Opinion: Grief
My Uncle’s Gruesome Murder Made Me Realize That Grief is the Highest Form of Selfishness
April 19, 2014, was a different kind of Saturday; until that day, my uncle John had been missing for about four days.
As I drove to my parent’s house, my brain couldn’t help but replay the few memories I had of my uncle as a kid. He’d suddenly show up at my parent's house out of the blue, unannounced, twice or three times a year, and that’s the only time we would see him.
This carried on for years.
He’d bring us candy from his travels, tell us interesting facts about the world, and exhaustively answer any questions that came up. After entertaining us for a short while, he proceeds to assume his renowned slouch on the couch position and go into a deep sleep. My sisters and I would carry on playing and watching movies or whatever like he wasn’t even there because we knew nothing could wake him.
With us kids, my uncle was very bubbly. But in the presence of my parents, it felt like my uncle made a conscious effort not to engage in conversation. I’d always reconciled it in my mind with my parents being too Christian and old-school.
