Diary of a Widower

Daily entries by a husband, who stayed behind with his two sons

Every right to be furious

TUESDAY, December 1, 2009 – Glad to be mad.  Eamonn exploded at last, and to my great relief.  After four weeks of frustration, pent-up emotions, and often hellish silences, he finally vented his anger.  The rage had to surface sometime, and this morning it was unleashed in my direction in a salutary avalanche of reproaches.

First he demanded that I get rid of the dog.  It was all her fault, he raged.  ‘ If Elsa hadn’t dropped her toy…’ That same reasoning had briefly gone through my mind, only to be rejected.  I was able to make it clear to him that it wasn’t her fault and that we should focus our rage on the motorcycle cop, and on him alone.

The cop had made the mistake and we have a right to be angry with him.  We were lying on the bed and I was holding him tight.  I asked him to explain in words how he felt.  ‘Tell me exactly what you’re thinking now.’

He said he’d tell me, but he was afraid I’d be angry about his choice of words.  I told him not to worry.

‘I’m pissed at the motor guy for the shit mistake he made.’

So am I, I said.  So am I.  We hugged.

But there was more.

‘And I want the bitch to drag his dick into jail.’

What?  The wording was so comical that I couldn’t help laughing.  Eamonn as well, but only for a fraction of a second since he was too furious to laugh.

We went on hugging each other. Then, he began lashing about with his fists and hammering the pillow as hard as he could.  The pillow went flying across the room.  Then he started pounding the mattress, after which another pillow went sailing off in the direction of the window.  Then he got up, went downstairs, had a snack and sat down to read his book.

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2 thoughts on “Every right to be furious

  1. Dear Tim,
    What an honest, heartbreaking and heartwarming story of your wife’s death. I read your post on WV and had to come over and hear the rest of your story. I came from a family of all boys and me and we lost our mother when I was eighteen and my younger brothers were ten and eleven so much of it resonated with me. Keep up the good, but painful, work of parenting your two sons. My brothers still suffer, in their fifties, because they never were allowed to grieve.
    I lost my husband, a kind and loving behavioral and developmental pediatrician, in February. He was a healthy man but had a family history of pancreatic cancer and he was the unlucky one. Things are a bit easier but also more painful as the holidays approach. I have one daughter who is engaged. Sweetly, her boyfriend asked Jud for permission to marry her several weeks before Jud died.
    This grieving is quite a rocky journey, isn’t it? Sometimes I am surprised that I can laugh and be happy alongside the sadness. Other times, miss this man who was my soulmate so badly I feel I am bleeding. In general, I am plugging along, trying to plan for Christmas, living with those same contradictions of not doing badly and not doing well at all.
    Wishing you and your darling sons the very best.
    Suz (Susan Reaney)

    • Hi Suz,

      Thanks so much for those kind words. And so sorry to heard about your loss. What a cool thing to do, your future son-in-law. Doesn’t make it less hard, but at least it’s one that will keep you going (for a bit, I know). Hey, it’s great to be happy (even during the saddest moments). Happy Holidays! And dreading it takes the most energy, when those days are finally there, mwah, it wasn’t too bad. Wishing you lots of love and happiness,

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