Not Tonight Grief, I Have a Headache

Confront the dark parts of yourself, and work to banish them with illumination and forgiveness. Your willingness to wrestle with your demons will cause your angels to sing.
– August Wilson

Just when I started to think that I had finished writing and processing my grief, I learned of two other men who recently found out that their breast cancer had metastasized. Metastatic breast cancer can be slowed down, and some people can live for many years; in the politest manner of speaking, it isn’t a good diagnosis. It is an incurable, terminal disease.

Thinking about these two men who now have metastatic breast cancer 2 years after completing their surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation – and my husband being about 2 years out from his treatment course – I can’t help but worry. Both men initially had a Stage 2 cancer when they underwent treatment. My husband’s cancer was more advanced initially and classified as a Stage 3c, which is one tiny step away from metastasis (Stage 4).

These men have wives, families, and children. Like my husband, one of them has two young children. My anger surges when I think of this – cancer robbing a child of their beloved father. It is beyond wrong.

Predictably, the grief demons flew in from each corner of the room and floated above me, smiling their mischievous smiles and waiting for my pain to creep into my body. They seemed to expect that they could simply take over. That they had a right to my mind, body, and soul. That they were in charge.

I take a breath and think of my steps for coping with grief. I can do this. I can cope and live my life with intention. I deserve better than this hellscape.

It’s time to pull myself together, at least for this micro-moment. I wish I could say that I feel strength, but it is probably more of an involuntary rejection of going down the same road again. I’m just too exhausted. I can’t do this again, at least right now. With all the energy I have, I direct my stream of consciousness toward the little demons. They can hear me just fine without my speaking.

I have a message for you, my little grief demons. Not tonight. I have a headache.

In fact, my head is hurting from nearly 2 years of grappling with an extremely painful grief. Tonight, I am not dealing with you. I need to move on with my life as best I can. Honor the love that I have for my husband. And live in the moment. Grief, you do not own me. You cannot own me. I must have my soul back.

There are lots of things that I need to do in my life and people who I shoulder responsibility. I flat out refuse to give you the power to make me miserable, right now. You want control of my life, you say? Well, so do I.

I see you, my grief demons. And I see you, my grief tiger, but know that I am muting you and blocking you out for now. I have too many things to do today that will bring me joy. I'm working with students in my laboratory and taking my older daughter to Pilates. Later this evening, she and I have plans, which do not include you.

You are expressly not invited to any of these activities. If you thought you were invited, let me be clear that the invitation has been revoked. For the rest of this week, you may live in a small, tiny box that I have on an upper shelf in my closet. You know the place, right behind the folded pile of scarves that I love, but never wear. If I need to come visit you, I will.

But I'm not in the mood right now. Like I said, I have a headache. Dealing with you is not part of the equation.

So, thank you for showing your ugly little demon faces. And for trying to pull me down into some kind of black abyss. I'm not having it. I'm too determined to live my life with intention, love, gratitude, forgiveness, joy (at least micro-joys) and acceptance.

There are lots of wonderful, loving people in my life. There's no room for you.

But there will always be room for my husband. He has a special place in my heart that time or circumstances will never change.

Thanks for checking in, my little grief demons. Now get lost.