Anger as a drug

I am back out of the anger phase for right now. But can I say that anger is as dangerous a drug as any to a mourning parent?

It is. It is a relief. A brief respite from this 'missing'.

But it does no good. It has to be controlled, and there is a real danger in losing oneself to it.

I have to say that sometimes it feels well placed. At times it may even serve a function, because I feel so passive when I am in my darkest it might be necessary to say, 'you don't know this but you are hurting me, KNOCK IT OFF'.

People are so naive they cannot comprehend sometimes. This is their world. Their families are the nexus. Their needs, their comfort. I was one of them too to a degree. I am sometimes one of them.

And they are right. This is their world. I am just living in it until I can go home.

But back to anger....

I see familes who direct it at responders that did their best and the familes grab onto as a lifeline, or focus it on Doctors who could not do the impossible. I know that anger is double edged, it feels good to attack someone with this crude knife without a handle, but it cuts your hands. It leaves your wounds open when you are unwilling to let go and the knife slices your fleash more the tighter you hang on to it. Healing becomes almost impossible.

But it is a drug. You feel instinctively this wounding anger and it distracts you from the sorrow. It feels good, but like any narcotic when you come off the high your life has not changed.

And I think of Perry. Of all my happiness surrounding him when he was alive, and I know this is not his legacy to me.

Sometimes I have to put the knife down. Try to open myself to something better, and pray that I can find something positive to take the place of pain.

This is Perry in the little zebra sleeper that he and Emily both wore home from the hospital. It is something I love that makes me happy, it is in my husband's drawer. I do not want to completely replace the happy bright spot in me that is Perry with anger. Anger removes the pain from the missing, but blots out the person you loved. I can't feel the joy he gave me when I am mad.

But then, like any aspect of mourning it will come again, unbidden as it may be. I am going to have to find more versions of plastic 'pop bubbles' to keep on hand. At least maybe then I can put a handle on the anger and keep it from hurting anybody.