Thursday, 12 July 2012
So then. Anger. If I'm going to write a blog about grief, I should mention the A word. It's a phase on the curvy graph on an A4 sheet of paper that I have about grief. In reality, it's a hideous beast and of course, like much of this, feels like it will be with me forever. Don't get all positive on me and tell me how good it is that I'm working this through, it's better-out-than-in, good to process my feelings, blah, blah. I'm not sure I want to tell you how anger looks for me, but it is a very ugly and unpleasant companion. The little guys don't see the worst of it, but they do see some of it and how I hate that. It's my understanding that lots of parents with small children get angry with them at times - toddlers certainly know how to press the wrong buttons. But it's here that I realise I can't quite relate to that. I have never been a parent not living under the shadow, or crushed beneath the blackness, of cancer. It's not uncommon for the little guy (combined with my sleep deprivation) to trigger my anger, but it comes from a place, and goes to a place, far beyond him and like all of this grief, it is unbearable.
Posted by Angela at 22:44