I don't want this.

My tears surprised me. I guess I thought I was ready for the phone call I knew would come. I realize now I wasn't.

For hours after the early morning announcement, I didn't cry. Even during a call I made to a mutual friend of ours to tell her the news, no tears came.

And then hours later, the realization that I will never again hear his voice and with it the flood gates opened. I cried. In the house alone, I yelled at him and I yelled at God. I was just so angry. I guess I still am.

"It's ok to be angry," said my husband. He talked about the stages of grief and how normal it is and on and on. I love my husband, but sometimes he can be so pragmatic. I don't want to do the math of the process of grieving. I want to shake somebody, hit something, and scream until my throat hurts. I hate myself for feeling that way. I don't want to be mad.

My ex-husband and his wife came over last night and we laughed and joked and as soon as they walked out the door, I felt ashamed of myself. How could I be frivolous when my friend was dead? How could I dare to act as if nothing was different when he was lying in a funeral home somewhere? How could anything be funny to me when his parents have lost their son, his wife lost her husband and the world lost him?

I fell asleep trying to remember every single thing I could about him. His hair, his hands, his laugh, the way he walked. I don't know why.

I know life goes on. Yesterday as I was crying I looked outside to see the breeze still blowing the leaves around and people driving past in their cars. The world continued to turn even though I felt like it was nothing short of disrespectful to do so. Maybe that's why I'm mad. It doesn't seem right.

I understand and I don't. Logically I know it's ok to laugh, to feel good, to enjoy living. In fact, I know that's what life is…the opportunity to do all those things. But right now, I can't get there. I can't quite swallow the logic. I know his obituary will be in the online paper in his hometown today and I am afraid to look. To see his life summed up in a few black and white paragraphs will be too real and I don’t know that I handle it. I'm sick of the facts, of the logic of death.

I'm just so angry.



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