*If you are offended by the word *fuck* don’t read this.
I swear by all that’s holy that if I hear ONE more person tell me that Chuck, (or my husband if it’s a stranger talking to me) would want me to be happy and that I need to focus on the good memories, I’m going to go so fucking ballistic that there will be pieces of me scattered over the face of the earth.
So I’ve been cogitating on what my response can be in such situations. (By the way,I’m also tired of giving people a freaking free pass for saying stupid stuff.) Wake the fuck up, people! If you don’t know what to say, then just please don’t say anything! I beg of you! Just say It sucks the big one, Alison and be done with it!
What to respond?
Oh did you know my husband? Is that why you can tell me what he would like for me?
Oh, would you like to give me your recipe so that I can immediately stop grieving his loss from my life? I mean, yes, immediately as in right now? Because I’ve tried every goddamn thing I can to tell my brain and my heart to do something else and it’s not fucking working. I mean, I’m camping, for god’s sake! I’m not a camper. But I’m changing my environment to help me push through into new experiences to change my brain patterns. And towing, for another god’s sake. Are you kidding me?
Thank you for your opinion. (My mom taught me to say that in response to ignorant people who offer their opinions freely and….ignorantly).
Fuck off. This is what I’m feeling right now.
JesusMaryandJoseph, I would give anything to be other than where I am now. I fucking hate this grief. I hate my life without him. Do you hear me? I’m not asking for pity, I’m not feeling poor me, and I’m not asking you to fix this for me because you CAN’T fix this unless you’re God Almighty or a genie who can blink her eyes and bring him back. You CAN’T fix this. But what you CAN do is be strong enough in your love and friendship to stand with me while I get through this horrible part that is normal and takes time. Give me time. I’m recreating my entire fucking life that burned to ashes at 11:25 on April 21, 2013. And, no, I’m not being dramatic in saying that and if you think I am then, well…fuck off.
For one minute-one fucking minute– imagine your partner, husband or wife, (presuming you love each other and actually like each other) who has been an integral to your life, an intimate part of your life, this person who you built your life with and lived with joyfully, (no, not without arguments because nobody does that), this man (in my case) who was a strong lover, a romantic dancer, a man who swept me off my feet daily (and that’s the truth), who made magic happen for me, whom I loved passionately-all of these things and more. And then zap! he’s dead. (and, yes, I’m more than grateful that I had this kind of man in my life and this kind of love because not many have it).
I don’t want pity. I won’t accept pity. And I’ll bygod continue building a life for myself without him because I have to. But you know what? It takes mucho energy to brace myself against those who want me to just get on with it.
What I’m experiencing is normal grief. And when you tell me that he would want me to be happy, you’re telling me that I’m somehow doing something wrong in grieving him because I’m not happy on your schedule and to your degree of comfort.
And guess what? I’m as tired of hearing this from people as I am of this fucking grief. I miss my husband so much that I can’t breathe. My current diet consists of Amara Ignatia and Star of Bethlehem and Rescue Remedy, along with way too much diet pepsi (which is, let’s face it, really good tasting aspartame), and I want to lose my mind from the loneliness but I don’t. And I won’t. Even though I sometimes wish I could lose my mind and seek refuge in some ward somewhere instead of facing up to daily life and loss and all that entails.
You see all the pink and you think oh how pretty and how cute and what fun she must be having on this lovely little jaunt around the country. Yeah, this is definitely my idea of fun. I’ve got my dead husband’s ashes right next to me. My stomach is in shreds. My nerves are on top of my skin. I’m slammed everywhere with memories. Oh, but that’s right-I need to focus on the good memories. How the fuck do I focus on the good memories, of which there are plenty, without the accompanying thought that oh, that’s right-those times are gone, gone, gone because he’s dead, dead, dead.
No pity wanted or accepted and I’m so aware that so many are in worse situations, blah, blah, blah. But for god fucking sake, stop saying stupid shit. Instead, how about this? If you knew him, tell me a memory you have of him. I’m dying to hear people speak his name to me. Seriously. I’m about to make a list of all of his buddies and everyone who knew him, even a little, and call them up and beg them to tell me stories of him. Or tell me how you coped with your own loss if you’ve been through it. If you’ve never grieved, then just say wow, that’s some fucking shit to deal with. Ask me what this is like. Not just this grief, but what it’s like to not have him. How does my heart hold this grief and this love all at the same time? What is it like creating a life without the love of my life in it? What is it like to have had a passionate love life with a passionate man and then suddenly have nothing? (no, that isn’t too intimate a question for me). What is it like to have your heart violently torn out of your chest and hacked to pieces on the ground? Ask me anything. Or just fucking stand with me and bear witness. Just please, please, please, consider what you’re saying.
This isn’t rocket science, folks.
*For all of you who have NOT said stupid stuff, thank you.*
*We will now return to our regularly scheduled prime-time, no swear words, programming*
*Thank you for paying attention*