Anger
Denial came first. Then anger.
I thought working through denial was the hardest thing I would ever do. It had been crippling . But the problem with coming to terms with something as heartbreaking as losing the love of my life is that now I had to live with it.
This is my reality.
This.
This is who I am. Grady’s death made me this. A widow. A single mom. Heartbroken and lonely and frustrated and overwhelmed and gutted .
And more than everything else, angry.
I’m only thirty-two years old. I shouldn’t have to go through this at thirty-two. I shouldn’t have had to face Grady’s illness or the horror of his treatment or the traumatizing experience of watching my husband fade away.
I shouldn’t have to figure out how to raise four children on my own, without a partner, without the daddy they loved and looked up to. I shouldn’t have to comfort my sons who lost their hero or my daughters who lost the man that they should compare all others to.
I shouldn’t have to hurt like this. Weep like this. Long like this.
But I have no other choice and that made me so very angry .
While my heart and mind continue to work through my loss, life around me continues to go on. It moves without my permission. It propels me forward without my consent.
I need time to process everything, to work through these five stages and deal with each as they come. But that isn’t possible.
Time doesn’t stop and the days keep ending and beginning again and I move from denying that my husband isn’t coming back to feeling absolutely furious that I will never see him again. Never be with him again. Never touch him or look at him or breathe him in.
I can’t even be satisfied that I get to move beyond denial.
I am far too angry to care.
Chapter Nine
“Abby, hurry up! Your cereal is getting soggy!” I whirled around, armed with orange juice and a spoon for Lucy. There was a possibility we would be on time for school today.
“Mom, I have a game tonight, don’t forget.”
“Chuck!” Jace squealed. I pushed his toast back in front of him.
“Please don’t forget,” Blake pleaded.
I looked at my eldest son and felt pangs in my chest. When had he gotten so old? So mature? His burnished red hair needed a trim, but the tussled look suited him. His bright green eyes were sleepy still and I swear he had grown two inches in the last month. My heart ached watching him become a bigger kid and slowly turn into an adolescent.
“I’ll remember,” I promised him. “It’s on the calendar.”
He grunted into his cereal bowl. “I packed all of my stuff, so we can go right after school.”
“Blake, the game isn’t until 4:30.”
“Well, buy us ice cream or something first. This one’s important.”
I felt a mixture of irritation and amusement. “I’m not going to buy you ice cream right before an important game. But it’s probably a good idea to go straight from school. We’ll think of something to do.”
“Chuck!” Jace shouted.
Abby rushed into the kitchen like a tornado of energy and mischief. “This trash stinks!” She pinched her nose with two fingers and ambled over to the table.
“ Chash Chuck!” Jace squealed.
A nagging feeling pulled low in my stomach. Oh, no.
“What day is it?” I asked out loud. The kids just looked at me. They had no idea.
The groaning, screeching of a garbage truck pulled up in front of our house. Oh, no! I jumped over to the trash can, grabbed it in its entirety and ran to the garage door. The trash can was ridiculously heavy, a stupid wooden thing that I’d wanted because it looked nice, could hold a hell of a lot of trash and the kids couldn’t knock it over. I had to drag it down the stairs. By the time I opened the garage and lugged the thing to our already overflowing garbage bins, the truck was already pulling out of our circle.
“No!” I screamed. “No, no, no!”
I couldn’t believe this had happened again! Anger bubbled up inside of me and
Denial came first. Then anger.
I thought working through denial was the hardest thing I would ever do. It had been crippling . But the problem with coming to terms with something as heartbreaking as losing the love of my life is that now I had to live with it.
This is my reality.
This.
This is who I am. Grady’s death made me this. A widow. A single mom. Heartbroken and lonely and frustrated and overwhelmed and gutted .
And more than everything else, angry.
I’m only thirty-two years old. I shouldn’t have to go through this at thirty-two. I shouldn’t have had to face Grady’s illness or the horror of his treatment or the traumatizing experience of watching my husband fade away.
I shouldn’t have to figure out how to raise four children on my own, without a partner, without the daddy they loved and looked up to. I shouldn’t have to comfort my sons who lost their hero or my daughters who lost the man that they should compare all others to.
I shouldn’t have to hurt like this. Weep like this. Long like this.
But I have no other choice and that made me so very angry .
While my heart and mind continue to work through my loss, life around me continues to go on. It moves without my permission. It propels me forward without my consent.
I need time to process everything, to work through these five stages and deal with each as they come. But that isn’t possible.
Time doesn’t stop and the days keep ending and beginning again and I move from denying that my husband isn’t coming back to feeling absolutely furious that I will never see him again. Never be with him again. Never touch him or look at him or breathe him in.
I can’t even be satisfied that I get to move beyond denial.
I am far too angry to care.
Chapter Nine
“Abby, hurry up! Your cereal is getting soggy!” I whirled around, armed with orange juice and a spoon for Lucy. There was a possibility we would be on time for school today.
“Mom, I have a game tonight, don’t forget.”
“Chuck!” Jace squealed. I pushed his toast back in front of him.
“Please don’t forget,” Blake pleaded.
I looked at my eldest son and felt pangs in my chest. When had he gotten so old? So mature? His burnished red hair needed a trim, but the tussled look suited him. His bright green eyes were sleepy still and I swear he had grown two inches in the last month. My heart ached watching him become a bigger kid and slowly turn into an adolescent.
“I’ll remember,” I promised him. “It’s on the calendar.”
He grunted into his cereal bowl. “I packed all of my stuff, so we can go right after school.”
“Blake, the game isn’t until 4:30.”
“Well, buy us ice cream or something first. This one’s important.”
I felt a mixture of irritation and amusement. “I’m not going to buy you ice cream right before an important game. But it’s probably a good idea to go straight from school. We’ll think of something to do.”
“Chuck!” Jace shouted.
Abby rushed into the kitchen like a tornado of energy and mischief. “This trash stinks!” She pinched her nose with two fingers and ambled over to the table.
“ Chash Chuck!” Jace squealed.
A nagging feeling pulled low in my stomach. Oh, no.
“What day is it?” I asked out loud. The kids just looked at me. They had no idea.
The groaning, screeching of a garbage truck pulled up in front of our house. Oh, no! I jumped over to the trash can, grabbed it in its entirety and ran to the garage door. The trash can was ridiculously heavy, a stupid wooden thing that I’d wanted because it looked nice, could hold a hell of a lot of trash and the kids couldn’t knock it over. I had to drag it down the stairs. By the time I opened the garage and lugged the thing to our already overflowing garbage bins, the truck was already pulling out of our circle.
“No!” I screamed. “No, no, no!”
I couldn’t believe this had happened again! Anger bubbled up inside of me and
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