Atelier Log I learned yesterday that my granduncle and his daughter passed away earlier this year. She was 64 and he was 90—I have no real clue why she died, but I’m willing to bet that the grief took my granduncle. Their deaths were only a month apart, with her going first.
For my entire life, my granduncle lived in Virginia. Opa and I would take road trips to visit him often, and I have distinct memories of them loving to go out into the Chesapeake Bay to fish, using a boat that my granduncle viewed as his pride and joy. They would each load up a cooler with fish they caught which they would freeze and later cook. They were the type of brothers that didn’t have too much in common except this one thing, but this one thing was a special bonding point for them. In a way they both seemed like young men again when they were fishing and talking about their catches.
The last few years, my relationship with my granduncle was complicated. After Opa passed away, he lashed out and said some pretty mean things about me. Initially I felt… betrayed, I guess? I have never held anything but love for my granduncle, and even after hearing these things, I couldn’t bring myself to resent him. It hurt though, and I was left wondering if these were his true opinions of me.
Eventually I realized that couldn’t be how he truly felt. My entire life, he only ever showed me kindness and his own slightly rough version of affection. He loved cooking for me (I will never forget his famous chicken a la king) because I was super enthusiastic about how well he could cook. He always asked about me when he and Opa would talk on the phone, and if I was feeling up to it he wanted to talk to me too. I have a lot of good memories with him, so I reasoned that he didn’t actually hate me. That would be a heck of a long con.
He was grieving his brother. Grief can change people, it can make them do strange and terrible things that they would normally never dream of. Knowing that, I forgave him. And I never stopped loving him.
My therapist has told me that, often, grief can trigger memories of other losses. I’m finding that to be true here—losing my granduncle has just also made my mind replay the moments when I found out about my Opa’s death. And this is all happening not long after we lost one of our furbabies as well. It’s torturous.
I’ve lost a lot. There have been many companion animals that have graced my life who are now gone, and the family I grew up with is almost completely gone (there’s a greataunt who is the last one left). It’s a painful, hollow feeling, but I’m at least happy to have had them in my life in the first place. That’s a precious thing.