Grief.
When I received the phone call in the early morning hours two weeks ago from my aunt—calling from the emergency room—I was surprised, to say the least.
My uncle had dealt with health issues over the years, but his sudden passing while simply walking up the stairs to bed was shocking. Shocking because it was so abrupt, and even more so because I knew what that loss would mean for my 82-year-old aunt.
The weeks that followed were a blur of emotional highs and lows for everyone. After his services yesterday, the ache of grief still hangs heavy—but now our focus shifts to making sure she is cared for as she begins this next phase of her life…alone.
This is the first time in her life that she’s ever truly been alone. She grew up in the same family house she later shared with her husband, and there was always someone there. Now, the silence—her silence—is deafening.
My husband and I are doing what we can—staying in touch by phone, being with her in person, while my brother and her kind neighbors help keep her fed and comforted. It’s a patchwork of support stitched together by love.
During a routine wellness check in the midst of all this, my blood pressure had noticeably spiked. When the doctor asked what was going on, I told him. He gently reminded me that not long ago, he advised me to reduce my stress—not add more.
But life doesn’t seem to work that way. And grief?
Grief has no boundaries.
No schedule.
No compassion.