Well, I've read that anger is a part of grief, and it's been around since not long after Steve died.  But it reached new heights this week after one of the men in my grief group asked about "fault" in Steve's accident.  I could have ducked the question, said I haven't seen the full police report yet (which is true).  But I didn't; I answered.  I know that whatever the driver of the car did wrong, Steve went through a stop sign, so he shares the responsibility for his death.  I'm having a lot of trouble with that.  It was a bad intersection, and he was riding his bike up a hill, so he wasn't going fast.  And he wasn't a reckless person at all.  But still.  I can't get away from the fact that his death maybe didn't have to happen.  And on days when I contemplate life without him, I feel angry with him.  Why wasn't he more careful?

Anger isn't new to me.  I've battled it before.  And sometimes I expected more perfection from Steve - a wonderful man, but like us all, a fallible human - than was realistic.  Yes, he was sometimes a bit of an absent-minded professor type.  It was endearing, but now I wonder if it killed him.  And I wonder if I'll be able to forgive him.  It scares me, because I know anger will poison the rest of my life, and I don't want that, and Steve wouldn't want that. When anger mixes in with the grief, I have the hardest days.  Lately, I've had quite a few of them.

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