It’s taken four years for me to reach this point in the grieving process. Four years of self blame, four years of doing what everyone thinks is right, the right way to behave, the right way to grieve. I have listened and adapted to people’s differing points of view as to how one should grieve. How long is acceptable, how (in)appropriate it is to bring up your dead baby’s name in conversation, how I should be on this medication, seeing this counsellor, doing this and that so that I can get over it.
I have made allowances for people forgetting, breaking promises, treating me differently.
I have been sad, very sad and I still have times of overwhelming devastation but tonight and every night for the last few I have been angry.
Angry with William for leaving.
Angry with myself.
Angry with the world for not understanding.
Just plain cross, with Dave, with the kids, with the people I love most in this life.
Even angry with my precious Ivy girl for being sick now, when it is William’s time.
I don’t want to be but I am and I accept that for what it is.
Yes, I am angry that others can’t; that they want to make light of the situation. I am angry that they want me to forget my gorgeous son. I am angry that they won’t make any allowances for me.
To grieve, to feel.
I am angry that they are uncomfortable with my anger. I am angry with their avoidance.
This wave, it will come crashing down and then the calm will come, once again. Please stick with me, while I ride it out. Accept this for what it is; a part of the grieving process. Allow me this.
