"I want a trouble-maker for a lover, blood spiller, blood drinker, a heart of flame, who quarrels with the sky, and fights with fate, who burns like fire on the rushing sea." Rumi
Rage. Wikipedia describes the word as a feeling of intense, violent or growing anger. It is sometimes associated with the "fight or flight" response to an external cue, such as an event that impacts negatively on a person.
Rage lives within me, I believe it lives within all of us. Maybe three weeks after John died, I had a sudden out burst of rage that was so abrupt, so loud, it frightened me. It felt involuntary, as if I was possessed for a few minutes. I attempted to go mountain biking after returning to Oregon and had an issue with my bike that I couldn't seem to fix. I'm not sure when exactly I snapped, but I threw my bike and gave out a blood curling scream. I screamed at John. I screamed at God. I remember Jake hovering by a tree, terrified of me. I told myself after that day that I wouldn't do that again, I would control my anger, I would push it away and find distraction when feeling irate.
I've learned that anger is a big part of grief. While I question it's productivity, I know it exist within us. When anger surfaces, we turn into something different. Something dark. We move away from the best version of ourselves through anger.
I’ve been gone for the past week between work and visiting a
dear friend. During my travels, I spent a week in Richmond where John and I
met and lived together for a few years. I have found that by the end of a week in Richmond I feel exhausted. It's as if my past is taunting me. Everything is so familiar yet empty. I adore my friends in Richmond but I'm always glad to leave. On Sunday, I had to drive right through the town John grew up in on my way
home from Harper's Ferry for the first time since 2013. I think that may have been the final
trigger. I felt him everywhere, and I
became angry. I pulled over and just
stared out at the ridge you can see from his parents house and thought about
how much life had changed in the last 21 months.
Rage. Wikipedia describes the word as a feeling of intense, violent or growing anger. It is sometimes associated with the "fight or flight" response to an external cue, such as an event that impacts negatively on a person.
Rage lives within me, I believe it lives within all of us. Maybe three weeks after John died, I had a sudden out burst of rage that was so abrupt, so loud, it frightened me. It felt involuntary, as if I was possessed for a few minutes. I attempted to go mountain biking after returning to Oregon and had an issue with my bike that I couldn't seem to fix. I'm not sure when exactly I snapped, but I threw my bike and gave out a blood curling scream. I screamed at John. I screamed at God. I remember Jake hovering by a tree, terrified of me. I told myself after that day that I wouldn't do that again, I would control my anger, I would push it away and find distraction when feeling irate.
I've learned that anger is a big part of grief. While I question it's productivity, I know it exist within us. When anger surfaces, we turn into something different. Something dark. We move away from the best version of ourselves through anger.
John and I made many trips up to the Shenandoah Valley
whether it was on our way to a kayaking destination or spending the weekend
with his family. I loved coming up
here. I loved seeing where John spent his boyhood days and I absolutely loved the comfort of the rolling mountains
everywhere you looked. I stared at that
ridge knowing I’d never come back here again unless passing through. I’d never step foot in his childhood home
again. This sense of family that we both
had here was destroyed. I got back in my car and let my rage completely erupt. I yelled things I shouldn’t have said. These words- irrational outburst that made no sense.
Shortly after John died, I felt an instant need to protect him, protect his choices. For the longest time I remember telling people that John was well within his limits that day, that I had no issues with him kayaking. I didn't want my husband to be viewed as reckless or irresponsible. I didn't want people speaking of him in any negative way. I even blamed myself for a long time, telling myself if only I had gone kayaking, they never would have done this harder section. The truth. No one should have kayaked that day, regardless of expert level. At the rate the levels were climbing, the nature of each rapid was completely unpredictable. Swimming was not an option. I told John these things during our drive to the Smith. He told me I was being silly. He told me I was too paranoid. He told me to relax, that things would be fine. He should have listened to me.
These are realities I'm still learning to come to terms with. Accepting choices that were made that day. I've let my rage explode at John for these choices. For the predicament he left me in. For not putting me first. For telling me I was silly. For thinking he was invincible. I think sometimes when we lose someone so close to us, we tend to view them in a God like fashion. They go up onto a self created pedestal that becomes impossible to compete with. This is dangerous and leads to unrealistic expectations for our future. John was my husband, not my God.
Shortly after John died, I felt an instant need to protect him, protect his choices. For the longest time I remember telling people that John was well within his limits that day, that I had no issues with him kayaking. I didn't want my husband to be viewed as reckless or irresponsible. I didn't want people speaking of him in any negative way. I even blamed myself for a long time, telling myself if only I had gone kayaking, they never would have done this harder section. The truth. No one should have kayaked that day, regardless of expert level. At the rate the levels were climbing, the nature of each rapid was completely unpredictable. Swimming was not an option. I told John these things during our drive to the Smith. He told me I was being silly. He told me I was too paranoid. He told me to relax, that things would be fine. He should have listened to me.
