Moving On To Anger




Since death descended into my life I never dealt with the emotion, anger.  When I sank low into depression, I was told by my therapist that it was OK to be angry.
 
"Get mad!  Let it out! Scream, swear or punch a wall."  She said.

"The thing is...I don't feel mad." I countered.  "I know my daughter and husband didn't want to die, so how can I be angry?  Its not their fault."

But two years later, waves of anger are just starting to overtake me randomly when I least expect it.  The burning feeling of white, hot, infuriating indignation washes into my brain and numbs my face and lips. The smallest thing sets me off and I will clench my teeth together and scream inside my brain.  Visibly shaking, mentally yelling. Silence. Tears...always tears, rolling down my face.

Sometimes, if I'm home alone, my body will freeze and my mouth will howl as hard and as loud as it can until my lungs hurt.  No one can hear me and I don't feel better. 

I need a bad guy.  So, I choose Dean.  "You son-of-a-bitch!  You left me to finish this life by myself. I needed you to comfort me when my daughter fell sick.  How dare you!  I don't deserve this!   Arggghhh.  Fuck you!"

It's a conspiracy, they both left me and didn't ask if I wanted to go.  It doesn't make sense.  My life doesn't comprehend.

I sit down, and rock back and forth.  The motion grounds me.  But I sob loudly, until the movement lulls me into calm.

Just as quickly, the hot flash dissipates and I am sorry.  I don't mean it.  I hate death, I hate love.  It's all to painful.  I miss my daughter. 

I can't drive by her house, where all my grandchildren live, without tearing up.  Her husband, left behind, slowly finishes all the projects she wanted done while alive.  I see the pavers set towards the back yard, the plants nicely situated, the back pergola with vines creeping up the lattice.  I hate that she is not here to enjoy what she so wanted when alive.  Mostly, I am angry her children can't have her.  My heart aches for them.

When they come to visit, they hug me, stroke me, lay on my chest.  I feel them trying to soak up my softness and femininity, maybe pretending I'm their mother for a moment.  I know they are missing their mom from the depth of their souls.

It's not fair.  There is nothing to be done.  They aren't coming back.  The anger flairs...dissolves...then I go back to numbness.



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