anger, really?

I’ve done some observation of widowhood and what is typical widow behavior, mostly sadness and trying to put on a brave face so people won’t cringe from you. Being noble, stoic and good, being lonely and pitied, all sympathetic states of being. There is one unexpected reaction too–anger.

Widow, the book by Lynn Caine, mentions it. She was pissed at her husband for dying, she claims. While I’m not mad at Jerry, I am angry for some surprising reasons. Surprising and selfish reasons, slightly embarrassing reasons like being mad that I’m alone and will be alone the rest of my life. I am a solitary person by nature, don’t like crowds and can be by myself without feeling lonely. Most of the time I prefer to be alone so the realization that I am permanently alone didn’t give me peace but irritated me instead. I also know I will be celibate the rest of my life and while I’m not thrilled about it know it’s part of being alone and I just need to suck it up. That part of life, a romantic life, is over and it makes me sad. And a little angry, not a big angry just a
small angry along with some disappointment and frankly this surprised me. I am embarrassed to admit I’m hyper aware of attractive men, mostly younger ones which makes me feel lousy and like I’m a pathetic old lech.

I don’t intend to date, to have a relationship with quote marks around it. The idea makes me queasy and feels repugnant. While it is fine for others and I wish them luck I know I want no part of it. So why am I upset? It could be ego, knowing no one wants you or that you are not desirable is what is bothering me. I will get over it, I know, but it still smarts.

I am tired, physically and mentally. I woke up at 4am and lay there until 5. Then when I came home Bear told me the monument place called, they set Jerry’s headstone yesterday. Bear also mentioned it will be six months that his dad has been gone this Sunday. It’s been on my mind as well, I don’t know what if anything I expected it to be like. I’m only really aware of him when I’m in the bedroom where he died. I don’t feel anything, no presence but I try to step carefully over the area where he lay.

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