Grief is Ugly

Grief is ugly. Grief is sad, lonely, and angry. Tonight grief looked like me driving to work, at 8:00pm at night, to do something that could have waited until tomorrow, to simply avoid being alone on Super Bowl Sunday. Super Bowl Sunday, such a benign, insignificant day in the scheme of things, but a day that grief made insurmountable. It’s not like I LOVE professional football, or that we had amazing Super Bowl parties, it’s that I enjoyed the time with my husband the last two years eating football food and watching the commercials, and this year, I’m completely alone. I’m sad that he isn’t here. I’m sad that I’m alone. I’m sad that I’m having to do things solo.

Tonight grief is unbelievably lonely. I would seriously have gone and hung out with people I don’t even like to avoid being alone tonight. For whatever reason tonight it stung to be alone. I guess it’s lonely because I think of all the wives who are complaining about their husband being so excited about the Super Bowl, and I would do anything to just have my husband back. I would honestly welcome any company at this point to not feel alone, and that is a weird feeling for me, because my circle is super small, my personal bubble is very large, and I don’t always let people in. However I feel an emptiness not having my husband here. It is a loneliness like I have never felt before.

Tonight grief looked like me being angry. Angry that I’m having to muddle through all the things that you told me not to worry about, that we would “figure them out together”, but now it’s just me trying to figure it all out alone. Angry at myself that I let my guard down and let you take care of me. Angry that I’m having to re-learn how to be a single mom after having you fill the role of my better half so well for the past two years. Angry that I’ve always been told how strong I am, but yet grief has me feeling completely weak and helpless.

Tonight grief looked like me listening to hard rock music the entire drive to work and back. Tonight grief looked like a trip to the daiquiri barn for a large daiquiri to drink when I got home to numb the pain. Tonight grief won, but tomorrow is a new day. Hopefully tomorrow I will convince myself that I will be ok. Hopefully tomorrow a clear mind will remind me that the fear of facing tomorrow without you is simply that, a fear, and that fear is a liar.