Seeing Red

Lately, I've been feeling angry. I understand that it's normal, part of the process, another expression of grief. There’s a lot to be mad about, but it’s not easy to be angry.  Sad felt better, easier, a tad more familiar.  Sad seemed organic, able to dissolve quietly and on its own.  Anger just sits, savage and intractable.  I hope eventually the feeling will subside, that I won't be angry forever.  But right now, I am.

It's the railing against fate kind of anger, the kind that asks Why us? and Why her?.  It's the kind of anger that makes me want to lash out, to cast unwarranted blame. It's the kind that lies dormant until a catalog arrives in the mail - taunting toys and teasing traditions - and the folly of my expectations, the failure of my dreams, arrives along with it.  It's the kind that's triggered by well-meaning comments, words I've likely misinterpreted, that get tangled up with jealousy and yearning.  The kind that cycles and worsens as I feel angry with myself for feeling angry.  It's the kind of anger that makes me feel like I'm all buttons, and they're all pushed.  The kind of anger that is divorced from anything specific but connected to everything in general.  The kind that swallows me up whole and distracts me from important things.  The kind of anger that leaves me feeling utterly exhausted.

Being not so well-acquainted with anger, I'm not sure what to do.  But I do feel like I better apologize upfront, make a blanket statement to everyone I see or speak to.  I’m afraid, all too often, my emotions are misdirected, the worst ones are shared with the people I love the most.  And I'm sorry.
Anger doesn't mesh well with the season.  I know.  But this isn't how a two-year-old's visit with the man in red is supposed to go.

JEB