These are the days of the futile and directionless fury.
Enraged with everything and nothing, in bouts that are cyclonic in force. The impotent growling and pulling of hair (one’s own so far, innocent bystanders attend at their own risk).
These are the days of the unnoticed mucus that the loved one must wipe away… Grief is ugly, life just aint the movies.
These are the days of the frustrated wailing that life isn’t fair. Never a truer complaint, and never a more useless sentiment uttered. These are the days when the support network begins to pull away – the initial shock has worn off, and those who really care are immersed in their own private torment, while those who don’t care so much begin to drift back to the humdrum of daily life.
These are the days of useless rage…
vagabondparent
