Understanding Anger in Grief
When navigating the waves of grief as a widow, we often encounter a powerful and complex emotion: anger. It’s a natural part of the grieving process, yet understanding and managing it can be a tumultuous journey. My own path through widowhood has been intricately laced with moments of profound anger, each experience teaching me more about its nature, its benefits, its dangers, and ultimately, how to move past its grip.
Anger, within the context of grief, is an emotional response triggered by the pain of loss. It can manifest toward ourselves, the loved one who has passed, those still living, or even God for allowing such heartache. This anger forms part of the natural grieving process, following denial and preceding bargaining. In life, we often get angry when we can't control what's happening to us. We have no control over death, and so it's normal to feel anger. It is a sign that the reality of loss is penetrating the heart's defenses, prompting an internal cry for the unjust hand we have been dealt.
As I was thinking through my experience with loss, I didn’t think I experienced much anger, but as I explored the truth of what anger really is, I realized it went deeper than I first realized.
After Jon passed, everyone surrounded me and supported me in my grief, but eventually, they had to get back to their families. I harbored resentment towards those who were getting back to their normal routine because I felt left behind and forgotten. My life would never be normal again, and I was frustrated that others could just go back to what they knew. 
I experienced relief that Jon wasn’t sick anymore, that he wasn’t in pain, but then I would feel guilt and anger towards myself for feeling relief. At times, I was angry when I had a good day. It didn’t seem right that Jon was gone, and I was doing OK that day.
Even though I didn’t realize it, I felt anger towards God. Why did He have to take him? Why couldn’t He have healed Jon, so we could still be a family? Why did my kids have to grow up without a father? The questions and bitterness consumed me at times, and I tried to control things that were not my job to handle - they were God’s.
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