Yesterday my days as Kurt’s widow surpassed those as Kurt’s wife. I have been widowed longer than I was married. Two years and two days is all we had. Two friggen years. Seven hundred and thirty days. In a lifetime, what does that equate to? At least in a normal lifetime – not one snatched away at age 35. And I’m not sad about it. Melancholy yes. Down. But not really sad.
What I really am is angry.
Mad that Kurtis was snatched from me so soon. Mad that it took so long in life to find him. Mad that Gavin had an even shorter time with him than I did. Mad that he had to die. Just mad...
Its the worst kind of anger – an anger that many who have lost someone close to them can perhaps relate to. I’m not mad at anyone. There’s no one to direct this at. No one to take it out on. I’m just mad that I’m in this reality. Mad at the situation. Mad at fate. I’m just mad.
Inside my heart is breaking. But as I type this I don’t want to cry – except for those two tears which always escape when I think of Kurt in any way. What I do want to do is run out to a field somewhere and flip-out. Punch the ground. Throw things into the sky. Have a good, old fashioned toddler-like temper tantrum. Yell at the universe, the cosmos, and ask it why? Let it know that my going through life silently, doing what has to be done, is not in agreement with this arrangement. Not because I like it. Not because I in any way accept it. But because I have been given no say, no choice. Let the fates know that they are, in this moment, this circumstance, not my friend.
I want to kick and scream and carry on until there is no energy left in me to go on. And then – and only then – I want to curl up on that very ground that I have beaten, and wash away any remaining anger, as well as the certain to follow sadness, with my tears. Let it all out. Release the emotions that are simmering inside me, begging for a release. Just cry, like I haven’t cried in a long, long time. Nearly two years....
Where will that leave me? Will I feel better? Probably not. My circumstances will not have changed. Kurt will still be dead, and from this day forward every day is one more day that my widowed years exceed my married ones. I’ll probably always somewhere inside carry some anger, some resentment, and some sadness that such is the case. But at least I will have emptied up some space inside to fill with the next wave of emotions that hits.
Whenever and whatever that will be.....
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