Grief stage: Anger

You know that point on a roller coaster just before the big drop where everything is silent and you feel weightless, even floating in your seat?  And then sight and sound and feeling catch up with you, crash into you, slam you down as you fall at a million miles an hour, sure you're going to become roadkill, that this time, there is no upturn?  The acute, almost painful aliveness you feel just before it all happens?  That's what the anger stage feels like.

I wish I could say that Drew and I bonded together, that we found each other in the pain-hurricane and held on to each other and we are licking each other's wounds right now and growing in our love.

Two words:  Jerry. Springer.

I tried and failed, he tried and failed and we failed so very fantastically. 

Drew has not had something so terrible hit him so close before.  He does not have words, like most men.  Like most people who don't have words, frustration leads to anger and acting out.  And he had extraordinarily bad timing.

As I said before, he couldn't sit with me so I asked Kathleen to come down.  So my mother and Kathleen were in the house for me and Milton was there for him.  We each had our support systems and in theory we should have been able to cope.

It's tricky, this co-grieving.  The last time, once he made sure I had done it, he left and I picked up the pieces by myself, in my own time and in my own way.  It wasn't pretty but I found my smile again.  How do you do this when the person you shared the loss with expresses that in a completely different way than you do?

He prefers to grieve alone, I couldn't imagine anything worse.  I wasn't ready to be alone with my thoughts and still needed the physical connection of someone to hold my hand.  He felt that everyone was invading his space and all day Wednesday the resentment grew.  I woke up Wednesday afternoon to my mom, Kathleen and Milton sitting on my sofa watching a movie.  Wordlessly, I curled up next to Kathleen and took her hand and stayed that way for who knows how long.

They began to get hungry and started discussing the food situation.  After asking me what I wanted (really?), he and Milton left to get more movies and food.  I realized quickly that moving around was making me cramp so I parked my backside on the sofa and let Kathleen dote and flutter and coo, like the most beautiful... (what's the most beautiful bird in existence?  That was her.)  She was taking care of me and it was just what I needed.

Two and a half hours go by and they're still not back.  Mom and Kathleen brushed it off, saying that he needed his time too.  I was numb, but not so numb that I didn't get a little annoyed.  They were hungry and they boys knew that - what was taking so long?

Finally, they came back, loaded down with beer, food and movies.  He kissed me and I tasted the alcohol.  Are you saying 'oh no' and rolling your eyes?  Do you know what's coming? 

Everyone started drinking except me.  I had taken some pain pills and was/am deathly terrified of dying.  Everyone knows that pain pills and alcohol equal death.  I won't even take a Tylenol PM because I'm scared I won't wake up.  But they all did.  Beer led to more beer which led to margaritas which led to tequila on the rocks with a hint of lime.

We watched one movie for which the dog had been in her crate.  I was sitting with him when a second movie was proposed and he said that the dog needed to be let out, that he wasn't going to continue to punish her.  I told him that my mom and Kathleen are not dog people and it wouldn't kill her to stay in her crate.  He said that they weren't trying hard enough and got up to let her out.

The dog is 65 pounds and eight months old.  Puppy. Energy.

My mother and Kathleen and have already stressed Drew out with their lack of knowledge about how to deal with dogs.  Maya had already knocked over something my mom wasn't watching and we'd had to take Kathleen's shoes and socks out of her mouth numerous times.

It was pissing me off because I felt that Drew was more concerned with that stupid dog than taking care of me.  The Human.  The WIFE. 

The roller coaster was clicking its way to the top.  *clankclankclankclank*

I heard him open her crate and two seconds later Maya came skidding around the corner with a flying leap bounded onto the sofa, onto Kathleen's sleeping head, startling her awake.  She pushed off of Kathleen's head and launched herself at the other end of the sofa at my mom, stepping on Milton sitting between them.

*floating* *weightless* *silent* SCREEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAM

I FLEW off the chair, cramping like no other.  I snatched Maya's collar, dragged her back to the sitting room screaming at the top of my lungs "If you're not going to watch this fucking dog, put her back IN HER CRATE!"

