In my less zen, peaceful moments, I am so fucking angry. It's the reverse of the guilt. If I don't feel guilty, that's means it's his fault, not mine. And that makes me so pissed at him I could scream.
Which, of course, makes me feel guilty again. Because he was my husband and I should have helped, should have done something, surely, anything... and God knows I loved him. And hating him, for what he did, doesn't sit well with any of that.
But, fuck. Some days I hate him so much I can barely breath from the ugly pressure of it on my chest.
Some days, I really hope he's not at peace. That was given to me as a reason, a few times, for why I had to do this, or do that- so Tony can rest in peace. What the hell? Why? Does I look like I'm a peace, or my kids, or his family? Why does he deserve to be at peace, when we're not, and he's the one who started all this?
I hope he's floating, somewhere in limbo, watching us fight and cry and mourn and weep, and kicking himself for being so freaking stupid and selfish in the first place.
He'll find his peace soon enough, when we start to find some too, I think. But then he gets an eternity of peace, while we get to live with the fucked-up-ed-ness of this forever.
And, again, that just makes me feel worse. the guilt of wishing that on someone I loved eats at me, corrodes the pleasantness that still shimmers in my soul. Which, again, makes me angrier- how could he do this to me, to us, to everyone?
And all that anger and guilt, it just adds up to more pain. And I wonder how much the levels would change, had he died of an accident, a heart attack.. would the pain be worse, but the guilt be less? Would I still be angry at him, or would I have to focus it somewhere else? Would I just feel more guilty, for feeling angry at him, when that really wouldn't have been his fault?
It's coming to a point, within me, where my brain is slowly starting to meld to the fact that this has really happened, and that he's gone.
It's starting to sink in that he's dead. As spiritual as want to be, as respectful as you can be- dead is dead. He's not feeling anything anymore, emotional, physical or otherwise. And I can't keep living as if he can.
I can't keep living with this guilt.
Eventually, I have to let it go.
Because, as they say, if wishes were fishes, there's be no need for fisherman.
And all the wishing in the world is never going to bring Tony back.
As sad as it is... what he thinks, what he feels, isn't important anymore. Because it just doesn't exist.
So I'll be angry, without guilt.
It's not going to change how much I loved him, once.
But it might just allow to me to let go, enough, to be content again. Even just a little bit.
I'll settle for that.