August: The Month I Hate Most

August is always a hard month for me.

This August marks three years since I lost John to addiction, and every time this month rolls around, I find myself revisiting the storm of emotions that grief brings. This year, more than anything, I’ve found myself sitting in anger.

Mad because he knew. He knew what he was doing, and he was too scared to stop. Too deep in the grip of the drugs to think clearly anymore. He knew what was going to happen, but he was more afraid of stopping than he was of dying. He refused to admit that he couldn’t stop on his own, that he had lost control, and in doing so, he not only lost his life but also blew up mine. He stole our happy ending.

And here’s the part that twists the knife… I’m ashamed of my anger. Because I know his heart was good. I know the person behind the addiction, and I loved him. Still do. That’s the most painful part of grief for me: the contradictions. How I can hold empathy for him and anger toward him in the very same breath. So how do I reconcile this? Anger and love. Grief and gratitude. Empathy for you and empathy for me. These feelings are so conflicting, and I’ve had to learn that they aren’t mutually exclusive.

That’s a theme in my life now: holding two truths at once.

That I can feel blessed to have had you for the time I did and devastated by the loss.
That I can grieve the life I thought I’d have and still be grateful for the new one I’m building.
That I can still love you and also love someone new just as fiercely.
That I can be proud of my resilience and disgusted by the envy I sometimes feel when I see others living the life I thought was mine.

Grief is never neat and tidy. It is a constant lesson in contradictions. It’s heavy, complicated, and most of the time I don’t even know how to explain it. So I end up carrying it silently… Not because I don’t have support, but because sometimes the weight feels untranslatable. Like no one else could possibly understand or untangle the whirlwind inside my head.

As John’s death anniversary approaches, the feelings get louder, messier. I thought the years would make it easier, but they haven’t. The weight hasn’t lifted, it’s only shifted. This year, anger is what rises to the surface. And as uncomfortable as it is, I’m learning to give myself permission to feel it. To remember that anger is not the opposite of love… It can exist right alongside it.

So I admit it to you and to myself, I am angry.

Angry because I should not know this kind of loss at 34.

Angry because I should not be so fluent in grief.

And yet here I am. Hurting and healing. Breaking and rebuilding. Grieving and loving. All at the same time…

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Reflection for You

If you find yourself in a season of grief, you may know what it feels like to hold the contradictions of love and anger, joy and sorrow, hope and despair, all at once.

Take a moment with your journal and reflect:

·         What emotions feel the loudest in your grief right now?

·         Are there contradictions you’ve noticed within yourself? Two truths that exist side by side?

·         How might you give yourself permission to hold both, without judgment?

Grief has no single path. But together, even in our contradictions, we keep moving forward.