The Anger That Grief Left Behind

 

There’s a kind of anger that comes with loss—one that nobody prepares you for.
At first, it’s not even directed at a person. It’s not even specific. It just is.
This intense, burning rage that rises in your chest and makes you feel like screaming into the void.

And the worst part?
There’s nowhere to put it.

At first, my anger was with the world.
I kept asking the same questions over and over again:
Why is the world so cruel?
Why do the kindest people suffer the most?
Why does it feel like life picks on the ones who are already down?

I kept wondering, how can one person go through so much pain in one lifetime and still be expected to smile, to function, to survive?
And so I’d sit alone, and this storm would build inside me.

So loud. So violent.
But I couldn’t punch the world.
I couldn’t scream at time.
I couldn’t shake death by the collar and tell it to bring her back.

Lately, though—and I hate to even admit this—but the anger sometimes finds its way to her.
Not because she did anything wrong.
Not because I blame her.
But because… she left.
She left, and now nothing feels whole anymore.

And I find myself asking quietly, in the most broken voice:
Why did you have to go and die?
Why couldn’t you stay, just a little longer?
Why did you have to become a memory when you were my safest place?

Now, I live with a scar that no one sees.
Now, I avoid places I once loved because they feel haunted by her absence.

Now, I replay conversations in my head and try to remember her voice, terrified of the day it might fade.

And every now and then, the anger returns.
Not loud this time.

Not wild.
Just… present.
Quiet and bitter, like a knot in my chest that refuses to loosen.
I get angry because there’s nothing I can do.
Angry because no matter how much time passes, the pain still sits in the same place.

And I know I’m not the only one.
There are others walking around with invisible wounds like mine—trying to hold it together while the world keeps spinning like nothing happened.

So this post is for you too.
For the ones who’ve lost someone they’ll never stop loving.
For the ones who feel angry and guilty for feeling angry.
For the ones who are tired of pretending they’re okay when they’re really just surviving.

You’re not crazy.
You’re not weak.
You’re grieving—and grief is not linear. It’s loud. It’s messy. It’s exhausting.
But most importantly, it’s proof that you loved deeply.

You’re not alone.
I promise.

For Empress, always.

— Jaes