I am NOT putting her back, she's been in there all day!
She just jumped on Kathleen's HEAD and practically knocked my mom off the sofa!

The slamming of the door was IT.  I HATE slamming doors - the same way I HATE being hung up on.  I was in the free fall, heading for the bottom and about to explode.  And then it dissolved into an alcohol-hazed, pain-filled, best of Jerry Springer episode, complete with an audience of three.

You care about that stupid dog more than you do me!
That dog is part of this family and she doesn't belong IN HER CRATE! (veins popping fists flying, me all-up-in his face, Wyandotte county style)
That is an ANIMAL!  I am your WIFE!  What the fuck is wrong with you!
Nothing! Get away from me!
AWHELLNAW muhfucka!  Not before you tell me what the HELL is up yo ass! (oh yeah, I got ghetto.  I seriously considered never posting again because of this).
Just get away from me!
Oh you think it's easy like that!  You think you can just go?  Naw, muhfucka we're MARRIED, you HAVE to deal with me!  What the FUCK is wrong with you!  (Two inches from the face, finger practically up his nose, all that)
Get away from me Desiree, I'll do it.  He showed me his phone, the 9 and the 1 entered and his finger on the 1.
You don't SCARE me!  Watch me DIAL 911 and hit send you fucking pussy! (Yep. I took it there.)
You did this Desiree.  You ended this marriage. (Yep.  He took it there.)
THE DAY!  THE DAY I have surgery to remove my dead baby, OUR dead baby and you have to act like this!  THE DAY I'm cramping and in pain and you have to do this!  OVER A FUCKING DOG!!!  FUCK YOU!

It is impossible to duplicate or properly describe the rage I felt.  I could feel every part of my body and it hurt.  I had wanted to be numb, to avoid this part, to avoid plugging in until the pain was less intense.  And I couldn't - I didn't.  It all hurt and I had a target and I fired.  And he returned fire.  It was all so very very ugly.

And that's what I remember.  There were other parts, knocking down beer bottles, breaking glasses, locking him out of the house barefoot in the backyard.  He got the key out of the garage and let himself back in, but it didn't matter.  He said he was going to leave me and I took ALL his clothes out of his dresser and ALL of his clothes out of the closet and threw them on the floor of the bedroom and sitting room - he wanted to leave, fine, he was taking ALL his shit with him.  He was screaming, I was screaming, crying, cramping, hitting, shoving - well shoving as best I could, me being weak and him outweighing me by about 50 pounds.

And yes, I called the police.  And yes, he left.  So did my mom and Milton and Kathleen because it came out that he didn't want them in the house, he never wanted them in the house.  To which I said, then why the fuck didn't you say anything.  To which he claimed he never had a choice, which set me off even more.  You have a mouth, you don't want something, you fucking use your words. Many, many times Kathleen asked him if it was okay if she came down and he said yes when he meant no.  He just didn't feel like he could say anything and frankly, he couldn't.  They were there for me, to do what he couldn't.  He should have been thanking them.  But instead, in classic passive-aggresive fashion, he sat in the corner and drank till he couldn't take it anymore.

The police officer came and I tearfully Jerry Springer-esque recounted my story.  My mom and Kathleen came back, he and the dog stayed with Milton.  In that moment, I didn't care if he ever came back.

I was so angry that he couldn't have just said something. 
I was so angry that he couldn't sit with me and cry with me.
I was so angry that he needed to control something so he focused on the dog.
I was so angry that he felt threatened by my relationship with my best friend.
I was so angry that he resented their presence.
I was so angry that he couldn't put himself second and devote himself to me.
I was so angry that I couldn't let him act like a baby and ignore his tantrum.
I was so angry that he drank and hid behind that excuse later.
I was so angry that I couldn't feel compassion for his loss and his pain.
I was so angry that I was bleeding and cramping and he didn't seem to care.
I was SO VERY ANGRY.

He didn't come back till late the next afternoon and it all started again, this time with less screaming, less name-calling, but more anger.

I have to stop now.  I can't breathe again.