It only took 18 and a half months but I am finally ANGRY.

I have felt bits of anger here and there but this is the first time that I have truly felt ANGRY.

I wrote about my sad grief mix a few weeks ago but now I realize I need an ANGER mix.

Please comment with any suggestions.

I have never listened to ANGRY girl music but I have a feeling I am about to start.  I only know Alanis.

And I have always wondered- What did Dave Coulier do?


For the record, I want to start that I don’t care what the so-called grief experts (who probably have fancy degrees and learned everything in a textbook and probably haven’t actually experienced grief) say- grief doesn’t come all packaged up in neat little stages.


Yes, at first I was in shock and denial.

But then I jumped over to dialogue and bargaining because I started this blog 5 months after Bryon died.

And now I am somewhere between “anger” and “depression and detachment”.

Except I am not helpless.  F*ck that.

The following chart gives a more accurate representation of expectation(left) versus reality (right).


I am ANGRY that my husband and the life I was supposed to be living were stolen from me.

I am ANGRY that my dreams died with my husband.

I am ANGRY that I will probably not have another child.

I am ANGRY that I lost those 5 months with my daughter when my husband was in the ICU.  I am grateful for my parents for taking care of her and I know I needed to be with Bryon, advocating for him and overseeing his care but I won’t get those five months back.

I am ANGRY that I had to sit in an ICU room watching my husband cling to his life.

I am ANGRY that I had to watch him suffer.

I am ANGRY that he was hooked up on machines and we couldn’t talk.  We didn’t get any closure.

I am ANGRY because in my daughters daycare class there is a chart that lists the kids and their parents name and my daughter is the only one that only has one parent listed.

I am ANGRY because at age 3, she already has a better understanding of death than many adults.

I am ANGRY whenever I hear other parents complain that their spouses are gone for a couple of days.  Yes, it’s hard.  I remember when Bryon had to go away for work.  But it’s a whole lot harder when they are gone forever.

I am ANGRY that the doctors didn’t save Bryon nor did they seem to care.  Maybe it would have been different if it had been their loved one.

I am ANGRY at the healthcare system for being so shitty.  It’s all about money, not people.

I am ANGRY at God.  I was taught that he was a loving God and that was all a lie.

I am ANGRY at all the people who tell me that “God doesn’t hate you”.   Um…okay…

I get ANGRY when I see everyone living their perfect lives on Facebook.  By perfect, I mean living lives where they don’t have a dead spouse.  Because to me, that is perfect.  I get no marriage is perfect.  Bryon and I did not have a perfect marriage.  But even on our worst day, it is still better than the hell I am living.

I am ANGRY that I am turning 40 this year and that I am in this position.  So much for playing it safe and making good life choices.

I am ANGRY that I am alone and broken.

I am ANGRY that I am viewed as damaged.

I am ANGRY that I don’t fit into my own life anymore.  I am a square peg in a world full of round holes.

I am ANGRY that despite having lots of loving friends, I am still lonely.

I am ANGRY because I have lost my innocence.  If I ever fall in love again (which I probably won’t because I am broken and damaged) I will always have that fear that they could die young too.  This could all happen again.

I want my old life back.

Why me?

What did I do to deserve this?



It’s been a pretty average Monday.

I wake up.  I take my daughter to school.  I go to the gym. I stop at Dunkin’s and get a medium iced with caramel swirl, cream and a turbo shot.  I go home.  I shower.  I work. I pick my daughter up from school.  We have dinner.  We watch Doc McStuffins. She goes to bed.  I will work some more.

I guess this is the new normal that everyone kept talking about.

F*ck my new normal.

I want my old normal back.

I want my old life back.

Yes, I am strong.  But please understand that I am only strong because there is no alternative.  I have to do it for my daughter.

I am just a shell of the person I used to be.

At times, my life feels pointless.

Like I am just existing.

I hold back on my emotions sometimes.

