings and cousins not fully understanding the situation, and seeing the confusion in their eyes. I remember I just sat on the couch trying to process what I had been told. Then I got up and walked out. I went to the back of my aunt’s garage and sobbed. Everything hit me at once.
My thoughts flooded me.
“Why?”
“I just saw her a few days ago.”
“I am never going to see her again.”
“I will never be able to hug her again.”
“Why?”
“Why could you just not heal her, God?”
“I should have said more to her the last time I saw her.”
“She is gone.”
“Why? Just why?”
The death of my Aunt Lulu was one of the most devastating events in my life. She had cared for me when I was a baby, and I grew up with her being a strong influence in my life. My mom and I even lived with my aunt and uncle for a few years. My aunt was someone who meant a lot to many people. She was considered a pillar at our church. She was someone who I loved dearly. Seeing my aunt battle cancer meant having to see her each day grow weaker and weaker.
After being told my aunt had died, I kept trying to be strong. I wanted to be strong for my cousin (her daughter.) I wanted to be someone she could lean on. My cousin and I grew up together, we are practically sisters. I kept telling myself that I did not have the same right as her to be so heartbroken. “After all, her mother died. She is just my aunt. My mother is still alive,” was a reoccurring thought.
I also wanted to be strong for my family. I think another challenge for me, besides losing my aunt, was having to see my family deal with so much pain. All I wanted to do was take the hurt away. I wanted to do something, anything. Not being able to make the situation better made me feel so helpless. I hated seeing the brokenness around me and not having the ability to somehow repair it. I was not only dealing with my own grief, but the grief of my loved ones.
It took me a long time to realize that my grief was not any less. I had the right to be distraught, angry, and confused. Questioning whether my grief was acceptable was only keeping me from healing. There was a time I even stopped crying for my aunt Lulu, I just put the pain away. I did not how to process it because I had not given myself the opportunity to do so. I finally realized how in lessening my grief, I was only hurting myself. I came to understand that my grief was not any less, it was simply different. I was not going to cope with her death the same as my cousin, uncle, or other family members, because she meant something different to all of us. We each had our own individual relationship with her.
When I finally allowed myself to fully grieve, I felt such relief. I stopped pretending to be strong. It has been over five years that my aunt has passed away. I still miss her. I miss her pancakes, her laugh, her way of telling me to finish all my food and her hugs. I miss her unconditional support and belief in me. Grief is a long journey. Some days I can remember her and just smile. Other days I remember her and just cry. That is the thing about grief, there is not an exact end date. However, there is hope. You can heal. You can be restored. You can make it.
