Tag Archives: Grief

Angry at Alone

The anger impels me to run, and so I do.

Underneath the anger, I’m deeply sad. Is anger usually fueled any other way? Is anger a necessary part of grieving? I hate that idea: that my emotions might follow a predictable path; that I’m just like any one else who’s lost someone.

I gnash my teeth until my jaw hurts. I’m angry at being alone. I’m angry there’s no one to take care of me. “Try,” I dare myself. “Try to console me.”

“You have friends and family who care about and for you. You have your wonderful son. You doing the best you can to take care of yourself, and you’ll keep getting better at it.”

My response? I roar: Continue reading Angry at Alone

Should have been

Today, August 2, 2013, Susan should have been 56 years old. Instead, she died of cancer seven months and one day ago.

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Massager Susan with the crazy hair

By next month, she might have told you she was 57. She always aged herself a year, almost a year in advance. Sometimes she thought she was actually turning a year older than she actually was. And yet she was so young. Too young to die. She was still young enough to be a pied piper whom any kids within a ten foot radius would follow. She was still young enough to mold her hair into a crazy flip and appear as Massager Susan, with a technique “inspired by the Japanese ‘Tofu’ Style.” Continue reading Should have been

So much loss

So much loss.

Every day. Every day: she still isn’t here.

It occurs to me I should take a picture of her crocuses to show her…later. I’ll show her later. It gets later and later. She still isn’t here.

I try to do as we mourners are told: “live in the moment.” In that “now,” I forget sometimes that our life together even existed. Then the abyss that is my loss of our life re-veals itself. The child’s voice in my heart asks, “why can’t I have her back. Can’t she come back? Please?”
Continue reading So much loss