Raging Sadness

I’m not well-acquainted with grief, personal grief. I don’t know its stages, haven’t read studies on how long it lasts. I’m still able to say I’ve only been to a handful of funerals, mostly because I avoid them. I don’t want closure, I’ll remember them living, thank you very much.

I realize now, how cautious I am about the amount of emotion I release into situations I deal with. Looking back over the past year or two, I see the pattern. I see how tightly I hold myself in check. It isn’t until I’m caught off guard, till someone finds that bare patch of flesh I don’t know I have, that I begin to understand the scope of the maelstrom I hold leashed inside me. I thought about Spank Me today, with almost a sense of yearning.

In the past few weeks, I’ve gotten a front row seat at the fire in my soul. Helplessly scorched as I watch him build sand castles from beaches he never visited, I shake my fist at him in impotent fury. Finally forced to abandon my Facebook feed because everything he posts he tags with her sweet name, I work on repairing the cast iron doors that keep it all enclosed. I weld and seal, sure I can fill the gaps, stop the painful flares.


As the melted iron drips on my shaking hands, I curse him for his lip service to a job he never bothered with while she was alive.

Meanwhile, the man who shouldered the actual responsibilities of her father mourns quietly, respecting the shattered feelings of her mother and younger brother. He asked permission to come and tell her goodbye.

The father that couldn’t be bothered with a living daughter, called the M.E. and Mortuary and invited himself.

On that last day, the day we all took our turns saying goodbye, step-dad approached me and asked if it was a good time to talk to her mother. His respect and careful handling of the situation, let us feel protected for a moment.

I entered the Mortuary shortly thereafter to find him taking a moment with her for himself, suddenly available for her now. He had not even the thought of waiting until her mother came in. It has always been about him. I know that. He shows up when she reflects prettily upon him, where there is limelight to share.

I want him to disappear off my radar again. I want to tear him limb from limb for daring to act the bereaved father when he never bothered to act the responsible one. I want to scream at the top of my lungs his deceit. I want the world to know the right of DNA is the only thing he ever willingly shared with her. I want everyone to shun the sappy, sloppy walk down a memory lane he’s cobbled from her memoirs.

I want to scream, and rage, and cry at the offensiveness of it all.

Instead, I drop my visor and resume my repairs.

0 thoughts on “Raging Sadness”

  1. Anger is a stage of grief! Please don’t repair all your holes and tuck that grief inside you. It will rot you out from the inside. Far better to let the grief out and deal with it now. The longer you take to try and deal with this the harder it will be to move on. Terrible things happen every day. We still must get up and move on. I’ll be praying for you!

    1. Apparently, Kübler-Ross just made up all of that stuff about the stages of grief. Seriously, she didn’t do any research at all. So however we experience it, is just the way it happens. I don’t even know what to say about the “father.” Maybe you could invite him into the welding room and remove his visor.

    2. Thank you. I’m feeling like I’m only holes right now, and just trying to shore up the whole place. It will continue to seep, drops at a time until we all breathe again. Maybe never easily, but with some sense of normalcy.

  2. I wish I could say something to make you feel better but I’m terrible with loss and knowing what to say. Sending you hugs.

    1. I’ve yet to meet someone good at it.
      A teacher asked me today, how my sister was doing. I rambled on for ten minutes not really saying anything of use. I don’t know what to say, myself. Thanks for your support, and hugs.

  3. Please know I am thinking of you and sending warm, positive, comforting thoughts.

    Having grown up with a large extended family I am all too aware of the grieving process. Some losses gradually fade away and we remember nothing but the great times. Others, like the loss of my Mom still hurt today…14 years later.


    1. Thank you for the thoughts. Our way to deal with grief, growing up, was send food, look away and move on. I’m sure you see the problem. It’s a tough one. I keep hoping someone will be able to tell me what to do next, how to help, the right thing to say.

      I’m beginning to suspect, there is simply no such thing.

  4. Your suspicions are, unfortunately, correct. A good friend gave me a copy of a book when my Mom passed away. I passed it on to a fried when their Dad passed. The book, I believe was titled Grieving – Peeling the Onion, was focused on working through each layer of grief in much the same manner as you peel an onion. Some layers take longer to get through.

    Please know that I am here as a sounding board and a really good listener….! Take care!

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