Sunday, February 4, 2007

The Days of Anger

I think I'll do a post a day about something I'm angry at.

Just for a while...

If you're uninterested just click away. I won't be angry at you.

I'm angry at people who lie.

Steven's Sisters cried and screamed over his dead body for three hours.

The stood over a contorted yellow and bloating corpse to flog themselves yelling at the heavens, "We should have come and visited when he was alive." And other things but basically a self-flagellating yell that echoed through the halls of our fair hospital.

These were appropriate sentiments.

I believe Southern Baptists declare their sins aloud in Church and somehow are absolved of them? I'm unsure.

What infuriated me even more though was the, "honey, you did the best you could" and "he knew you loved him" that reverberated through the tiny room.

Bullshit.

They didn't do their best and he felt totally unloved and alone. Their best was jumping on a plane and coming to visit and they didn't do their best until he was long gone.

And you know what else? They didn't do their best until someone else footed the bill.

Greed is bad.

Catering to your basest fear is bad.

But consoling someone and telling them their behavior was acceptable when it was not. I'm still deciding who is the bigger asshole.

I detest false praise for children as much as false absolution for adults.

It's too fucking late to be a good family.

And Steven would kill me for feeling this, much less writing it because he's kinder and more forgiving than I am.

So what angers me is telling people it's okay to be bad as long as you feel guilty after the fact.

I grew up in a very observant home. I am first generation after the Holocaust. I'm the first American on one side, perhaps that sheds a little light on my rigidity and adherence to laws of conduct. My upbringing tells me, my belief system tells me that what you feel, what you believe and what you think are of no importance when compared to how you behave.

This behavior has left me very angry.

I spend every bit of energy I have today letting Adam and Eve feel loved and letting them know that my seething rage is at AIDS and a family's failure to actively love.

I know my children are small but I don't want them afraid of death. What I want is for them to watch our family value our lives.

This is a good lesson.

My children know AIDS.

6 comments:

Mamma said...

Couldn't agree more!

Kenn Chaplin said...

Another tag you could add to this post is "grieving" or "grief" because there are a lot of bereavement group members who might be looking for that in their blog searches. (We didn't have blogs, much less google or technorati, back in the day to help us in the groups I've been in.)

Believe me, that is not to roll up your anger at Dean's family into just part of the grieving process - cuz I think their reprehensible behaviour, long before any grieving began, is absolutely fair game.

I am not someone who self-censors anger (as opposed to rage) because, in my experience, there's just too much cathartic energy in expressing it. So far this has served me well, bucking the family trend - knock wood - for heart conditions. Like I'd need that... :)

You've got what it takes to vent anger in a really healthy way, IMHO, and plenty of wood to put on that fire right now.

If more people could channel their anger appropriately there'd be less road rage, much less violence and - I believe - fewer wars. I'm a big fan of punching pillows, tearing up old phone books and screaming-till-I'm-hoarse into the wind or a roaring surf.

Once again, I leave comments long enough to be a blog entry unto themselves :)

Hugs,
Kenn

Kenn Chaplin said...

Just checking in...

I'm sure there's a three-ring circus going on - mourning, annoyances, personalities...ugh!

((Warm hugs from a freakin' cold Canada))

Kenn

Kenn Chaplin said...

Nice to hear from you tonight. Hope you're hanging in ok.

Amy Jane said...

When my G-mother was dying this summer my mom told my brother and sister they didn't have to come yet-- almost *not* to come yet (Mom wasn't sure when Gma would die).

It was reassuring beyond words to me that they rejected her advice and wanted to be here.

Sis called and asked me what I thought. I said I knew there wasn't much time left and she should be here if she wanted to see Gma alive.

Both of them coming against "resistance" did a lot for my wondering how committed they were.

Like you say, words too late are so worthless.

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