A burning rage
Rage was my companion for a while on my grief journey.
The most destructive part of my grief was the incredible rage that burned through me at times. If I wasn’t a weeping, howling mess, anger replaced it. Anything could make me lash out. I wanted to hurt someone, anyone.
It felt like I had been taken from my normal life and dumped on a planet where nobody understood me. Their words had no meaning. If someone dared to advise me or utter meaningless platitudes, my rage would erupt like a burning fire. I lashed out with hatred, without caring about the hurt I inflicted. I wanted them to feel my pain. If not the same pain, they had to suffer. I now know it was irrational, but, at the time, it made perfect sense to me.
How could the world continue to exist around me as if no earth-shattering event took place? It had no right! I wanted to run down the road, tear my clothes, and scream like a crazed beast. I would throw things in a frenzy against the wall to hear the satisfying sound of breaking. Nobody was safe from my wrath. I pushed people away from me, but I did not care. I desperately wanted to hit someone.
I remember one crazy day when I was contacted by the police from my youngest son’s school. Someone called the police to report a bomb at the school and used my son’s name. The principal dared to blame my son for not informing them who the real culprit was. I was already in a heightened state of emotion, and that was the last straw. He unleashed the devil in me. I leaned over his desk and started screaming at him, threatening to kill him in front of the police officers. If he decided to get up from his chair, I swear I would have physically attacked him. The quiet in the office, with everyone staring at me in shock, brought me back to my senses. I grabbed my son by the hand and stormed out of the office.
I pushed friends and family away from me because they had no idea how to handle this spitting, crazy me. It didn’t bother me in the least. Hearing them complain about their monotonous ordinary troubles made me sick. I told a friend she could leave her philandering husband, and my son would still be dead. I listened to them talking about their children’s achievements, and my son was still dead. I couldn’t bear it.
My son and I were involved in a car accident, and a tow truck driver made the mistake of challenging me. That unleashed the devil again. I stood on my toes and pushed my finger in his face, daring him to strike me. The anger made me reckless, and I thank the Universe for protecting me daily. It could have led to something I wasn’t prepared for.
When the rage was spent, I had to sort out the mess its destruction left. Many friends and family never spoke to me again. But that was alright, things happen the way they should. If they cared in the least, they would still have been there.
Namaste
I also have felt that rage , I still do. It wasn't quite as bad when I lost my first son. This may seem unfair, but he was reckless. I always kind of expected to outlive him. Yes it was horribly sad. It still pains me to see his picture or have a memory , but I got through it without losing anybody else. But after my youngest, my baby took his life, I was beyond grief, rage, unanswered why's. I had read somewhere after his death, that families do one of three things when a suicide happens.
1. They turn toward each other.
This was absolutely true the first time around
2. They turn away from each.
3. They turn on each other.
This happened with everyone in our remaining family. Some of the losses don't bother me now. I said things to them I had wanted to say for a long time and I don't regret it. They aren't losses, they are lessons that I learned to not take crap from anybody anymore. No more people pleasing to the squeaky wheels. You really do know who has your back during grief. It just wasn't the our family. Fingers were pointed, like we should have known he was struggling. He was a grown man , almost, 24 years young.
My rage , is quieter now, but still manages to leap out when I least expect it. Therapy has helped, but my marriage is falling apart, partially due to my anger, my inability to accept this loss. Only other parents who have lost sons much understand this. We are a club that no one wanted to be in.
The fury of being, it truly resonates for me!