‘Is it normal to be upset with a dead person?’

Who’s going to deal with the dead magpie? No, really. Who? 

That’s what I thought when I looked out the kitchen window recently and saw the damn dead bird underneath a planter. For fuck sake, there’s no one but me and that sucks because I don’t want to deal with it either. 

It’s not right that My Favourite Husband is dead and has left me to do things that I’ve never had to do. And I’m positive it’s not right that I was pissed off at him that day but his dying is not convenient for me. We didn’t talk about all the things I need to learn. 

He was always trying to give me “orientation” on something but I didn’t get orientation on the things I need to know now! And, so, I was pissed off.

Do I green bin this thing? Wrap it up in garbage bags and put it in the regular trash? How the hell did it even get here?

I know that anger is part of the grieving process. I’ve done some reading and some discussing with my grief counsellor, so I understand that it’s normal. But is it? Is it really? Is it normal to be upset with a dead person? 

I haven’t been upset with him a lot but there have been times, for sure. There was the time that the thermostat in the garage ran continuously. And after asking one of my brothers, he suggested I change the thermostat. So I went to a hardware store and got talked into some ridiculous thermostat that I could not get hooked up properly for anything. It was November and I was sitting in a cold, dark garage — no heat, no electricity, since I figured I’d probably electrocute myself if I left it on. I spent hours trying to get it figured out. I was sitting on a bar stool, trying a different way of threading a wire when my stool tipped over. I laid on the cold cement garage floor and I howled. I cried because it wasn’t fair I couldn’t figure this out. I cried because I didn’t want to figure this out. And I cried because MFH was supposed to be alive and here and either doing it or helping — and he’s dead and I’m alive and stuck doing it.

After I finished crying most of it out, my brother sent me a text asking how it was going and I told him I was laying on the garage floor sobbing. 

He FaceTimed for the first time in his life right after. And he talked me out of my anger. He told me MFH would rather be with me than in the universe at peace. And he asked me what my next move would be. I told him the thermostat was going to be returned the next day for something simple. And it was — and I installed it just fine.

Out of all of the emotions that grief has unearthed, anger is the one I feel most guilty about. To me, anger is usually two-sided: there’s a situation, anger is triggered, the situation is resolved and the anger discussed and diffused. But anger at MFH feels wrong. Sure, I can “talk to him” but I can’t “talk with him.”

During the course of his illness, he was physically able to do less so I needed to do more. Simple tasks would expend all the energy he had, so when he was able to contribute even a little, it took away a morsel off my plate that was overflowing. Now that I’m left with everything, anger is an emotion that can come out occasionally. I sometimes think it’s because I’m scared and I don’t want to deal with the fear, so I bluster with the anger.

And so, the disposal of the dead magpie falls to me. And the changing of the thermostat. And the cleaning of the heat sensor on the furnace. And dealing with the jerk of a plumber who did our basement bathroom. And knocking down the wasp nest (after six of the asshats stung me, including on the lip). And pretty much everything else. 

And I can do it all. I just need to take a breath, focus, dissipate my anger and get to the task at hand. Because no matter how pissed off I am, he’s not coming back.

The magpie? Garbage bags in the black bin…❤️