236. Anger Is Part of It

Grief is more than crying. Sometimes it’s white hot anger. And today we pay homage to that part of the grieving process. 

Transcripts may not appear in their final version and are subject to change.

Nora McInerny: The woman in the corner is speaking barely above a whisper, and still her voice shakes. Her husband was taken from her, killed in a very preventable accident that spared everyone but him. She had a three-week old baby, a now-fatherless child, and so much anger. 

“People tell me I’m evil to have these thoughts,” she cried, and a room full of widows rush to reassure her that she is not evil, she is not vile, that her rage, at least here in this room, is sacred and righteous and perfectly legal.

Her eyes fill with tears and spill down her cheeks, and we are angry for her, and for ourselves, and for every time we bit our tongues clean through.

As a 31-year-old widowed mother who had spent three years caring for her husband as brain cancer devoured him, I expected grief to be…sad. I imagined my days would stretch out into an endless series of sobfests and weepalongs. 

I was ready for the sad, which meant I was ready for the crying. But grief, it turns out, is more than just crying. Sometimes it isn’t crying at all. Sometimes, it’s absolutely no crying whatsoever for many days, and then an unleashing of emotion completely incongruent with the time and place. It’s heartily sobbing along with Cher as she asks if you believe in life after love…in the middle of CVS, while you wait for your Lexapro prescription. It’s having one glass of wine and deciding that there’s no time like the present to tell your mother all of the ways she failed you as a child, therefore ruining your otherwise lovely weekend away together. 

Sadness I could understand. Sadness I could explain to other people, but I never had to. Even the dullest of dimwits could understand that death is sad. The anger was inexplicable and unwanted, though it shouldn’t have been — it’s right there in the five stages of grief! I knew those five stages — denial, bargaining, depression, anger, acceptance — but I assumed they were more of a buffet-style situation, like I could pick and choose which stages I engaged with. Anger? No thanks, but I’ll take a double depression with a side of acceptance if you wouldn’t mind. Anger only makes sense if you have something to be angry about, and something to be angry with. And while yes, I’m a person who has gotten into more than one verbal altercation in the Target parking lot, I couldn’t see what anger had to do with my husband dying at 35 from brain cancer.

After Aaron’s death, I was often complimented for my fearlessness, and I went along with it. Sure, I thought, I’m fearless. When the worst things have already happened to you — when you’ve lost a pregnancy, a parent, and a spouse within weeks of each other — you have a false sense of security. If it’s already rained and poured, what are the chances of a monsoon? 

But of course I was afraid. And for good reason. Because there is no Tragedy Punch Card you can fill up, there is no pass to get you out of the next difficulty. I was deeply afraid that my losses were just beginning. 

My anger was a shiny distraction from my dark, scaly fears. I wasn’t angry that our friends felt distant, I was afraid it meant that I wasn’t worthy of their friendship if I didn’t have Aaron attached to me. When they said or did the wrong thing, I feared it was because they’d stopped caring about me. 

That volcanic rage was a good distraction from feeling small and scared, but it made me even lonelier. How can anyone be there for someone who is built to blow up without warning? 

This is an ugly turn of events, but a natural one. There is evidence of this all around us, evidence of the earth cracking open to pour out its burning heart. 

The woman in the corner is surrounded by women who know this rage, this pain. Who know that it is as holy as her grief and her love. She is not alone. 

When lava cools, it forms things. Mountains. Islands. 

What will it form for her? What will it form for you?