Uncle Jack.
Hearing his name still creates a pit at the bottom of my throat.
It's been less than a year, and it's still like putting
salt on a fresh wound.

I never would've thought it would affect me this hard.
If you looked at him, you would've never known how sick he actually was.
I found myself trying to hold back my tears until I could reach my bedroom
when I heard the news.

Tears rushing down my face, my pillow becoming damp, I laid in my bed thinking
"he's really gone".
I tried to convince myself that he was still here.
Just a visit or call away.

That was my first mistake of trying to recover from such a tragic event as this.

I'm the one in the family to be strong and keep my emotions to myself. If you were to look at me, I would be emotionless as a wall. Although holding it in didn't get me far.
Holding it in. This was my second mistake in the grieving process.
Thinking about a life without my Uncle Jack was beyond my thinking capacity.

Blasting music, sitting in a pitch black room, crying my eyes out was more therapeutic to me than talking about my feelings.
I continue to hear his voice in my head saying, " I'm doin' faaantastic".
No matter how sick he was or if he was having a bad day, he would always be "doin' faaantastic".

If I could have one last conversation with him,
I would tell him how much I love him,
how much he has impacted my life,
and how I loved his big bear hugs just like a grandfather would give.

My take away from my Uncle Jack, is that life is faaantastic.