7
The world doesn’t stop turning when someone you love dies.Time carries on like nothing has changed, while you feel as if your entire world has stopped moving.It’s like you’re a character in a movie who stands frozen in the middle of a busy city sidewalk while people pass by in droves and move so quickly, they’re blurs.
That’s how being at the Peters’ annual family reunion feels.My parents are hosting it this year, which is one small miracle because the idea of traveling anywhere seems less than appealing.But my current predicament isn’t all that great either.I’m stuck on the patio, chatting with endless relatives who vacillate between giving me pitying stares while asking how I’m holding up and acting like nothing catastrophic happened to me this year—making endless small talk that means absolutely nothing like how the weather’s been lately or how so-and-so’s kid grew three inches this year.It’s like no one can decide if they’re worried about me or if they feel too awkward to bring up Robbie’s death.It’s exhausting.As people talk, my gaze slides across the grass, watching everyone interact with each other and feeling like an outsider even though I’m standing in the center of everything.
There are a few new babies, several babies who have grown to adorable energizer-bunny toddlers, and a handful of cousins missing because they went off to college early or have moved to new states for jobs or partners.Everyone’s life has moved forward, while I’ve spent the last eleven months crying in various rooms in my house, most recently on the floor of my dead husband’s closet while wrapped in his favorite flannel that no longer smells like him.
I take another sip of my Coke and continue people watching when my brother Cam comes up beside me and wraps his hand around my elbow, gently tugging me away from the conversation I wasn’t really participating in.With a nod to the group, he says, “Sorry, hope y’all don’t mind if I snag her for a minute.”
He pulls me to a pair of seats underneath Mom’s awning, and once we’re seated he takes a sip of his drink and says, “What’s up chicken butt?You look like you needed a rescue.”
I roll my eyes at the same time I roll my head his direction.Ignoring his last comment, I say, “Are you five?”
He smiles in that brotherly way that annoys me further.“I’m twenty-eight actually.Thanks for checking.I love how you care,” he says, placing his hand on his heart like he’s so touched as he clearly ignores my sarcasm.
“Whatever,” I mumble.
“Ah, I see what’s going on here,” he says, pointing his finger at me and making a zigzag shape as he gestures to my whole body.
“What’s that?”I ask, not at all interested in his antics.I can’t believe I let Mom convince me I needed to come today.As if I needed another reminder that the world keeps spinning.
“You’ve hit the anger stage.”
“The what?”
“The anger stage,” he says like I should know exactly what he’s talking about.
I raise my brows and tilt my head in a gesture implying he needs to elaborate because I have no idea what the hell he’s talking about.
“The five stages of grief.Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance,” he says as he counts off a finger for each stage.
“I’m not angry.”I don’t even bother to mention that grief doesn’t work in nice clean stages.You don’t simply move from one to the next.You go back and forth like a Ping-Pong ball being bounced around all the differing emotions.
“Coulda fooled me.You’re staring daggers at people.”
“I am not!”
“Sure are.Aunt Mae did a double take while she was chatting with me and then clutched her pearls and said she was going to steer clear of you.”He leans toward me conspiratorially.“She said you had angry eyes and if she wanted to deal with that then she’d still be married to her third husband.”
I glance around at the crowd of relatives, suddenly feeling insecure.Do I look angry?
AmI angry?
“Hey,” Cam says, his voice now serious as he places a hand on my arm.I stare at him, not really seeing him as the question rings in my head.
Am I angry?
Am I angry my husband died?
Am I angry I still go to bed crying more days than not?
Am I angry I feel like he abandoned me, as irrational as that is?
Am I angry I’ve had to completely reevaluate what my life is going to look like moving forward?
I am.
I am fucking angry.But that anger is such a complicated emotion—layered with sadness, desperation, fear, longing, and sometimes debilitating heartache that Robbie is missing all these moments with me.