Because it’s easier to hold it in then to explain.

People don’t understand that I can just have a bad day.  So it’s easier to just hold it all in.

I also hold it back because people don’t understand that sometimes I just need to vent.  I don’t want unsolicited advice, especially from someone who has no clue what I am going through.

And be glad you have no clue.

At the end of the day, the life I was supposed to be living was stolen from me.

I don’t know what I did to deserve this.

I followed all the rules.  I tried so hard to be a good Catholic girl and then a good Catholic wife and mother.  I was raised to believe that God was good and it was all a lie.

While I was not always the easiest person to live with, I was a faithful and loyal wife.

I rarely complained when Bryon’s work got in the way.  I knew the importance of his livelihood.

I married a bit late at the age of 34.  But that was okay.  Bryon was worth waiting for and we had our whole lives together.

And that was ripped away less than four years later.

Life is cruel.

Widowhood is lonely.  Everyone around me is coupled off and happy.  They have their spouses to talk to and lean on.  They have their futures.

Bryon should be here with me.  We should be happy.  I should have him to talk to and lean on.  We should have our future.

My future is a black hole.

I am lonely and want my life back.

I exist and on some days, that takes up every bit of energy I have.

I am so angry.

The healthcare system failed Bryon.  God failed Bryon.

Bryon’s death was completely unnecessary.

I tried my hardest to save Bryon.

But the healthcare system and God won out.

But I am the one who get to replay everything that happened in my head, over and over again.

Because watching my husband cling to his life for 5 months and then die once wasn’t enough.

And tomorrow I get to do it all over again.

The second year is a b*tch

During my first year of widowhood, I learned what coping mechanisms did not work.

I tried to outrun grief, literally.  I ran a half marathon 6 weeks after Bryon died.  It was one of my biggest accomplishments in my life.  I hope to do it again.  But with only 6 weeks of training, my knees were not happy with me.

I tried to eat my emotions.  I gained back all the weight I lost when Bryon was sick and then some.  My knees continued to be unhappy.

I tried to keep busy and outsocialize my grief.  But now I am exhausted and nothing is getting crossed of my to-do list.  Being with friends is important but I have ignored spending time with myself.

There was one night I had some Spanish red wine.  That night I watched Jinger Duggar’s wedding and I bawled my eyes out.  But the next morning I had a headache and I was too old to be waking up with headaches.

I would go to Target whenever I was sad.  Nothing could cheer me up more than buying my two year old daughter a pair of pink cowgirl boots.  However, that cheerfulness would never last long.  My daughter had a great wardrobe that year.  A wardrobe she promptly outgrew and I gave away.

Writing helped my grief.  It helped me sort out my feelings.  But it also caused me to intellectualize my feelings which can prevent a person from feeling those feelings.  It is a mechanism I have used my whole life.

While I participated in some questionable grief practices, I have never denied my grief.  I have always acknowledged it.

But maybe I did something wrong because now I feel a flood of anger consuming me.

Let’s say grief is like an ocean.  Grief, like the ocean, can make a person feels small and insignificant.  Both grief and the ocean can be peaceful and serene at times and stormy and dangerous at other times.  Well I am standing in an island in the middle of this grief ocean and my anger is like a large wave crashing down over me.

Anger for all that happened to Bryon and for all his physical, mental and emotional pain.

Anger at how the events transpired.

Anger that Bryon and I never got to discuss what was happening nor did we get to discuss “what if”.

Anger that Bryon isn’t here to help me raise my daughter.

Anger that Bryon didn’t get to accomplish all his dreams and that we didn’t get to accomplish our dreams together.

Anger at the isolation I feel.  Everyone else gets to live normal lives  and not the “new normal” that I was told I needed to find when Bryon died.  I want the old normal.


The second year is isolating.  Just as the reality of Bryon’s death is hitting me, people think I should be “over it”.

The second year is a b*tch and I still have nine months of it.