Grief
Surely this is all a bad dream. Our life was flipped upside down this week as we were given devastating news that felt like a sucker punch to the gut. We are going to lose a someone incredibly precious to us to cancer, and soon. It's the kind of news that brings you to your knees, the kind of news that inflicts stifling pain and despair.Â
This week we have sat crowded around a grim hospital room with a clock that ticks so loudly that it's practically deafening. We have listened to doctors and specialists, and heard all the words you never want to hear. We have felt hopeless and exhausted and sobbed until our faces were swollen and raw. Worst of all, we have watched each other and our loved one, the people we love most, Â suffer through pain and grief that feels unbearable. It isn't fair.
I can't speak for the rest of the family, but I am most assuredly in the anger stage of grief. I'm pissed. I don't want to hear your platitudes. Don't tell me that he's going to a better place, don't tell me that we are blessed that we get to say goodbye, and don't tell me that it's part of God's plan, because none of it makes a damn difference. I know people are only trying to say something nice and I don't don't blame them for saying all these useless things, but I'm still mad as hell. I'm mad at life. I'm mad at the universe. I'm mad at cancer. And if I was sure I believed in God anymore, I'd be mad at Him too.
And you know what I've decided? Anger is ok. I'm just going to be angry right now. That's just where I am. When a waitress or cashier asks me politely how I am, I mutter "good" and try to force a smile, even though I'm thinking "fucking terrible and this is possibly the worst week of my entire life." That's just my anger talking.
It isn't fair.
