18. KNOW THAT IT’S OKAY TO FEEL ANGRY

Grieving parents often feel angry – at others whom they perceive caused or contributed to the death, at themselves for letting it happen, at God, even at the child herself for having abandoned them. (HEALING A PARENT’S GRIEVING HEART: 100 PRACTICAL IDEAS AFTER YOUR CHILD DIES; Alan D. Wolfelt, PhD; 2005)

Anger wasn’t one of my feelings. It is not an emotion I am comfortable with. Well, for myself that is. I have no trouble feeling anger at injustice toward other people, but that’s a whole other topic.

It may have crept up here and there. Before Joseph’s death, I had taken him to an appointment with a psychiatrist at a local clinic. He came out saying the doctor told him his diagnosis was “laziness”. THAT pissed me off. Medical professionals, especially in the field of psychiatry, ought to have a better understanding of the people with whom they interact and for whom they prescribe. A little compassion would be appreciated.

I can’t say I was angry about it, but I wondered why my other kids, and their father, didn’t check in on him that day. I had let them all know that I had found packaging from his drug of choice and that I had given him the weekend to find somewhere else to live. It is all too easy and comfortable to take on blame and guilt myself. I wish they had checked in on him. I don’t know that it would have made a difference.

I wish that he would have made a choice to stay. I have smacked his photo on the grave stone and called him a brat, but I don’t feel angry about it, not for long anyway.

I have a difficult relationship with anger. Somewhere, sometime, somehow, I internalized the idea that it is wrong to feel angry. I have seen the pain inflicted by people who just let their anger fly. Anger scares me. (Unless it’s righteous anger, which I experience for others, of course.) If I experience anger for myself, which is rare: and, I try to speak up and out in defense of myself, which is rarer still, I inevitably end up in tears, which is not at all helpful.

I have this awareness, though, that deep within me exists a rage in chains. I don’t know what it is or where it comes from, but it’s there. I wish I could let it out. It’s that Gollum deep inside, that ugly creature I think is me, that if anyone really got to know me they would see.

At some point, in therapy, I became aware that this Gollum is actually a frightened child who feels not good enough. I try to spend time with her, on occasion, and let her know she is loved. 

It’s not easy being me.

Sometime after Joseph’s death, I participated in a meeting at my county’s mental health and addiction services office, a focus group of sorts. They were asking for community input on gaps in services. I told them that there needed to be more long-term residential support for people experiencing co-occurring, mental health and substance use disorders. Joseph had been in rehabs, hospitals, halfways houses…but it was for treatment of one or the other. He needed support for both. I don’t know if that has gotten any better, but I think not.

I worked as a psychiatric screener for a while. I had a guy come in who needed treatment for both. I held him in the unit, with his consent, trying to find an appropriate placement. One day, while I was sent out on another call, management kicked him out, escorted by police. I was angry then! It was run more like a jail than a medical facility. Not long afterward, I found another job. That’s a whole other disappointing story – Partial Hospitalization, Intensive Outpatient program (PHP/IOP).

So, now I’m retired. I guess. I have a hard time admitting it. I take assignments now and then through a company with which I am considered “On Demand”. I’ve also agreed to work in an outpatient private practice one day a week, but no clients yet. Maybe it’s not meant to be. Meanwhile, for the most part, I’m enjoying not working.

(Featured image accessed at https://news.stthomas.edu/publication-article/the-unbearable-sadness-of-being-gollum/)