At our last session, our grief counselor said that next time, she thought maybe we could talk some about anger. I kind of gave a half-smile, because that is one emotion that has been puzzling me. At least in its apparent absence so far. I remember when I posted on Facebook for the first time a few weeks ago that I was struggling with the unfairness of it all, I got a slew of comments and personal messages—I think everyone was very relieved that I had put that out there, both because they wanted to make sure that I was not insane for NOT feeling that way and because they had been wanting to say it themselves. And Jess has often said that anger was one of her predominant feelings after her mom died, and again after Hudson died, and we both have found it curious that I just haven’t been able to connect very much with my anger over Hudson’s death.
Here’s the thing. I’m pretty sure that I am mad. For some reason, I just don’t FEEL mad. Most of the time. Then something happens that makes me feel MAD.
Right now, this is what makes me mad, more than anything else: seeing parents who don’t take care of their kids. It has always bothered me in the extreme when I see parents who don’t have their kids properly buckled in the car—no car seat or booster for small kids, kids who are too young to be riding in the front seat, people holding kids in their laps in the car. This has always left me disturbed, to say the least. And now? Now, it makes me PISSED. Are you fucking kidding me? The very easiest of ways you have to keep your kid from dying or being seriously injured, and you can’t even be bothered to do it? But then I, I take every possible precaution to keep my kid safe, including exploring the possibility of buying a fucking Swedish car seat so she can keep sitting rear-facing until age five, and then she dies from a stealthy infection that had pretty much killed her before we even knew she had it? THAT makes me mad.
Being mad feels good sometimes (and to all my more proper friends and relatives who read this, please excuse my language above, but really, sometimes, there is no other appropriate word, especially when you’re mad). But it also makes me feel conflicted—I have found myself going around making the most terrible judgments about people. “You don’t deserve that kid” is a thought that has cropped up in my mind more than I care to admit in the last 2 months. It is just so very hard—and I have struggled with this since we first realized Hudson was not likely to recover from the meningitis—it is so very hard to know, in your heart, that you were one of the best parents a kid could have, and yet your kid is getting taken from you, while so many parents neglect, abuse, or just don’t want their kids, and yet they keep getting to be their parents. It is awful. And so incredibly unfair. It raises the question that every parent who has lost a child asks at some point: “WHY?” But that question has absolutely no answer, so all you can do is be mad.