“Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.”
― William Shakespeare, Macbeth. Malcolm to Macduff
Isolation, anger, and hate. Such a potent mix, such a vicious cycle. But which came first? Trust came first. The first three don’t happen without a human heart first being hurt. Mistrust enters where trust once lived.
Anger, seething, roiling anger. Deny it, ignore it, where did it come from? You notice it quickly, in response to be being prodded barely a week after Justin’s death. A demanding voice finding fault, an imperious request, a sharp query, a pointed thrust. Disbelief, taken aback, a canted head – how could you do that and profess in the next breath that you are sorry for my loss? I still feel that hand on my shoulder giving it a pat, having realized that she had been an absolute boor, I could smell the insincerity. The first brick of isolation, it was small…just a single brick.
The occasional snap on my part, my due contrition…but residual anger of having been held to such an impossible standard. No one hears the internal scream of pain. The strain of unemployment, the hand that crushes your chest. The second line of bricks, almost imperceptible, not consciously constructed.
No one understands, except for those who crept down the crevasse with us and those veterans who were already there – they are the ones who say little, demand nothing.
Anger, bitter, hot white anger. And its bed-mate hate. Anger and hate for the hypocrites who, spurred by guilt, now want to smile and “chat you up.” You bite your already bloody lip, pray your filters hold and swallow the bile of anger and hate. Hypocrites. The outer wall gets higher. Now the building is done with purpose , better mortar, stronger bricks. The wounded animal builds now, it will bite if you come over the wall. The heart no longer trusts, it fears nothing and everything at the same time.
Patronizing, pithy lines of dialogue. Forced interest and concern. Glassy eyes, my own – I can feel them. Detached, disjointed…too much energy to engage. More bricks, I need a thicker wall.
“Hi Smiley”, oh yes… that was said to me, meant pejoratively…said in a place that I expected respect. Came from someone who benefited from a momentary iron fist control of my tongue. I have learned, I simply say nothing these days. Betrayal. Anger, bright white…how dare you?
Anger at a sweet boy who probably meant to tell us that he was traveling. Anger at a gentle soul who perhaps attempted too long a drive, drove in a storm, got tired…was so close to home. Angry at being angry for the one person who always “got” you, always understood. Hating the life you have to live now.
Angry that the sweater placed in a bag to preserve his scent, doesn’t smell like him anymore. Angry that the leather collar of his coat lost that familiar sweetness. Angry that his sandals kept by your desk are empty except for cat fur.
Angry that every fun experience, every happy moment brings sadness on its heels. At first you don’t understand, you had such a nice day and you did – the happiness was real, but then you can’t tell him about it, you can’t say “when you come home we will do that”…. I want to take a brick from my wall and hurl it through glass. The learning curve is unnatural, we have to learn to live again from the beginning.
Isolation, anger, hate….all natural, all normal, expected, exhausting, anger is a companion to grief.
No…don’t be tempted…don’t say it – don’t say “just let go of your anger, just let go of the hate.” Yeah, lets talk about that for a moment. When you have a snake wrapped around you and its coils are so tight that you can hardly breathe, does it help to “let go” of the snake? I learned in karate that to try to pull off a choke hold round my neck would end poorly for me. You cannot fight the snake. You have to re-direct its energy, find what makes that snake loosen, what distracts that snake – then you are free of its coils.
Anger is a valid emotion, we do not chose anger, it is a natural human response. We do chose what we do with anger. Do not tell a grieving parent to not be angry, it will only make us more angry. We did not ask for this anger, we did not seek this anger and invite into our lives, it forced its coils around us. Our child is dead. Yes, we are angry.
