Stage Two

Apparently we go through 5 stages while we’re grieving: Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.  I seem to have arrived at the anger stage.

I didn’t realize my feelings had changed and at first thought that everyone else was just being stupid – talking, moving about, having lives and irritating the shit out of me.  But it turns out that those activities are normal things for people who are not grieving.  Now, don’t misunderstand: I am also talking, moving about, and having a life.  But while this is going on there is another script running in my head – one that is processing the fact that Warren is gone. So while I’m driving, I’m also aware that I’m driving without Warren.  And while I’m talking to my sister, I’m also aware that I’m not talking to Warren.  And in the last few days, this is making me angry.  Why did he have to die when I want to still drive with him?  Why is he not here to talk to when I still want to talk to him?  It sounds kind of crazy to people who haven’t been through this I’m sure, but it isn’t really crazy.

Well I hope it’s not crazy.

So how does it affect me when this script is running in the background?  It makes it hard to focus on things. I mean, I can focus on driving (seriously I can) but if you are in the truck with me and want to talk? I’m about 100% likely to ignore you, or get annoyed with you.  Or turn the music up. I can only do so many things at once. And if I’m talking to you I may just stop mid sentence or repeat myself.  And I will get irritated if you try to get me to remember what I was saying – I probably have no idea.

The anger seems to be coming from this strange cognitive dissonance that acknowledges that my sweetheart has died, that I can’t get him back, and that there is nothing I can do about it.  That last part is the part that makes me angry: I can’t do anything to change this and that is unfair.  I wasn’t done.  I was happy and he was happy and we both were looking forward to that going on for a very long time – not just until May 5th.  No. That wasn’t long enough.  And I’m mad.  Mad as hell at the world for being unfair and cruel. At myself for loving someone again and having the temerity to be so happy.

At Warren for dying…

No. That part isn’t really true.  I’m not mad at him.  I know that if he could be here still he would be.  But I wish he would have listened to me and gone to the clinic the day before he died.  He might still have died – who knows?  But then I wouldn’t feel this guilt – and maybe that’s part of the anger.  I did everything I could and he still died.  How can that be?

So to those people around me, the wonderful family and friends who are watching over me and trying to negotiate the unpredictability of my grief?  Thank you.  And I’m sorry. This can’t be easy or fun to watch.  But I’m working on it and I’m doing the best I can. Please just hang in there – I’m starting to get my grief sea-legs.

But it hurts.

Grief has taken the normally chatty and gregarious Sandy and has turned her into a quiet and kind of angry woman.  I am thin skinned right now and too much chatter or sympathy is exhausting.  I appreciate everything you are doing.  I love that I have such a broad and supportive group.  But I am just kind of off-line at the moment.

I hope you understand.

Tomorrow is June 5th – the one month mark…  I won’t be posting as I’m pretty sure tomorrow will be a very hard day.

I still missing you, my Bear.

S

 

 

Published by

Sandra Kenyon

I've upended my life and moved all the way across the nation! Stay tuned for new adventures, but in the meantime I will be posting my flash fiction stories for your review :) I hope you enjoy what you read!

One thought on “Stage Two”

  1. Sweet Sandy. Grief is a living thing, buoyant. Stages, in a sense, box us in and constrain what we honor. Just as we love, our grief is unique. A sword introduced us. Brandish your sword as your heart demands.

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