I’ve had anger pop up lately.
I’m angry that he died. That the beautiful life we planned was cut short. That he’s not here to see the amazing grandbabies. That I’m raising two young men to adulthood without his influence. That he’s not HERE for me to lean into. That he’s missing out on so much.
I’m angry that Father’s Day is coming up and I have NO IDEA what to do to honour him. Or if the boys and Katie WANT to honour him. I’m angry that they don’t have their father to celebrate.
I’m angry that he left me. That I’m alone. That I have to date again if I don’t want to be alone. That all the good things, all the sad things, all the frustrating things go unsaid because he’s NOT HERE.
I’m angry because he’s not here.
(as a side note, I’m reading this and the children’s book “Red Is Best” keeps popping up in my head. Thanks Mark for the giggle in the midst of the anger)
I’m angry because I’ll never again know what it’s like to kiss him to insensibility. I’ll never again feel his arms around me, hear his heartbeat, feel his warmth. I’ll never again have him run his fingertips up my back while I’m trying to read before falling asleep because he’s trying to get my “ahem” attention. (he usually succeeded)
I’m angry because I don’t know if what I’m doing is right. Because I could always bounce ideas off him. He was beyond smart. Tested at 20+ years of education. Only finished gr. 10. And he was so freaking smart. And I don’t have that to bounce my thoughts against anymore.
I’m angry because he died.
And so many other’s get to live.
In 9 days it will be 3 years. Every year I inch closer and closer to 49, the age he is forever. And I’m angry that there will come a day when I’ll be older than him. I was never supposed to be older than him.