The Tip of the Iceberg

Anger is not an emotion readily admitted to by many people, especially when it is being directed toward a deceased loved one.

I had no idea what my therapy session was going to produce, even as I sat in the waiting room uncomfortably aware of the intense anxiety wreaking havoc in the pit of my stomach. My nerves began harassing me from the moment I boarded the train and continued growing as I neared the building where I sit for an hour each week trying to sort through the mess Chris’ pain and eventual death have left behind.

Sitting on the forest green, leather sofa watching the time pass minute by minute I anticipated the sound of Clay’s steps descending the staircase. My heart was pounding and breathing easy was quickly becoming a thing of the past. I wanted to leave. I wanted to run out of there. I didn’t know why.

Once inside his office, I sat on the couch perpendicular to Clay’s chair and began relaying the feelings of anxiety that had all but overtaken me. I fidgeted uncontrollably, pulling at my own hair, clenching and opening my fists, crossing my arms, uncrossing them and finding the simple task of sitting still and conveying any notable events of the week past to be quite difficult. On a scale of 1 to 10, ten being any one of the millions of times I feared that Chris would die, I rated my anxiety a six.

What I have come to know is that experiencing anxiety at a level which causes me to want to run out of the room is a clear indicator that staying and talking will be most beneficial. My mind has a way with trying to protect me from my own fears and can be quite persuasive at convincing me that talking will not help.

I read my last blog entry to Clay. I often bring entries with me so I can remember how I felt the last time I fell. Typically, I don’t read my entries after I write them. I publish, close my laptop and set my sights on making my way through another week. I do not want to become too familiar with my feelings because then I will not be able to recapture and accurately relay them to Clay. Remembering my feelings right there at my therapy session forces me to process my feelings in the company of a trained professional. Don’t try this at home.

For forty minutes, I groped my way through the anxiety coursing through my body and tried to decipher it’s meaning and choked and coughed my way through the reading of my last blog entry. The recollection was despairing, to say the least.

I analogized Chris’ absence to the childhood game of “keep-away”. I can remember at least one episode when two schoolboys ripped the hat from my head after school and began throwing it back and forth, high enough so it was just out of my reach. I tried desperately to get my hat back, feeling angry and humiliated by the lack of control I had for the situation. Inevitably, the time would come when I just-wanted-my-fucking-hat-back. That’s how I feel all the time now, like I am done with this foolishness. I just-want-my-fucking-husband-back. That’s the way it goes. I’m ready for him to come back now but it’s over and he’s not coming and I have no control over it and I miss him and I love him and he’s gone forever.

What ensued during the last twenty minutes was a most horrid display of anger which began very deeply within my core and erupted, like a volcano spewing hot, molten lava in it’s wake.

I still feel guilty about the aspects of Chris that angered me, but I made a promise to myself to post the truth in this journal and I must do that in order to remain true to my purpose. There is no reason for me reveal those parts of our relationship that angered me, for there is a sacred privacy I choose to protect. What happened between Chris and me will remain forever within the circle of our love, flowing outside of that circle only in my own interest of marching forward.

Clay reassured me that all people feel intense anger toward their spouses from time to time and that anger is a normal part of a relationship. The fact that Chris is no longer alive has a way with making me feel as though I ought to be stricken dead, myself, for ever feeling so much as a shred of anger toward him.

But I do feel anger. I feel a lot of anger. Granted, most of it is because he died and left me here alone without him to love and to love me back. But some of it is just normal anger that I squelched when cancer came. I’m am not monstrous enough to fume at a man who is already under attack by cancer, chemo, loss of dignity, loss of a basic quality of life and under the threat of death. Still, my anger toward Chris makes me feel like a monster. I’m only human, though, and I have to forgive myself. For certain, I infuriated my husband periodically during our time together. Had he lived, we would have worked everything out. All we needed was time. We already had love and respect on our side.

I sat with Clay for the last twenty minutes of my session, yelling, swearing, hating and raging and I believe I have only seen the tip of the iceberg.

Now that therapy has become therapeutical, I am not so sure I want any part of it.