My uncle was diagnosed with Stage 4 metastatic Cancer in December of 2014. Nearly everyday while he was sick I took care of him. I made sure to take him to the hospital for his checkups, his his X-Rays, CT-Scans, bathing him, cleaning him, making him chuckle, and holding his hand in my hand, and his arms around mine while he was on his way to his final departure from our family. I tried to be the strong one out of all of us, encouraging my family that we'll all be alright, and he'll be okay no matter what happens. I held him for the last 36 hours of his life while he was in a coma, dosing him with Morphine, anti-saliva medicine to clear his throat so he didn't choke on his spit, and another medication to relax him, on the hour every hour, only a few drops, just to make sure he was relaxed while he finished packing up and leaving us. I didn't leave his side, because he was a damn good uncle to me, and never left mine. He told me he wanted to at least make it to see us all around him on Easter Sunday, he passed away in my arms on April 21st. My family thinks I'm doing okay, I still pretend to be the strong one, comforting them when I see them, but they don't know that I'm extremely depressed. Every time I hear a sad song, I fucking sob like a baby. Every time I sleep, I have a dream of him, or a nightmare, where I wake up either angry, or sweating, or both. I go to therapy where I speak with other folks who have suffered from the same loss, but it hasn't helped. I've tried bouncing back, even attempting to fake my own amusement while I have a drink with some friends, but it's not the same. The vigor I once had for life is gone, everything feels pale and tastes gray. The thought of not being able to hug him again fucking crushes me into oblivion. I don't know when I'll recover, but if life is going to be like this the rest of the way through, I'd rather not experience any more of it. I'm sad.