Shortly after my husband's death, I spoke to some people who expressed their anger towards him for what he did. Some friends and even his sister told me they were so mad they yelled at him. That was not the case for me. There were times when I looked at my son and thought to myself, "How could you?" For a moment or two I would be mad at him because our beautiful, amazing son doesn't have a father. Often in those first few months I would say "Oh, what did you do?" out loud to myself. But the tone in that was absent of anger. I never really felt anger to the extent where I would feel as if I had dealt with the anger stage as I feel I have with the other grieving stages.
***
Last week while I was home visiting my family over my spring break, I was chatting with one of my cousins. We were talking about my grandmother and death and that led to my husband's passing. I shared some more details with her that I don't think that she was aware of and then she began to share some about her own life. She was able to make some connections with me and complimented me on being able to do what I did in staying here in NYC essentially alone and raising my child, alone. She shared with me how angry she would have been had her husband left her in such a way with so much to take care of (aside from now living and raising a child alone). And there is so much to take care of after one passes. They are the little unseen things such as funeral expenses, closing bank accounts, settling credit card balances, and so many other things that had to be done at the worst possible time, but had to because we didn't have a will and nothing was in writing. These are often the common things that the people left behind get angry at. Not only all of that, but the emotional side as well. The confusing, emotional turmoil that the survivors are left behind to deal with.
I never held that kind of anger towards him. I am extremely sad that I am raising my son without him. I am sad for all that my son is missing out on by the absence of his father. However, I am not angry that I was left the task of having to raise him by myself. I have had my share of bad days, but it is both a priviledge and an honor to call such an incredible little boy my son. Being a single mom is not easy, but it is not a burden either. One burden that I do feel is having to tell my son the truth one day about his father's death. That is not a day I look forward to. The only thing that I can do, is to build a foundation now of love and stability so that one day, he will be able to handle that devastation truth. However, I can't say that I am angry at my husband for that either. He loved our son so much, it only shows how desperate he felt to not consider that. Again, sadness. Financially, I am still able to afford and live in the same apartment which has been important not only for the convenience factor, but more importantly, the stability factor which I think was crucial in that first year after. He left me with no debt of his own. I have been able to maintain a similar lifestyle for both myself and my son. How can I find anger when I am left with the best of him in our son and am financially stable?
Again, sadness overrode anger in the emotional side as well. You cannot even being to express the sadness felt when someone that you love, someone you have an intimate relationship with, someone you are married to takes their own life. I feel as if I understand why he did it, but the question I am left with is what caused him to feel that way inside? I never understood the magnitude of the emptiness that he felt until it was too late. There are questions that I have now that I wish I had asked, however, he never truly answered the questions that I did ask. I was and still am consumed with sadness surrounding his death.
A few weeks ago, I met up with a friend of his just to catch up and she had wanted to see my son, whom she hasn't seen in well over a year. We met for brunch and as we were eating she kept commenting on expressions that my son makes that are so much like his father. She was telling me about things that made her think of him, etc. For some reason, this meeting with her triggered within me, real anger for the very first time. But, perhaps not the type of anger expected. My anger was not directed at him for that final act. My anger was directed at what was done, or not done, before his death.
I am angry at him for never taking care of himself. He never went to a doctor the entire time I was with him. He was asked and encouraged by both me and his family to. But he never did. He wouldn't even try St. John's Wart, just to see if it would help. He refused any kind of treatment.
I am angry that he placed the key to his happiness, his well-being, in my hands. That is a power too great to hand over to anyone else. It was a burden that I carried for years without ever knowing. He was so desperate to find self love and self worth, he took and he took from me. And as his wife who loved him and could see the beauty within him, I gave and I gave. Happiness comes from within, so what I gave to him was never good enough. I am angry at him for making me feel that I wasn't good enough.
I am angry for the way that he treated me over the years. I am angry at him for his need to control situations and me as well. I am angry at him for manipulating me so that he could retain that sense of control. I am angry that I always felt like I was walking on eggshells.
I am angry that I have been left with tainted memories. I am angry that I have been left confused about what was real and genuine and what was created out of a self survival need.
I am angry that he couldn't give me time. Time to heal and time to think about us and what to do.
I am angry that he couldn't just let our worst case scenario be a divorce.
The button, that this friend pushed, was that I am always remembering him and speaking of him in a positive way. But the hard truth is, he did some awful things in our relationship. I am angry that I am still being ruled by his illness and the need to feel like I need to protect him. I am angry because of this, I am painting him in a such a way as if the bad never existed. This is not out of denial, but that in the way that he died, I have let it take away my freedom of expression. And I am angry about that.
