Dear Aunt of an Angel,
If you’re here now, especially if you know the loss of a niece or nephew, I just want to open my arms wide and hug you close. We can sit here together — speechless, lost, confused, angry, sad, stomach punch, nauseous, and just a gaping hole of consuming loss of what could have been.
Where did you find solace in the grief? Was it in the arms of a loved one? Distractions galore? Extra helpings of your favorite foods? Binge watching television series?
Honestly, I turned to all of those, and on the weekend, before 10 am, I definitely poured ginger bourbon into my Bengal Spice tea.
That first day, my sister and I clung to each other on the couch with tears streaming down our faces, grappling with what reality and the new future meant for us, for our family, but most of all for our brother and sister-in-law. And honestly, for our parents, too.
It was awful. Wasn’t it? Did you find out by phone call, text, or in-person?
Receiving that phone call, hearing my brother’s voice, and knowing immediately that this was a phone call that I never ever wanted to receive, even before he said the words that confirmed that feeling, just was the worst. The tears came hot and fast, and I hated that I was alone in my apartment with my dog Fiona as the only creature to bear witness to this loss. She’s got no bedside manner.
My niece was a baby. Only three months old. How old was your niece or nephew? Had you held them before? Many times or only once or maybe not at all if you were far from your sibling and their child?
I spent time with my niece only twice. Part of that choice was because of the 2020 pandemic. I wanted to protect that babe and her parents from the virus. Now, I’m so grateful that my brother and sister-in-law swung their door open wide for me to meet my niece. Here I thought, I’d have my whole life to love her.
That’s the worst part, isn’t it? Realizing that you no longer have that small human to watch grow, flourish, laugh, cry, annoy, and more. I had plans. Didn’t you?
Did you also daydream of sharing all your favorite things with that small human as they grew up? Did you also feel your heart skip a beat at the thought of coaxing smiles from that small face? What about when you held that sweet pile of mashed potatoes against your own chest and feel the heat of that small body against your own?
Death is a tragedy. While I barely had a chance to know my niece, her loss just feels so heavy.
My body feels like a coil of knots, and sometimes it feels like a ship anchor, so heavy that it could hold a 100,000-ton cargo ship. Waking up and climbing out of bed is almost too much because it means waking up again to the fact that this small human is no longer here. How’s your body doing as you grapple with your own loss? It’s okay to check in with it. Our bodies do such a good job of carrying us through the physicality and emotional currents of our days.
At first, I could only breath freely when I was distracted, but it was hard to be distracted. It felt wrong to laugh or smile. Anyone else?
I found my breath in binge-watching Bridgerton. For a while, my sadness was not mine, and I was wrapped up in a fictional world. Who else is grateful for our entertainment industry? They made it so easy for me to quietly disappear from the pain of my reality!
But most of all, I wrestled with a question, “What even matters?” Nothing matters. My normal joys… frankly, I was uninterested. As a really active and motivated person in Aerial Arts and CrossFit, I just…didn’t want to anymore. Who was I anymore? Why did any of this matter?
And this is where my friends and community truly virtually wrapped their arms around me. I hope you, my friend, have had that same experience as you’ve stumbled down the echoing hallways of grief.
I hope that for every person who says “let me know if you need anything” you have two other people who offer something specific such as mowing your grass, grabbing groceries, dropping off a meal, or inviting you out.
I hope a friend has sat with you in the dark, dusty emotion that you maybe had no plans to leave.
I hope you have friends that allow you to come hang out and cry if that’s where you’re at — no explanations required. Just pure acceptance and no expectation to “just be better already.”
I hope a friend has said, “Hey, here’s my phone number. Call me any time.” And I hope you did.
I hope you had or have someone who holds you close to their heart as you cry so you can hear their heart beating for you.
I hope you’ve had a friend who walks your dog when you are barely at home as you care for your loved ones.
I hope someone sends you a $5 gift card for coffee, out of the blue, a week later or two weeks later or three.
I hope your coworkers give you extra slack and jump in to handle things as you wade through it all.
I hope someone offers you a meal, and you accept.
I hope you know it’s okay to get in the car and cry, scream, sing sad songs, or just rant.
I hope someone opens their home to you so you don’t have to have a single night alone that first week or two weeks.
I hope you have a workout buddy who coaxes you back to the gym, reminding you that it’s good enough to just come.
I hope you have friends and acquaintances who occasionally text you weeks and months after to check in on you.
Loss is loss is loss. As an aunt or uncle, you may not be considered at the epicenter of the grief because that spot is often reserved for your sibling and their significant other (and the grandparents), but you have your own loss to mourn.
Being an aunt or an uncle is special. And well, I don’t know a lot about being an aunt because though some would argue that I’m still an aunt, my niece lived for three months. We were both just getting used to this new reality: She was learning how to smile, and I held her with awe, staring at a small human that kinda looked like me (except cuter)…and getting excited about how I’d inspire her to become a super awesome human.
Oh my dear heart, does it sometimes feel like you’re leaking sadness, and that your energy is drained beyond belief? Or does your anger boil so strong that you can throw weights around like the Hulk? That’s okay. It’s okay not to be okay — however that may look.
As you place one foot in front of the other, it’s okay to do simply the best you can with what you have.
The loss will never be any less, but the sharpness will fade bit by bit. But, hey, if you find yourself with tears flooding your eyes over old photos of your niece or nephew, or maybe, angry that someone else’s baby lived, that’s okay. It’s really, really is.
Because if I’m being completely honest, I’ve stood in both places multiple times — sometimes at the same time. And yes, of course, I never want anything bad to happen to anyone else’s niece or nephew, but WHY oh why, did you or I or my sister or any other aunt or uncle have to face this.
It still hurts.
So, my friend, I don’t know where you are on this journey of grief in being the aunt of an angel or the uncle of an angel, but I want you to know that you’re not alone. I’m here too.
Cordially,
Barbara, Aunt of an Angel
