When Someone Becomes a Memory: Grieving an Uncle Who Lived on His Own Terms
One of the quietest forms of grief is the kind that comes not just from losing someone you loved, but someone who truly knew you. The people in our lives who carry our history, who remind us of where we come from, and who leave behind stories we never thought we'd have to tell in the past tense. In this piece, I want to share a personal reflection about my uncle, who died last fall – a deeply unique and principled person – and how I’m continuing to process his absence. My hope is that if you’re grieving someone in your life who wasn’t always understood by the wider world, this story reminds you that your memories matter and that honoring them in your own way is enough.
A Life Rooted in Routine
As a grief counselor for young adults in Manhattan, I’ve supported many clients through profound losses, but this story is my own. My uncle was born on the East Coast, although you’d never guess it; he famously refused to “drive east of Beverly Hills.” He built a life, both personally and professionally, within a tight-knit radius. There was comfort in his routine and a quiet pride in the stability he had created. He was only 63. I still can’t believe I’m writing about him in the past tense.
He had a near-photographic memory: addresses, phone numbers, dates, and stories from decades past rolled off his tongue with ease. He could recall classmates from elementary and Hebrew school and had remained connected to a handful of lifelong friends.
To really get to know my uncle was to love him. He had a strong sense of self from an early age, never conforming to societal expectations or popular opinion. He lived life on his own terms and was unwavering in his convictions. But if you took the time to understand his world, he would show up for you for life. His loyalty to those he loved, especially his best friend and that friend’s mother, was unshakable.
Anchored in Family
Family was everything to him. He cherished his elders and created real, lasting bonds with them. I remember a trip he took to Las Vegas with his grandmother in a wheelchair, covered in stickers from their travels. His parents were at the very center of his heart. Every single day, they remained his top priority. Over time, he and his brother (my dad) were able to work through past difficulties and develop a true partnership, especially when it came to caring for their parents.
Though he wasn’t someone I always thought to call for advice, I often did, and I’m glad. He gave historical context to interpersonal dynamics, wise feedback, and gently but clearly reminded me that love and family were what truly mattered.
I lived with him and his wife one summer in my early 20s. He was both playful and protective. He teased me each morning about how tired I looked before work, taught me how to caramelize onions, and declared once and for all that toilet paper must hang over the front. He gave me classic life advice: focus on education, don’t rush into parenting, don’t get arrested. Simple, but sound – and I followed all of it. I still hear his voice in my head sometimes.
My uncle lived life in two very different bodies. In his later years, he was fiercely committed to his health. Routine was his anchor: daily walks, simple meals, and a self-managed approach to diabetes that even surprised his doctor. He was proud of that, and rightly so. There’s a separate, oddball story about leeches that I’ll save for another time, but suffice to say, he was as eccentric as he was determined.
A Legacy Beyond Fame
He spent decades working as a realtor and was beloved in the office. He occasionally handled estates of the rich and famous, but pop culture never impressed him. One of his proudest contributions came when he unearthed a massive collection of maps and donated them to the local public library: an act that earned him a mention in the LA Times.
We always visited him when we were in town, usually at his home. The last time we saw him, we met at my grandmother’s assisted living facility, where he visited her multiple times a week. He met my baby for the first time, immediately crouched down to her level, and showered her with affection. Though he never had children of his own, his love for family was boundless. That moment, which is captured in a photo, is one I’ll treasure forever.
During that final visit, he gifted our baby an afghan made by my great-grandmother. Years earlier, for my wedding, he had shipped me two beautiful lamps from her as well. These heirlooms sit beside my bed now. I think of him often when I see them, and when I tell his stories.
The Storyteller’s Echo
Grief doesn’t always look loud or public. Sometimes it’s in the way we glance at a photo, touch an object that once belonged to someone we loved, or feel their words echo in our minds. When a person carries family history, especially when they are the storyteller, it can feel like their death is a second kind of loss: a loss of memory, of continuity, of anchoring.
This kind of grief is why I believe so strongly in the power of individualized grief therapy sessions. Each person’s experience of loss is uniquely shaped by the relationship they had, and continuing that relationship in memory, meaning, and ritual is deeply personal. Therapy can be a place to explore that.
If you're grieving someone who lived life on their own terms, I hope you can find comfort in doing the same. There's no one right way to grieve, just as there's no one right way to live. As someone who offers grief therapy for individuals navigating this quiet kind of loss, I know that sometimes the best way to keep someone with us is simply to remember—and to keep telling their story.
Connect with a Grief Counselor for Young Adults in Manhattan
Losing someone who meant a lot to you, especially someone who lived life in their own unique way, can bring up complicated emotions. Whether you're feeling sadness, confusion, guilt, or just a deep sense of missing them, your grief deserves space and care. As a grief therapist for young adults in NYC, I offer support as someone who understands the nuances of loss and honors the individuality of every story.
Here’s how to take the first step:
Schedule a free 15-minute consultation to share what you're navigating and learn how grief counseling might help.
Book your first grief therapy session with a grief therapist who will meet you where you are—without judgment or pressure.
Begin processing your loss at your own pace, with guidance and support that respects your grief, your memories, and your healing journey.
Because remembering someone is part of loving them, and you deserve space to do both.
About the Author: Grief Counselor for Young Adults in Manhattan
Natalie Greenberg, LCSW, is a compassionate grief therapist in New York City who specializes in supporting young adults as they work through the layered emotions that come with loss. Her personal experience—losing her mother to suicide at age 23—deepened her understanding of grief’s complexities and inspired her commitment to helping others find healing. Therapy and peer support were instrumental in her own journey, shaping the empathetic, client-centered approach she brings to her work today.
Natalie earned her Master’s in Social Work from New York University and completed post-graduate training in Cognitive Behavioral Therapy. With over ten years of clinical experience—including roles in Bellevue Hospital’s Psychiatric ER, Mount Sinai’s leadership team, and NYU’s Student Health Center—she offers deep expertise paired with warmth and relatability. Natalie currently provides virtual therapy across New York, making grief support accessible wherever clients are.