cheek to cheek

how my niece held space for my sadness and grief

One of the greatest blessings in my life is to be an uncle to my nephew and niece.

My nephew, Matty, is my first love. Our relationship started with some confusion and suspicion of me because I looked like someone impersonating his dad (my brother, Eric). But as he got older, he realized I was the more obnoxious and silly version of his dad. We spent a lot of time sitting on the floor and just laughing and laughing together. I remember the first time he ran towards me in his awkward gallop as he shouted “Uncle Minnow, Uncle Minnow!” Picking him up as he threw himself into my arms felt like a part of me I didn’t know was missing was made whole as I hugged and kissed him.

I call him “Matty Boy” now and although he’s too big to pick up like that, he still runs into my arms and lets me hug and kiss him. We still laugh but also have full on conversations about his Pokemon collection. I have a whole rare Pokemon card deck thing he specifically wanted for his eighth birthday in a few weeks.

My niece Melanie and I have been building a bond of our own. She’s deeply empathetic, like her mom. When her brother is being scolded, Melly is the one that goes over and comforts him. Once when I banged my foot against the dining table and crumbled in pain, she stopped whatever she was doing and came over to me eyes wide open, asking me if I was ok. And while Matty was always excited and ready to tell me a joke or ask me to play Legos with him, Melly meets me where I am, even in my grief.

Recently my family met together for my mom and my niece’s birthday. Their birthdays are one day apart and for the last three years, we’ve made a tradition of celebrating them together. But grief has a habit of loitering, even at birthday dinners, salting them with bittersweet flavors. I’ve also learned grief comes in waves and the best thing I can do is to be kind to myself and feel it until it recedes. That week leading up to the dinner, the tide was high and the waves tried to sweep me away.

As we finished our meal, I asked Melly if I can pick her up as we left the restaurant. She smiled, stretched out her arms and hopped up into mine. She usually puts one arm around my neck and turns outward, taking in the world from the elevated position. But that night as she settled into my arms she hugged me, pressing her cheek into mine. She ran her fingers through my hair and rubbed my jacket collar as we walked towards the door.

As we got to my brother’s car I tried to put her down but Melly didn’t want to let go, and kept her cheek pressed against mine. As we took a few minutes standing there while everyone else was getting ready to leave, I realized I wasn’t the one holding her. She was holding me this whole time.

I dropped into my grief—my sadness and anger over what’s happened this past year. The bitter waves sloshing around me, and Melanie in her beautiful, effortless, three year old way held space as I leaned into her and took in a few deep breaths. She’ll never understand how healing she was for me that night. Not that she has to though, because all she did was exist and be herself. At that moment, she became an adorable vessel of God’s faithful presence in my life.

Her hug has been a source of comfort I am still drawing from weeks later as I can still feel her cheek pressed against mine.