A flashback, the anger I hadn't experienced in a long time...
The anger, oh the anger, towards everyone. But most of all him. How could he? How could he ignore the best thing God’s given him? How could he not put the pride to the side and reach out for help? How in the world am I going to raise these girls now? How am I going to make a way for them to know their father’s family? Have a loving relationship with their brother? How am supposed to do this?
What the fuck is so amazing? Who the fuck is this chick? How more important than his children can everything else be? All of these thoughts, yeah, I said them. More than that, I said them to him. I said all of these mean, hateful things when he was alive and then turn around, light a candle and pray to God every night that he would somehow have a miraculous turn around in his life. I’d pray that he would find peace, make amends on his wrongs, and make things right so his children wouldn’t have to live the life I lived. THAT is what made me so angry. The fact that when I met him things were so good, just like when my mother first met my step father. Then when the bells rang, that was all over. The chaos, fighting, and addiction took over our everyday lives. That I thought leaving, would make him change. It didn’t, it only made things worse. The distance grew, phone calls stopped. It was suddenly up to me to make sure my girls knew him, his family and their brother.
When he died, it just solidified that this is how the rest of our lives would be.
So much anger, followed by guilt, followed by more anger. The days went on and on, how can everyone just go on? How in the hell am I supposed to answer my daughters when they ask where he is? How am I supposed to send them to school on “Donuts with Dad” day.
You know what, I’ve done it. I’ve done it every day for 2 and a half years. Even though I still choke on my words when they ask about him. Even when Malayah thought my friend’s husband was her daddy at her third birthday. Even when I feel the weight of our entire world on my shoulders at night and cry myself to sleep. I STILL get up and do it.
The anger was a mask for denial and a time suck. A distraction and a way to deflect the reality that I was dealing with. Sis, don’t waste time being angry. You deserve to heal. Not for your children, not for the sake of saving face, you need to heal for YOU. You are worthy all on your own.