This observation will be ongoing because no one appears to think that it's necessary to have a cheat sheet when you're young and find out that you're a damn widow. Let's add that you're a damn widow who had less than 30 days to prepare for your husband to die. As if you can prepare. Welcome to my ongoing cheat sheet on shit no one tells people when their spouse dies.
feel bi-polar even though I know I'm not. I can swing from pure happiness
to silent sobbing in a span of 10 seconds. Although I know it's normal, I
don't like it. Fuck it. It's horrific to feel like this and not know when
my emotions are going to get the better of me and take control.
they'll ask you to stop cursing, you don't have to stop cursing at
customer service reps who have the audacity to tell you, "I
understand." I have told a slew of those fuckers the following:
"No. No, you do not. You don't understand. Don't utter that phrase to me. Make notes in your sytem and tell you fucking supervisors to use MY RECORDED CALL to train fools who work for your company because you DO NOT UNDERSTAND. You are not 43. You are not a woman. You don't have two boys. And your husband did not just die in the span of one fucking month. You do NOT understand."
I always feel smug after I've let loose on them because there is a slight span of silence as the idiot on the other end digests the fact that I'm right and they're wrong. Dead-ass wrong. I also never apologize for these fits of crazy. I feel like people who have their spouses die like mine did have carte blanche to do and say whatever the fuck they want to for at least a year with absolutely no repercussions.
you dare tell me that God wanted him back. For real? Really? Do you think
God wanted him more than his son does? Fuck off. God didn't do this shit,
and you're stupid for bringing him into the conversation with me. Never
say that shit to me again.
my new diet consists of Special K breakfast sandwiches, coffee, water, and
crabcakes, don't bother me about it. I don't want to explain that I have
no appetite even though Richie will have been gone four months tomorrow.
Four fucking months of no appetite. And I'm so irked when people tell me I
HAVE to eat. You think I don't know that? You think I don't understand
self-care and basic caloric intake? I get it. I get it more than you know.
But getting out of bed, taking a shower, and taking care of my kid and
pets are about all I can handle right now. Don't preach to me about
eating. I don't want to hear it.
ask me when I'm going to date again. Really? It's none of your business
whether or not I'll consider dating - and if I do, I'm certainly not going
to notify you. Nosy mutha fucca.
alone. I crave it. I swear I haven't truly been alone just to breath by
myself in so long. I can't recall having time just to myself. I love my
son. I love him so much. I worry about him endlessly. But being around him
24/7 is driving me crazy. It's not even like he's a distraction. People
always talk about how lucky I am to have him and D to concentrate on.
Listen up - don't you dare fucking tell me how lucky I am. I'm fucked, ok?
There's no good way for me to have my husband dead. With kids. Without
kids. Either way, it fucking sucks. I've learned to take some time by
myself at night. Robert still sleeps with me. My goal is that he'll be in
his own bed by June, however, I don't have it in me to make him be alone
at night when he misses his father and needs my presence. For two weeks
now I've put him to bed after reading with him in bed. I leave the door
halfway open with the light on. The cats and dogs can come and go as they please.
Me? My ass, no matter how tired, sits on the couch because it means I am
ALONE. No one's talking to me, talking at me, talking about me. If I want
to sit with no television, no noise, I can. I can watch whatever I want
without worrying about some sex scene or crazy murder scence popping up on
the screen. I savor that time at night more than anything else at this
Wade through my angry ramblings and find the lesson here: Carve out some along time or you'll lose your damn mind.