It Wasn't Supposed to Be This Way

I'm still angry. Really angry that my mom died. It's going on eleven years, and while I don't expect to ever get over it, I'm sometimes surprised by what I feel inside. This should be the happiest time of my life. Instead I've been depressed and crying. We adopted our wonderful son in August, after fighting to keep him for over three years. And we just bought an amazing house. But all I can think of is that she should be here to celebrate all of this with me.

Sometimes I feel like I want to act like a child and throw a complete fit, I'm so mad. I want to scream at people, punch girls with their mothers and stomp my feet until she comes back.

After ten years if I hear our special song in a store I still have to leave. I can't handle it.

Why couldn't she have died at 85 like she was supposed to? Why did it have to be at 50, where she missed out on so much of my life and her own?

When she first died, I used to cry every day. Sometimes all day. I used to leave work at ten in the morning crying, and come home and drink beer on my porch. By the end of that summer I could drink a six pack by myself.

Throughout the rest of the year I became reckless. I didn't care what happened to me. If I was lucky, I thought, I'd die and be with her again.

It's my fault my marriage ended. And I did nothing to stop it. I didn't care about anyone except for  myself and what I was going through.

I stopped believing in God for a long, long time. I still struggle with that, but it's getting better.

I just want to think of her and not be angry anymore. I want to not take it out on the people I love, because it's not their fault she's not here.

And, most of all, I want to live a life she'd be proud of.
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Thursday

It Wasn't Supposed to Be This Way

I'm still angry. Really angry that my mom died. It's going on eleven years, and while I don't expect to ever get over it, I'm sometimes surprised by what I feel inside. This should be the happiest time of my life. Instead I've been depressed and crying. We adopted our wonderful son in August, after fighting to keep him for over three years. And we just bought an amazing house. But all I can think of is that she should be here to celebrate all of this with me.

Sometimes I feel like I want to act like a child and throw a complete fit, I'm so mad. I want to scream at people, punch girls with their mothers and stomp my feet until she comes back.

After ten years if I hear our special song in a store I still have to leave. I can't handle it.

Why couldn't she have died at 85 like she was supposed to? Why did it have to be at 50, where she missed out on so much of my life and her own?

When she first died, I used to cry every day. Sometimes all day. I used to leave work at ten in the morning crying, and come home and drink beer on my porch. By the end of that summer I could drink a six pack by myself.

Throughout the rest of the year I became reckless. I didn't care what happened to me. If I was lucky, I thought, I'd die and be with her again.

It's my fault my marriage ended. And I did nothing to stop it. I didn't care about anyone except for  myself and what I was going through.

I stopped believing in God for a long, long time. I still struggle with that, but it's getting better.

I just want to think of her and not be angry anymore. I want to not take it out on the people I love, because it's not their fault she's not here.

And, most of all, I want to live a life she'd be proud of.
Post a Comment