Look(ing) Back in Anger

Or Not

I met Leiney today at Seattle Children's Playgarden to look at the mosaic that was installed by a local artist in honor of Jenny. It was one p.m., dark and rainy. Perfect, because it meant the park would be empty, we would have it all to ourselves. I lamely brought a dozen roses, to place on the monument. 

My grief is stuck in anger mode. I gotta be honest. Not that I don't mourn the loss of Jenny, would that she were here.  But, my kids and I have been put through it. Moreover, I blame myself for not being able to get Jenny to pay attention to the girls through her illness. I can't forgive her, can't forgive myself.

So, standing at the mosaic, I was awash in pain,, guilt and sorrow. My pain was centered around the stark fact that I watched my partner die, and as she died, experienced cruelty from her, cruelty for which I wasn't prepared. 

My guilt stemmed from my abject failure to get her to love her children enough to give them real time over the 19 months she was dying. It also consisted of my fucked up 100000 attempts to get her to love me. I just convinced myself, without realizing it, that if only I was good enough, she would love me again. I worked so hard to care for her, to do things to prove my love. She was implacable, and I a fool. When my therapist sussed this out, I couldn't argue. She pointed out that it is a pattern I followed with my mother. Fuck, the parallels between the two are at times uncanny. But, like my sisters, and despite being the golden boy, as a child, I was never really good enough. Like Jenny, at some point my mother lost interest in parenting. 

My sorrow centers around the fact that my kids have to work through this lived reality of the abandonment while staying in place of Jenny's, and my inability to move through the grief process.

I was wracked with grief for a few minutes, both Leiney and I standing in the garden's bleak winter state, rain falling, and neither of us with a coat. Leiney comforted me. She didn't cry. I tried to talk through my sobs, and she tried to comfort me yet still. I pulled myself together, and we left. No picnic. No lunch. We both had things we needed to do.

My closest confidante, you who read this journal, and Leiney should have some understanding, based on my entries herein, of how I feel. Outside of this space, in public ,when with a co-worker, an acquaintance, or anyone that I happen to discuss this loss with, I keep my feelings hidden. I reduce the discussions to pleasantries, clichés, and bullshit. 

I am tired of carrying this ache.