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When you are in the depths of grief, you wallow for a while, then you nurture yourself, and then you move forward. But every once in a while, you just have to vent and get that hurricane of pent-up anger to the surface and out! From time to time, you just have to be honest with yourself and others, and scream at the universe that you are sick of being a widow. Today, I am venting on-line in cyberspace. Knowing that I am honestly spilling my guts, does wonders for my well-being!

· I am frustrated that I have to tell my widow’s story.

· It is hard to believe, but I am even irritated using the “widow card” to get out of a traffic ticket! Although, I must say, the benefits outweigh my annoyance.

· I am pissed off that I am my own mirror. I miss Peter’s admiring glances and pinches, and his touch. Hell, I miss sex. I know, my son is reading this, but I can’t help it. I miss sex. More than that, I genuinely miss being held.

· I’m disgusted with the old sleep shirts I wear because no one can see them. I put all my pretty nightgowns at the back of the closet in a box with tear stains on the top.

· I have relegated my fancy dresses and high heels to the back of the closet. Actually, putting away the stilettos has helped my back immeasurably! Move this to the plus column.

· I detest driving at night. I am especially annoyed that I can only down one glass of wine at night because I am my own designated driver. Yes, yes, I can take Lyft, but I feel better in my own car.

· I miss Peter screaming at drivers as they cut him off. I don’t, however, miss him shooting the bird at them.

· I am irritated that I even tried to go on a dating site. The guy with his profile picture seated in a Barcalounger did me in!

· I am sick of watching television alone. Homeland makes me so nervous that I climb under the covers. I am bothered that Peter is not here to walk me up to bed after the show, and assure me the windows and doors are all bolted shut.

· I am tired of being afraid of the calendar. Holidays, birthdays, and anniversaries loom large with anticipatory grief.

· I am nauseated by my eating habits. Onion rings, popcorn, and chocolate are not a balanced diet, or even worthy food groups!

· I miss our cozy dinners together at the kitchen table and I am so sad that I am losing the memory of those dinners.

· I am burned out trying to find the self-compassion to love the person I have become.

· I am ticked off that I am so lonely.

· I am sad that when I am sick, I have to take care of myself. Chicken soup in the freezer is a plus.

· I am so very tired of sobbing in the meat aisle (Peter loved his New York steaks), and watching the pitiful reaction of the butchers.

· I am overtaxed handling the finances, but I guess that is not just a widow’s complaint.

· I’m shattered when I feel so proud of my son and my grand kids and have to share it alone without high fives, hugs, and tears of joy with Peter.

· I’m annoyed that I have to travel alone and when the plane ride gets bumpy, I have to grip the arm rests instead of Peter and then take a bath in Purell.

· But, even though I am tired of blogging about grief, it is the one thing that helps me to move forward for which I am truly grateful. Writing cleanses my anger and frustration and heals my soul.


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