Reading articles and books about bereavement takes you through certain stages featuring pain, healing and anger. These are regular emotions that I connect to visiting a doctor or a dentist.
There is a bereavement stage that nobody admits to, apart from me, naturally, because I'm bold, open and or obvious.
This stage is called The Tormented Teenager Phase. TTTP in text talk. I am in full sulk mode. I can't be bothered to pull my trousers up and I stare at the washing machine like it's an exhibit from The Museum of Utter Boredom.
My face has suddenly dropped like a failed face lift. I don't even care that the double chin is hitting the double stomach.
I have framed and placed photos of my David everywhere. I talk to him all the time. And yes, I will declare with hand on heart, I even heard a bachelorette style baby voice whine out that I still need my husband.
Please note when spell checking the word bachelorette the word tetrachloride was offered. How can bachelorette be like tetrachloride? What the hell is tetrachloride? Anyway...............
I hug his shirts. I wear his shirts. I believe Max the Cat looks sad and dislikes my petting because its not Davids hands.
I don't want to get up in the morning nor go to bed at night. Last night I ate Kentucky Fried Chicken with a glass of wine. I have the Goth look without make up and I know Kathy Bates will play me in the movie. And I mean Misery Kathy Bates not sexy Kathy Bates.
I tut, I sigh, I consider a tattoo declaring my undying love. DFS 4 JH 4ever. It can't hurt anymore than the loss.
I do not care to hear about God's hands (please do not be offended, it's me not you). Perhaps it's time to try some pot? I can handle it, can't I? I question myself while finally cleaning my teeth at 12 noon.
I slurp breakfast cereal and actually said to myself today "the days are soooooo long."
So, I guess my mourning style is that of a grungy teenager and it sucks! To each her own.
Now leave me alone, I'm going to my room and I don't wan' nuffin'.