Experiences with grief change you. Loss comes in many waves — sometimes slow and gradual, sometimes sudden and soul-wrenching. No one is ever fully prepared for it.
I was twelve years old when my uncle, my dad’s older brother, passed away. They were very close.
My uncle was deaf and used sign language to communicate. Because he had lost most of his right arm to cancer years earlier, his signing was limited. As kids, some of us were a little intimidated by him. He could seem gruff on the outside. But underneath, he was gentle. He loved in his own way. His death was sudden for our family. What was supposed to be a routine surgery turned tragic when his lung was accidentally punctured during the procedure. He died in surgery.
My grandmother was angry. Some family members talked about pursuing a malpractice lawsuit. Myfather, steady in his faith, said it would not bring his brother back. I could feel my dad’s pain. They had their own rhythm — constantly teasing each other, communicating in a kind of shorthand sign language that only they fully understood.
When my parents told me he had died, I was shocked. I cried. I hurt. But more than anything, I hurt for my grandmother and for my dad. I had just started forming a deeper bond with my uncle, andsuddenly that opportunity was gone.
I don’t remember much about the funeral. I remember cousins, babies, and the strange way children continue playing even when adults are grieving. My mom was pulled in two directions —helping our family while also tending to her own mother, who suffered a stroke the very same day my uncle passed away.
Loss stacked on loss.
Later, my dad told me he had prayed with my uncle before surgery, and that my uncle had accepted Jesus into his heart. That gave my dad peace. He believed he would see his brother again.
Watching my father walk through his grief changed me. I saw the weight of absence — the empty space where laughter used to be. But I also saw faith steady him. I learned that grief can hurt deeply, and still, some people find peace in the middle of it. That was one of the first times I understood that loss doesn’t just take something from you. It reshapes you.
When my son was born, I named him after my uncle. In some small way, it felt like carrying a piece of him forward.
My uncle and I
Ebbs & Flows 