I didn’t sleep well last night. Rage consumed me. I’m so mad at Nathan for the pain his death is causing to his parents, his family, his friends, my son. I say to myself,
“If you weren’t dead, I’d slap you upside the head.“
I remember being furious after Art died. I’d yell at his side of the bed,
“If you weren’t dead, I’d kill you!”
And, in the beginning, that was often followed by a string of choice swear words. I’d yell “F-you, that was not part of the deal we made!” And then I’d clench my teeth and scream, raging at him.
I’m not as angry at Nathan as I was at Art, but still, I think, “Stupid kid, stupid, stupid kid. You are causing endless pain.
And my fingers tingle like they did when I got mad at my dead husband.
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I called Lisa today. She declined the call, so I texted her, “Sweety,” I wrote “I just wanted to let you know that meals are coming. Your private school community has you, Sam and Travis.
Right now, the meals are coming every day. That may be a bit much. Just say the word and Fanny and I can space them out. Let me know where you stand with things like bread, OJ, breakfast food, and toilet paper. I can pick up and drop off anytime.”
It feels good to be matter-of-fact and not touch on how sick I feel about Nathan’s death.
And then I find a new target. COVID-19.
What I want to do is march into Lisa and Sam’s house, open the fridge and pantry and make a list of the foods they have and their brand names. Then when someone goes shopping for them, there is no guessing on whether to get 1% or 2% milk. But I can’t go near them. None of us can.
I think again, “F- you COVID for making it impossible to hug Lisa. You’re making this process so much harder for them."
"If I could see you, if you weren’t microscopic, I’d kill you!”
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