The Weight Grief Leaves Behind

I’m not doing very well right now.
People say it’s just an uncle. 
That an uncle isn’t like your mom or your dad.
But I never had a dad.

Until I was 13, Uncle was in the Army, and we only saw him during brief visits.
After he returned for good, he took on the role my biological father had abandoned before I turned one.
He was my dad in every way but blood.
He taught me how to cook.
He noticed I couldn’t see and got me glasses.
He held my hand when I got my ears pierced.
He walked me down the aisle.
He became a grandpa to my kids.
Losing him hurts.

I feel guilty.
We didn’t visit as often.
I stopped texting like I used to.
Life got busy, and Uncle faded into the background.

I’ve got a thousand excuses.
But none of them change the truth.
Uncle slipped into the cracks of my life, and I let it happen.

With Uncle’s passing, there’s no one left to laugh about the time I lost my bikini in the ocean at Panama City Beach.
Or the time we stopped at a very risqué motel, one used for prostitution because it was super cheap, and he told me and Aunt GG not to leave our rooms for anything, anything, and to keep a dresser against the door.

There’s no one left who remembers my mom.
Hippie Aunt is still around, but she moved away when she was young.
Uncle and Mom stayed.
They shared a house, the two unmarried siblings.

It’s hard to remember a world where Uncle wasn’t only a message away.
I always thought, no matter how long I’d been gone, I could go home and find him waiting.

Now there’s no home waiting for me anymore.
And Uncle is gone.

I’ve written and rewritten these lines, but nothing feels right.
I’m empty.
Lost.
Unmoored.