PSA

In response to my recent vlog post, it had been brought to my attention that some people are offended by my swearing.

And to them I kindly say: Fuck off.

You can be offended when your husband dies and leaves your children fatherless 🤷‍♀️

Losing My Religion

Queue R.E.M.!

This song reminds me of the ‘Grilled Cheesus” episode of GLEE.

Ok, but seriously, I was pretty fucking pissed at God when Sean died.

But then I realized something.

God didn’t kill Sean.

Sean killed Sean.

But still, I was faced with the question- Why would God let such a terrible thing happen to me?

It’s a question that many people ask themselves when something horrible, something out of their control happens. When Sean died the last thing I wanted to do was pray, or be prayed for and I DEFINITELY did not want to go to church.

What would I pray for? For my husband to be alive again? That none of this would ever have happened? Well, duh…but God and everyone else knew that those prayers would never be answered- so what’s the point? Furthermore, why would I want go to church and worship a God that clearly didn’t care enough about me to stop this from happening? Honestly, it’s the same reason I didn’t want to go to therapy for months after Sean died. I thought- what the hell could you possibly tell me? What could you possibly have to say to make me feel better about my situation? NOTHING.

But one day I woke up and decided- what the hell (pun intended)- I’ll go to church.

And so I went.

I went with my best friend to a Catholic church, since she’s Catholic and I was raised Catholic so that’s where I felt most comfortable.

It was not comfortable.

I didn’t know what to say, so much had changed since I’d last gone to mass and I felt so out of place. For the life of me I can’t remember what they talked about but it must have resonated with me because I decided to go back again and since then I’ve been going every week.

So, back to my original question of why God allows bad things to happen- I really don’t think it’s ‘part of God’s plan’. Let’s be honest here, if it was truly part of God’s plan for my best friend, my partner in life and the father of my unborn child to kill himself ….then God must be a real asshole. If the all-loving, all-knowing, merciful and just God is running the show then why is he doing such a shit job of it?

I have a couple thoughts on this; God permits as many good things to happen as he does bad- why does God permit happy marriages? The birth of healthy children? The simple answer would be that God wants us to be happy and in this explanation God would also want those suffering to be happy- so then why does he permit the suffering to continue?

To truly answer this question, we’d need to know God’s providential  plan…and I don’t presume to know that. When Jesus suffered his passion some of his last words were “Eli Eli lama sabachthani” or “My God. My God. Why have you forsaken me?” Even the son of God questioned his role in God’s plan. Even Jesus didn’t get to know why…and if Jesus didn’t get to know why then you can bet that you and I sure as shit don’t get to know why terrible, tragic things are happening to us.

God never guaranteed a happy life for us, he never promised we would live a life without trials and tribulations. But he did promise paradise to those whom believe in him until they are called home. At mass this evening, Father Jack said that sometimes when you’re at rock bottom, when you don’t know what to do, when you are empty..don’t turn away from God. Because when you are empty, that means there is room for God to fill your life. Sometimes empty is good.

Empty makes room for change.

Good Grief

You don’t get to judge my grief.

You have no right to say “Don’t you think it’s time to move on?” or “Don’t you think you’re moving on too soon?”

You have no right to question how or when I grieve.

You have no right to question how or when I move forward.

Unless you have walked in my shoes (and I can guarantee you haven’t) you don’t get to say shit.

What you need to understand is that everyone grieves differently. Even those in similar circumstances- for example- I have no understanding of my mother-in-law’s grief as I’ve never buried a child (and I pray to God I never have to) just as she has no understanding of my grief as she’s never buried a husband, the father of her children.

The other thing you have to understand about grief is that the whole “stages of grief” thing is total bullshit. Sure, there are general categories of grief but grief does not occur in stages, it is not linear and it does not follow a timeline.

Grief does whatever the fuck it wants whenever the fuck it wants. It can consume your being at times, and at other times, be seemingly absent.

Grief happens in the middle of your work day. Or in the car on your way to drop your children off at daycare. I crawl into the bed we shared each night with grief.

Grief keeps me awake at night and exhausts me until I finally give into sleep. Grief makes me hide in my car to scream and cry so I don’t frighten my small children.

Grief makes me sit in the cemetery and close my eyes and wish that I was dead along with you.

Grief makes me grateful that I am not.

Grief makes me appreciate everything more passionately, more fiercely than I ever did before.

Grief is life’s cruelest teacher.

Gold Stars for Grown-Ups

Grown-Ups deserve gold stars, too, ya know.

 

Especially the grown-ups with a dead husband.

You actually got dressed today?! 

You talked to another human being? 

Without mentioning your dead husband? (I don’t get a star for this one)

BONUS STARS IF YOU MAKE EYE CONTACT 

You didn’t throat punch the women in line at at grocery store for complaining about their husbands? 

Wait…you ACTUALLY went to the grocery store? 

BONUS STARS IF YOU DIDN’T SPEND MORE THAN $50 ON ALCOHOL AND SWEETS ☆ 
☆ DOUBLE BONUS STARS IF YOU DIDN’T CRY SNIFFING THE KIND OF DEODORANT HE USED TO WEAR IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STORE 

(I also don’t get a star for either of these)

You kept your children fed, showered and alive today? (cereal counts as dinner) 

Kept yourself fed, showered and alive today? (dry shampoo counts as a shower, right?)

 

But you know what?

Even if you didn’t do any of this today.

Even if you’re just here.

Just alive and you make it through another day…

 

 

Hate

I hate that you’re dead.

I hate that I have the route to the cemetery, to your grave, memorized.

I hate that “widow” is part of my identity now and that every time I fill out paperwork I have to check that stupid box, reminding me of what you did and what I am.

I hate that my children don’t have their father.

I hate that you left me and our children to bear the burden of all the confusion, anger and sadness.

I hate that everyday that will bring me and our children joy will also be tainted with the sting of grief.

I hate that my child’s vocabulary regularly includes words like “dead/die, ashes, funeral, ect,.”

I hate that I have to carefully skirt around the question of how you died in front of our son so that I can protect and preserve what’s left of his innocence.

Most of all, I hate that one day I’m going to have to tell him “Dad died from something called suicide.”

I hate that I’ll have to do it a second time with our daughter.

…and here I was dreading the sex talk.

I’ll love you forever but right now- I hate you.

(P.S. Still totally dreading the sex talk.)