This morning, I woke up with a brand new emotion: Anger. Yes, I have been angry since my husband’s death. I have been pissed. But this was different. I literally woke up, sat up, and felt an instant wave of violent anger. And the same way that an infant cries on instinct after waking up wanting their bottle, I broke down sobbing and wanting my husband. The sobbing became louder, and then weirder, and then it turned into cries and half-screams. It just wouldn’t stop. I wanted to punch somebody, everybody. I wanted to take away someone else’s world so that they finally get what this feels like. I wanted to burn our bed down and write all over the walls and take a knife to my wedding dress that’s been hanging in his closet – taunting me. I wanted to senselessly shatter and murder and hurt things, because my life has been shattered and hurt and murdered. “It’s not FAIR!”, I screamed like a child, and then fell forward in our bed, stomping at the mattress with my fists.
The feeling has not gone away. It is now almost 2pm, and in just a couple hours, I have to put on the “professional” face, and go out there, be funny onstage, and then be a motivational leader for my 22 Adelphi students, who will be nervous as hell tonight and looking for my support. But where’s my support? Who do I get to lean on for strength? Tonight is my stand-up comedy student’s big Comedy Show at Gotham Comedy Club in NYC. We work on their sets all semester long, tirelessly, and it all leads up to this. Their first big professional show. This is the second group of students and the second show I’ve had to do without Don. The first one was back in December, and I woke up feeling the same way I do today. Mad as hell. Crying. Overwhelmed. Right before walking out the door that day, I checked my mailbox, and the autopsy report was there. I read it on the busride into the city, and didn’t stop sobbing until minutes before the show. I had waited months for that report to show up, and it came on that day.
I am so fucking angry. I’m pissed that I pulled back the shower curtain this morning, and lying in the tub was a ginormous dead cockroach that the cats must have killed. I can’t bring myself to pick it up with a napkin and throw it away. I am so goddamn terrified of bugs and rodents and things. There are 3 lightbulbs out in my apartment. Two in the kitchen, and one in the hallway. The ceilings are so high that I cant even reach them standing on a stepstool, and Im so annoyed that my husband’s 6 foot 3 frame isn’t here to just do this shit for me. I’m sick of all the creditors calling, the lawyers, the hospital bills … I’m sick of dealing with paperwork and red tape and afteraffects of death. I’m so tired of facing the daily piles of stuff inside our apartment, and not knowing what to do with it and not caring and feeling sad and feeling beaten down by things. I am so mad that I have to avoid my living room, and that nobody comes over here anymore. Nothing happy has happened in this apartment since he died, so I immediately picture the day of his death, sitting here with my mom and about 8 friends, letting the reality of our new hell marinate. My living room is now just a death room. Its the place we all gathered when he died. I can’t even go in there without shivering. I’m tired of staring at his Ashes in a fucking Christmas tin on top of the Entertainment Center. I’m sick of thinking about what to do with the remaining ashes, I’m so over trying to be meaningful and inspirational and motivational when I just want to die. I’m sick of my bathroom being a pharmacy, filled with pills to help me sleep, stop me from thinking, stop my headaches, get rid of the intense physical aches that are everywhere, and make me feel human again. Waking up groggy or driving to work on 2 hours of sleep for an entire 10 months is really getting on my nerves.
I’m really angry that something as huge as having a life-altering experience with a Medium that makes me feel a bit of hope that maybe there is more after life than just death – does absolutely nothing to help my day to day existence here on Earth. I’m still just as alone and just as lonely as ever. I still have to life out the rest of my days without my husband. I am so annoyed that I have nowhere to put my love for him. I am so over looking at pictures and watching video clips and recalling memories; all in an effort to feel his presence again, to feel his love. None of it works. It is all a lie. He might be with me in spirit, but what the fuck does that do for me right now, when I want his opinion on this show tonight? Or when I want to lay in bed with him on a Sunday afternoon and watch a baseball game. Or feel him kissing me again. Tomorrow will be ten months since I have felt him do anything, say anything, be anything. I am so angry that I have to write this, that my life is now about this, and that nobody will ever really understand. I want to hurt something, but I know it wont help to stop me from hurting. I want to look into my husband’s eyes again. I want to know what it’s like to be together forever. Why the fuck did this happen???
I am sick to death of death. I am tired of talking about it. I am sick of analyzing my own damn thoughts and my feelings and my pain. I am sick of online Widow Groups and horrible, sad stories of other people’s terrible pain. I am so fucking tired of feeling like shit every single day, and of pretending I dont feel like shit when I have to be “on.” I am sick of writing about this crap, sick of hearing my own story, sick of it playing out over and over in my heart, and sick of knowing that it can’t be any different. It takes over your life. Yes, you go forward and you don’t let the grief become you, but it literally effects every part of your life. I’m tired of being this person. I want to get on a plane and go somewhere far away where I’m not this person anymore, and where this is not my life. I’m so tired of being tired. I haven’t felt energetic since last summer. I havent been me since last July.
Do you know what it’s like to live in a world where everything you do is exactly the same as before, except your partner is just missing? I still live in our apartment. I sleep in our bed. With our pets. I still take the same drive to long Island and work at the same jobs. I’m still struggling just to get by. Living paycheck to paycheck as a couple is cute and romantic and even funny. Doing it alone is depressing and hopeless and terrifying. I still drink out of the cups he brought here, and listen to the XM radio he bought me for the car. I still do the same things I did when he was here, except now he is not here. It is a big, gaping hole that doesn’t make any goddamn sense. It is a weird, stupid, unfair universe that won’t stop spinning. I dont know how to live in this space, in this world, without my other half. None of it makes any sense to me.
Maybe tomorrow or the next day or in 7 hours, I will be making jokes again or trying to be “positive” or figuring out more ways to keep going forward and keep being who I am and keep fighting to make sure he never really dies; but right this very second; I want to put my head through a wall and then set the wall into burning, fiery flames. My husband is dead, and I’m really fucking pissed about it.