Memories and grief

I'm feeling the urge to post again. Have a number of post ideas running through my mind, but there's something I need to take care of first. Last Friday, my friend Ann Komadina died. She was a good person, kinder and more generous to me than I deserved. We did more than a few projects together, and I found it very easy to speak with her. For those who frequently visit my blog, she often posted comments. In fact, I'm fairly certain it was her early comments me with the impetus necessary to making posting more regularly. I'm glad to have known and am saddened that others no longer have the opportunity to.

Here I am now, a week later. It gets better, but I still don't think I'm over her death. I don't know if I feel better about writing these things, but, at the very least, I think they could help someone else. Feeling as though you're the only one who feels your grief in the way you do and that noone can understand your feelings is a terrbile way to go. Hopefully, if someone experiences a death the same way I did and feels the same way about it, they will read this and not feel so alone.

I've never read a book on the stages of grief, but I've picked up a little about them. Denial, negotiation, I've heard of them. Didn't really experience them though. When I heard Ann had died, I sat down and stared. I never questioned them. There was no denial. I realized that I couldn't do anything to help her now either, so neither was there any negotiation. For a while, I really hated myself, for not being better to her, but that passes as I try to act and make sure no person ever dies that I regret how I treated, though that makes my failures sting all the more.

No, the strongest and longest lasting emotion that has arisen from is anger. Not some general feeling. No, this anger is directed at those really bleeding good people that I posted about earlier. Seeing them go about comforting people, myself among them, and being decent makes me all the more uncomfortable and angry. "Why can't I be at their level?" I ask myself. "Why can't I be as good as them?" I wanted them to stop and still do to the extent that they're so kind. But I can't express myself to them. I don't want to add to their problems, and they've been overwhelmingly good to those who need it, never showing me less than pure kindness. So I choke on my anger, and it turns to self loathing as I realize how terrible it is to feel this way.

It bothers me that I can't cry when others are around. That first night I went off by myself and cried, but, whenever someone came to comfort me, I stopped. It wasn't a some machoism or a conscious decision, I just couldn't do it. I was still sad, still wanted to cry but nothing would come. Add on to that the fact that I surrounded myself with my friends for most of the weekend, and it disturbed me to see tears stream down their faces when none graced mine. Like I said, it bothers me, like I'm not sad enough that Ann's dead or something.