These are realities I'm still learning to come to terms with. Accepting choices that were made that day. I've let my rage explode at John for these choices. For the predicament he left me in. For not putting me first. For telling me I was silly. For thinking he was invincible. I think sometimes when we lose someone so close to us, we tend to view them in a God like fashion. They go up onto a self created pedestal that becomes impossible to compete with. This is dangerous and leads to unrealistic expectations for our future. John was my husband, not my God.
"The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart." Psalm 34:18
This morning I laid in bed considering my anger. I thought about how my heart seems to turn angry over the holidays. I thought about my judgment towards others and their happiness. How I take their great outcomes personally, how I find their cute Christmas cards offensive and taunting. It sounds horrible writing it, but it's the truth. My heart seems to turn dark during this time of the year.
I wondered if at any point Jesus felt rage and simply put it away. Was he angry at the world at any point, was he angry at his father? He certainly didn't deserve the suffering he had to endure. At one point, he even begged his father to take his suffering away, take the burden from him. Yet instead, not only did he endure his own crucifixion, but he begged forgiveness on those that hurt him. Its why we now can have this intimate relationship with him. It's why my rage can be destroyed and overcome with joy.
My husband was a risk taker. He marched to a different beat. He pushed the limits often too much. His need for adrenaline, for adventure, what ultimately led to his death and my fierce rage, is also the very thing that drew me to him. It's what made me fall hard and fast. It's what hardened my heart, yet also softened it. I knew this about him, yet I was all in. I wanted his heart of flame, for it made me feel alive.
Rage is not of God. The anger that festers after loss comes from something dark. Rage can become who you are after loss, if you let the darkness take over. It can harden your heart, turn you into a cynical, morbid person. I've seen this side within myself, and I don't like her. I turned my rage over to God this past week, and I am sure I will do this a few times in the years to come. For this is a part of being human, being vulnerable to the darkness, but also recognizing it's little worth, knowing it's source and the zero credibility it deserves. Rage will destroy you if you allow it to.
I want love over the rage. I choose indescribable, heart bursting, unapologetic love for John, for myself, for my family and friends over the rage. I refuse to be a victim to the anger. God can take my rage and destroy it, it's my choice to give it to him. I believe this is the only choice, the most clear choice there is.
This morning I laid in bed considering my anger. I thought about how my heart seems to turn angry over the holidays. I thought about my judgment towards others and their happiness. How I take their great outcomes personally, how I find their cute Christmas cards offensive and taunting. It sounds horrible writing it, but it's the truth. My heart seems to turn dark during this time of the year.
I wondered if at any point Jesus felt rage and simply put it away. Was he angry at the world at any point, was he angry at his father? He certainly didn't deserve the suffering he had to endure. At one point, he even begged his father to take his suffering away, take the burden from him. Yet instead, not only did he endure his own crucifixion, but he begged forgiveness on those that hurt him. Its why we now can have this intimate relationship with him. It's why my rage can be destroyed and overcome with joy.
My husband was a risk taker. He marched to a different beat. He pushed the limits often too much. His need for adrenaline, for adventure, what ultimately led to his death and my fierce rage, is also the very thing that drew me to him. It's what made me fall hard and fast. It's what hardened my heart, yet also softened it. I knew this about him, yet I was all in. I wanted his heart of flame, for it made me feel alive.
Rage is not of God. The anger that festers after loss comes from something dark. Rage can become who you are after loss, if you let the darkness take over. It can harden your heart, turn you into a cynical, morbid person. I've seen this side within myself, and I don't like her. I turned my rage over to God this past week, and I am sure I will do this a few times in the years to come. For this is a part of being human, being vulnerable to the darkness, but also recognizing it's little worth, knowing it's source and the zero credibility it deserves. Rage will destroy you if you allow it to.
I want love over the rage. I choose indescribable, heart bursting, unapologetic love for John, for myself, for my family and friends over the rage. I refuse to be a victim to the anger. God can take my rage and destroy it, it's my choice to give it to him. I believe this is the only choice, the most clear choice there is.
You are 🔥fire Erin; there's just no better way to put it and John already told me this morning (before I read this) while I was on my mat in yoga class that "I've finally met my match :) & that we will rise together" Looking forward to sharing more with you.
ReplyDeletePerhaps not "met my match" as much as finally crossing paths with a "member of my tribe". That's part of my journey too; learning how to become more mindful of the words I choose to express my thoughts and frame situations ..
ReplyDeleteWell said, but very difficult. Love you Erin.
ReplyDelete