Pain and anger

I have to keep repeating that this is not a linear process. But that doesn't help so much when the pain becomes intense again, as it did yesterday, and has been much of the last 24 hours.

I'd been feeling better, confident that I could integrate Sandy into my life as I craft some sort of future, starting slowly, with plans for weeks rather than months, and then months rather than years. Crawling before walking, but crawling forward.

And then we got good news yesterday, news I'd been expecting, news I wanted. We got the last vote we needed in the Washington state legislature for marriage equality. It's really going to happen this year. The House and Senate will pass it; the Governor will sign it. The bigots will try to put it on the ballot, but they may not even get the signatures they need; if it does go to a referendum, we're positioned to win. Sandy and I had anticipated that moment, the moment that the last vote clicked into place, since the day the state Supreme Court let us down in 2006.

Sandy as a bride for Halloween. Some other photos made her
family and me think maybe she was the Bride of Death or
something equally morbid, but no one seems to know for sure,
and I first saw this photo after she died

I'd expected to celebrate, but instead I started keening uncontrollably. Sounded like a whale in heat (or how I'd imagine a whale in heat would sound). The pain in my chest was almost violent in its sudden intensity. I've had trouble catching my breath again. I've been despairing, irritable, angry. Of course I'm angry at the two big foes, cancer and homophobia, that kept us from marrying. But my anger is scattershot, and last night I found myself angry at Sandy. "If you really loved me, you wouldn't have left me!" I yelled. She responded. Not with words, for once, but just this sense that washed through me that she was calling me on my irrationality. And she's right. She didn't want to leave; she wanted to stay with me; and her primary goal was to marry me before she died. It's not fair to either of us for me to be angry with her right now. But I am angry.

Not only was she stolen from me, but the joy I should be feeling right now was also taken. The celebration at paying off the mortgage was ripped away from me, too. So many moments that I've looked forward to are now sources of renewed pain.

Don't get me wrong. I'm grateful that Senator Mary Margaret Haugen came to the decision she did, and that she announced it publicly yesterday, on the heels of the Senate hearings. It's the right thing to do; it's long overdue; and there are thousands of Washington families who will directly benefit.

I'm just bitter that it came too late for us, and worried that a referendum will cause a five-month delay in the law's enactment that may just be too long for some couples who are running out of time. But honestly, my anger isn't even about the delay in equality. I'm angry that she died. I'm angry that I wasn't powerful enough to keep her here. I'm angry that I'm supposed to move forward and build a life without her. And, irrational as it may be, I'm angry that she left without me.