Too late…

September 27, as I drove to Zumba, I checked in to see how cancer treatments were going.  If there was a day where my intuition was in full force, it was that day.  The minute Judy said hello, I could tell something was wrong.  I knew what news I was going to be met with.  She continued, “Dennis died”.  Instantly, my body turned cold, my speech stunned.  I was going to have to break the news to my mom that her brother had just passed.  This feeling was oh too familiar as it was the exact situation I was in when I got the news that my father was found dead and I had to deliver the same phone call to my mom.  On both occasions, my mom was out of town.  The call went quick, had a shaken and somber tone and ended with me feeling empty.  There was no place to drive to for someone to console me and I couldn’t go be with me mom.  The conversation was just over.  I continued my drive to Zumba in complete silence.  My mind frozen in time repeating Judy’s voice, “Dennis died” over and over and over.  

I didn’t know what the right thing to do was.  I felt like a zombie as I hadn’t fully processed the broken record playing on my head and the tears weren’t there yet.  Was I supposed to go “have fun at Zumba”?  I know that’s what he would have wanted.  But I knew I would be distracted.  Would people think I’m insensitive? 

I decided to go and told one friend.  She gave me a long hug which was nice.  She told me she would cover for me if I suddenly packed up and left.  I managed to finish the class.  In fact, I think I put in extra effort.  Perhaps as a way to rid the anger of never being able to see him again.  I’m not sure.  I kept thinking he was up in heaven sitting on a couch with Grandma (his mom) and my dad.  I kept imagining them telling him, oh wait till you see this dance, it’s our favorite, all while eating popcorn.  Sounds insane, I know.  But it was the only thing that brought me comfort and kept me from breaking down during class.  

Today at work, I found myself using an Uncle D catch phrase when messaging back my colleagues.  I caught myself saying “you betcha”.  Something I remember him always saying.  It made me wonder which is more painful, grief or regret.  Perhaps regret is part of grief.  So often we get caught up in our lives saying “work is so busy” or whatever else people say.  We take tomorrow for granted.  I know I did with my dad and I did with Uncle D.  My dad and I had a pretty nasty argument the Christmas before he passed.  While we spoke a couple times before his passing, we didn’t completely clear the air.  I’m grateful I have a voicemail from him on 2/17/17 but love with regret that things were never settled.  Neither of us got a chance to apologize.  He died 3/28/17.  

I called Uncle D a few weeks ago.  He was doing better with the treatments and sounded stronger in his voice but was still weak.  My mom connected with him the next week and at that time he had taken a fall.  His legs had given out due to the chemo.  We both called another time but both times it went to voicemail.  The week after, he was moved to a rehab facility.  He was there a few days and then fell ill.  They rushed him into the hospital only to find an infection had taken over his entire body.  Less than 24 hours later, he was gone.  By the time I called to check in, it was too late.  

I can only hope that this quickness was his decision.  That he was tired and didn’t want to live in such a weak state.  I believe he knew the fight to recover from all of this would be incredibly difficult and the possibility it could happen again since his cancer was terminal was likely.  At least that’s the narrative I have been reciting to myself.  My heart still hurts though.  This whole situation was so fast.  I’m sure for him, it felt like an eternity, but for us, it seemed like the time between his diagnosis and passing happened with a snap of a finger.  Of course when you love someone as much as we do him, it will always feel too quick.  

I’m reminded that I have zero idea how to grieve.  I know there is no right or wrong way but for me, I feel an overwhelming sense of guilt that I haven’t broken down and ugly cried yet.  I mean, that’s what he deserves.  It’s as if there is this emotional restriction that has been placed on me.  There are moments when my eyes fill up with tears.  Usually when I least expect it.  During Zumba, on a conference call.  You know, places where I need to have it together.  But then I snap out of it.  Overall, just difficult.

I’m really going to miss you.  I know we didn’t see each other often; but, when we talked, you always sparked so much joy and encouragement in me.  I always looked forward to hearing about your latest or upcoming adventures and how excited you were.  Something I never got to share with you is that, you gave me hope that I would find love and live out my passions for travel later in life.  You gave me peace of mind that I was making the right decision to buckle down and invest in me now and not to worry that I too could find my joy and love when I’m older.  I won’t forget that. 

As I sign off for now, I assure you, I will continue to check in on Judy and stay close to her as she navigates a new life without you.  Know that you will be greatly missed.  Love you Uncle D.