Saturday, September 22, 2012

Gypsy Life: Day Sixteen

(Yes, yes. I know I missed a day. I was busy mourning and visiting with my brother. Cut me a little slack, will ya!?!)

Sometimes, when I'm sad, I like to pick fights. It's very mature of me, I know. The first time I remember it happening was when my friend Rena died. Instead of just being sad, I got really, really angry at the people who I thought were exploiting her death to get out of gym class. Yeah, so maybe that one girl did deserve it when I screamed in her face, but I also got angry at other kids who were upset. Somehow, I didn't feel like their grief was as valid as mine was, so I became a total psycho. Which landed me in the guidance counselor's office for weekly grief counseling sessions, both solo and in a group setting.

This time around, with almost twenty years of maturity and introspection on my side, I'm doing it again. It's a little different this time, because there aren't many people who have ignited that little spark of rage in me, but it has happened. I'm smart enough to snuff it out, and to avoid any and all places where it may once again flare up, but it's still there.

And so, unfortunately for him, I am really pissed at my husband. For reasons that I honestly believe are beyond his control, he was out at a working dinner on Thursday when she died. Then he left early this morning for a speaking engagement in Tahoe. He gets back tomorrow just in time to miss the first viewing. Then he has to work on Monday, during the funeral. Then he comes home to sign the papers to close on the house and then heads out immediately for another dinner meeting.

I'm so angry that he isn't here that I can barely even look at him when he is. I know he feels awful and isn't trying to hurt me, but because my emotions get so muddled up my brain just goes RAGE RAGE RAGE! I just want to have someone there with me, someone to hold my hand, someone to deal with my unruly kids, someone to take care of me. My parents have each other, my brother's pregnant wife is flying up from Florida tomorrow, and I'm going to be all alone, trying to wrestle my herd of children into submission instead of spending time with my loved ones and remembering my grandmother.

I don't want to be mad at him, really. I'm really hoping that by writing this all out I'll realize how silly it is and get over myself. That way when he does get home, I won't blow up all over him and maybe he can just hold me.

But just in case, take cover.

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