Bargaining up the Wrong Tree

I loved Chris with everything I had in me. I loved him and I miss him every day of my life. I think about the times we spent together and the style in which we interacted. His sense of humor was beautiful and unique, offbeat, quirky and it matched my own sense of humor completely. I don’t know how to go forward always thinking that whatever love I find in my life will be less than that. Less loving. Less beautiful. Less funny. Less.

A few weeks ago, I told Clay that I had been angry with him and that I didn’t know why. As far as I could tell, I just targeted him because he’s the therapist and he has to deal with everything I do and say and that’s just too bad. I realized the reason for my anger this past week.

Somewhere deep inside of me, I still feel like Chris’ absence is temporary, like he’s going to come back eventually and then we can resume our life together. The thought is not a conscious one, rather more of a feeling.

Since I have been seeing Clay, I have been thinking that if I’m good, and I come every week and try to sort through my feelings, that then I can have Chris back. Furthermore, I have been feeling as though Clay has the power to give him back to me and each week that didn’t happen, I became angry with him for not doing it. It sounds absurd, but as I mentioned, the thought has not been on a conscious level. I think my behavior fits nicely into the “bargaining” stage of grief. Clay won't give Chris back to me because Clay's power does not lie within the ability to ressurrect the dead, but in the ability to help ressurrect the spirits of the living who have been left behind by the dead. In silently begging Clay to give him back, I'm afraid I have been bargaining up the wrong tree.

If there was a person who had the power to give Chris back to me but wouldn’t, I would fight that person to the death. I would punch, kick, claw and pummel until there was nothing left between me and Chris and then I would pick Chris up and run with him until we reached a safe place where I could nurse him back to health until he was strong enough to help himself. And nobody would ever take him away from me again.

I wish it was that easy. I have a big problem. I want to spend the rest of my life with a man who died, but instead I’m going on a third date with Marc, who’s very nice and who is about to find out about the grief I have been experiencing because I am going to tell him about it. He already knows my husband died and he knows when and he knows the story. In order to let him in a little, I think it’s fair to tell him about what it’s like for me and how guilty I feel and just how hard coping has been for me.

Try as I might, I can’t bring myself to tell him I don’t want to see him anymore. I do want to. Even if every date sends me into the eye of a grief-storm for the better part of the week to follow.