Grief's Irate Companion

You know the movie Inside Out, the character Anger? I feel like I'm the living embodiment at the moment.

I have been missing Joe a lot lately. Things have been happening that he normally would have been at, Pax got his all clear from his counsellor that he was doing really well and, while he can obviously come back if need be, we didn't need to make an appointment for every three weeks anymore - it would be on an ''as needed" basis. Throughout all of this, I had begun to feel genuinely happy some days.

Enter June 13th.

It has been a hard week for numerous reasons. Fighting kids, temper tantrums, husband working overtime, dance recitals...I'm tired. June 13th marks the final month of all of our firsts. Three days later, the 16th, would mark one year since my final solo interaction with Joe.

To say I have been a wreck is an understatement. It's like every morning I wake up and feel all of the emotions that I felt in the days after his death. Emotions that I felt every once in awhile, but didn't feel them close together. Wednesday I was sad, but okay. Thursday I was puddle of tears. The tears continued Friday, and slowed a bit only with my massage on Saturday, where she released a lot of my stress in my neck.

Joe and Nadine were moving in to their new place, the top floor of a house, at this time last year. A place that was supposed to give Joe more space and calm. We had Pax's final playoff game that day, as well as the wrap up party, so we showed up later to help. We arrived at the new house to find Joe had locked himself in the master bedroom. He was a mess, because things hadn't gone the way they were supposed to when it came to him and the move.

It's really important to address and remind you how severe Joe's PTSD was, and how physically in pain he was. He couldn't help move things, the chaos of his safe place being upturned around him was a lot. He didn't sleep well, so his body couldn't recuperate the way it needed to, and he didn't drive, so getting out was harder for him. He was upset, and taking that out on Nadine, so I went up to take him out of the house until it was all done.

He wouldn't leave.

This made me angry, because even I didn't really understand how bad his PTSD was. In my mind I was trying to be helpful, but was also a little upset that he would be so needlessly hurtful to Nadine. It hurt my heart to hear her say that it was her fault when I knew that it wasn't. I kept telling him to stop getting upset with me and that I was trying to be helpful, but he was in a frantic state. I left the room, him thinking that I was upset with him when I wasn't. I was just frustrated.

I took the kids and went grocery shopping while Rob stayed behind. I went to my parents house and vented to them about how frustrated I was with Joe because I didn't feel like he was getting the help he needed. Joe could be stubborn and out drama the best of us. Needless to say, I carry a lot of guilt around with me because of the things that I said about him that day.

On June 29th, Nadine dropped Joe off at the ball field while she was working. He sat with Thaida and I, making fun of Rob because he was in baseball pants. This was the last time that I saw him smile.

On July 1st, Nadine and I watched Paxton play ball while Rob stayed at home and hosted a Canada Day party at our house. Joe was with Rob, and by the time Nadine and I arrived he was ready to go home so they had dinner quickly and left.

On July 7th, we invited Pat out to watch a baseball game and spent the evening with him where we discussed Joe, and my final words on the topic where that there is no way Joe would ever hurt himself, and that he and would find their way back because they are best friends and that's what you do.

On July 11th, I invited them to watch a game as part of a tournament. Joe texted me back and said that they would love to come, but Paxton has to promise to hit a home run. When they arrived Nadine was talkative, but he stayed off to the side. It was clear he was having a bad day, and rather than pester him, I just sort of let him be. We had plans to see them Sunday, and I was sure that he would be in a better mood by then. We said our goodbyes and that was it...the last time I saw him.

As each of these dates draws nearer, my anxiety goes up. I live in a constant state of fight or flight, and it's not fun. I wake up every morning with the intention that today is going to be a better day. I will keep my temper, I will keep my calm, I will find my zen. The whiplash between sadness and anger is overwhelming.

This is where anger really and truly comes in.

For the past 11 months, I have been finding ways to navigate the sea of grief. Some ways work better than others, but we as a family have done it. But anger... Anger never really leaves. With every teardrop it grows, every night that I need to cuddle my almost nine year old to sleep because he is inconsolable. Every sleepover that we have had to pick him up from, a problem that he never had before Joe killed himself, my anger grows. Every baseball he hits, every funny thing my daughter does, every empty stare my husband gives when he's thinking of him, the worry I have about Pat being left alone when Anna is in Europe, Nadine coming home to an empty house, his mother sitting at his graveside alone. Every time the room goes silent when one of us brings him up around a group of people that didn't really know him, but don't know how to act with us when we bring him up. It all makes me angry.

I'm so angry at Joe. I am so angry that he couldn't find the words to tell us. That he widowed my friend before she was thirty, didn't make things right with Pat, and took away his mother's child. I'm angry that he made this choice for us, that we didn't get a say in something was going to change our lives forever.

I'm so angry that our love wasn't enough. I'm so angry that he thought he wasn't enough.

I'm so angry that with the shot of a gun he became a statistic, and in so doing, made us one.