The anger phase? Yeah, felt it

“Grief is the price we pay for love.” – Queen Elizabeth II

The florist did exactly as instructed: Use flowers with patriotic colors, make them look “masculine,” and for Heaven’s sake, please don’t arrange them to look like they are en route to a funeral home.

I love my florist. She gets me. She knows I abhor funeral-looking flowers and she always accommodates my requests.

So after church on Sunday, why, oh why, did I want to take that floral arrangement and chuck it across the pews and watch it smash into the brick wall?

I ordered the flowers for Father’s Day in memory of my dad. They looked beautiful on the altar. But as I retrieved the arrangement to bring home, a wave of anger enveloped me. I felt like the flowers were a consolation prize. And I didn’t want them.

I wanted my dad.

I wanted to go visit him, to hug him, to hear his laugh, to see his sentimental smile and watch him nod his head as he read his Father’s Day card. I wanted to eat strawberry shortcake and have too much coffee with him. I didn’t want those damn flowers because they represented his death. They reminded me that I couldn’t see him in person, that at best, I could visit where his ashes are interred.

It was hard, and I did my best to get through the day without another meltdown. I propped his picture up so he was sitting with me as I muddled through chores.

The erratic weather mirrored my emotions: glimpses of sunshine; glimpses of smiles. A stray shower; a tear or two here and there. By the end of the day, the sun was setting, and the tears flowed freely, and it actually felt good.

Ironically, out of a gray sky, the sun blazed fiercely as a torrential rain storm hit in the area. Wiping my eyes, I looked out the window, then headed to the garage.

And son of a gun, if there wasn’t a rainbow stretched out across the sky…

© 2012 – Lynne Cobb

6 Replies to “The anger phase? Yeah, felt it”

  1. Hi Lynne, How beautiful. I too lost my dad to Alzheimer’s 20.5.2011. We were close, very close and I cared for him until he forgot how to breathe. I miss him so much but I am grateful that he was spared further indignity. I am so happy you saw the rainbow…

    1. I am so sorry for your loss. There is no dignity with Alzheimer’s…if you haven’t read my blog on rainbows, check it out. It’s like Dad sends messages to us from Heaven 🙂

  2. Wow, Lynne, I admire your heart-deep honesty in sharing the very real “anger stage” of your grief. It’s not easy to admit that part, let alone write about it. I was just telling my husband recently that I’ve finally started to get past the “resentment/anger” stage of grieving my mother’s dementia. But I remember what a dear friend once told me: Love and anger follow each other around and get mixed up together sometimes. Thank goodness for that rainbow reminder!

    1. Thanks, Cindy. It was like a flash of anger, and it sure made for a rough day! You’re right – there are definite grief stages through the dementia as well.

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