I am angry that even as I write all of this, I can read back on all of my thoughts and emotions and find that many of them can be rationalized away. I can see the effect that the disease had on him. I am angry that I don't know what was genuinely caused by his disease and what was just him. I am angry that he let it get to the point where I can no longer see him and his sickness as two separate entities as I had in the beginning.
I am angry that he was sick.
***
Last week while I was home visiting my family over my spring break, I was chatting with one of my cousins. We were talking about my grandmother and death and that led to my husband's passing. I shared some more details with her that I don't think that she was aware of and then she began to share some about her own life. She was able to make some connections with me and complimented me on being able to do what I did in staying here in NYC essentially alone and raising my child, alone. She shared with me how angry she would have been had her husband left her in such a way with so much to take care of (aside from now living and raising a child alone). And there is so much to take care of after one passes. They are the little unseen things such as funeral expenses, closing bank accounts, settling credit card balances, and so many other things that had to be done at the worst possible time, but had to because we didn't have a will and nothing was in writing. These are often the common things that the people left behind get angry at. Not only all of that, but the emotional side as well. The confusing, emotional turmoil that the survivors are left behind to deal with.
I never held that kind of anger towards him. I am extremely sad that I am raising my son without him. I am sad for all that my son is missing out on by the absence of his father. However, I am not angry that I was left the task of having to raise him by myself. I have had my share of bad days, but it is both a priviledge and an honor to call such an incredible little boy my son. Being a single mom is not easy, but it is not a burden either. One burden that I do feel is having to tell my son the truth one day about his father's death. That is not a day I look forward to. The only thing that I can do, is to build a foundation now of love and stability so that one day, he will be able to handle that devastation truth. However, I can't say that I am angry at my husband for that either. He loved our son so much, it only shows how desperate he felt to not consider that. Again, sadness. Financially, I am still able to afford and live in the same apartment which has been important not only for the convenience factor, but more importantly, the stability factor which I think was crucial in that first year after. He left me with no debt of his own. I have been able to maintain a similar lifestyle for both myself and my son. How can I find anger when I am left with the best of him in our son and am financially stable?
Again, sadness overrode anger in the emotional side as well. You cannot even being to express the sadness felt when someone that you love, someone you have an intimate relationship with, someone you are married to takes their own life. I feel as if I understand why he did it, but the question I am left with is what caused him to feel that way inside? I never understood the magnitude of the emptiness that he felt until it was too late. There are questions that I have now that I wish I had asked, however, he never truly answered the questions that I did ask. I was and still am consumed with sadness surrounding his death.
A few weeks ago, I met up with a friend of his just to catch up and she had wanted to see my son, whom she hasn't seen in well over a year. We met for brunch and as we were eating she kept commenting on expressions that my son makes that are so much like his father. She was telling me about things that made her think of him, etc. For some reason, this meeting with her triggered within me, real anger for the very first time. But, perhaps not the type of anger expected. My anger was not directed at him for that final act. My anger was directed at what was done, or not done, before his death.
I am angry at him for never taking care of himself. He never went to a doctor the entire time I was with him. He was asked and encouraged by both me and his family to. But he never did. He wouldn't even try St. John's Wart, just to see if it would help. He refused any kind of treatment.
I am angry that he placed the key to his happiness, his well-being, in my hands. That is a power too great to hand over to anyone else. It was a burden that I carried for years without ever knowing. He was so desperate to find self love and self worth, he took and he took from me. And as his wife who loved him and could see the beauty within him, I gave and I gave. Happiness comes from within, so what I gave to him was never good enough. I am angry at him for making me feel that I wasn't good enough.
I am angry for the way that he treated me over the years. I am angry at him for his need to control situations and me as well. I am angry at him for manipulating me so that he could retain that sense of control. I am angry that I always felt like I was walking on eggshells.
I am angry that I have been left with tainted memories. I am angry that I have been left confused about what was real and genuine and what was created out of a self survival need.
I am angry that he couldn't give me time. Time to heal and time to think about us and what to do.
I am angry that he couldn't just let our worst case scenario be a divorce.
The button, that this friend pushed, was that I am always remembering him and speaking of him in a positive way. But the hard truth is, he did some awful things in our relationship. I am angry that I am still being ruled by his illness and the need to feel like I need to protect him. I am angry because of this, I am painting him in a such a way as if the bad never existed. This is not out of denial, but that in the way that he died, I have let it take away my freedom of expression. And I am angry about that.
I am angry that even as I write all of this, I can read back on all of my thoughts and emotions and find that many of them can be rationalized away. I can see the effect that the disease had on him. I am angry that I don't know what was genuinely caused by his disease and what was just him. I am angry that he let it get to the point where I can no longer see him and his sickness as two separate entities as I had in the beginning.
I am angry that he was sick.
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