Sand Castle

I think I’ve been angry lately. And so the grief cycle continues, pulling you back in right when you think you’ve finally shaken it. Up and down, back and forth. And while it’s nice that the waves come less often, it also means that they are less expected. I don’t look out for them. I don’t have a chance to inhale deeply and brace myself before they crash into the paradise I’ve created on the shore, the paradise I thought I could just keep building up and up and up until the waves couldn’t reach us anymore. A place where we would be safe.

I’m angry that Gregg didn’t fight more. And that’s selfish of me, I know. But I am. I’m angry that he side-stepped all the help that was offered to him, that every time he started to reach for a hand, he’d reach for something else instead- a bottle, a pill, whatever was his current remedy. For all the hurt and pain and trauma that he endured, there was a lot of love and hope and joy here for him. And he didn’t reach out and take the hands offering it. And it doesn’t really matter if he couldn’t or if he wouldn’t… the outcome is the same.

Maybe this wave of fiery-red, angry grief has hit because Thomas has been talking about him more. Not in the usual cheerful “my daddy was this” and “my daddy was that” way. In a “my daddy left because he hates me” and “I just want to see my daddy” way, with big tears rolling down his cheeks. And I’m pissed that this is his experience. And Luke’s. And that this is the legacy they have inherited.

I won’t be in this place forever. I’ll work through it and I’ll feel better. But right now it hurts.

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