Let me just start off by stating this disclaimer: I love my husband and I’m so glad he’s not feeling the never ending pain of grief like I am.
J was headed off to his out-of-state job this morning when some kind of belt thingy broke on the car. He was stranded 25 miles from home. He called me to let me know what was going on and informed me that his dad was coming to help him.
In a normal person’s life, that statement doesn’t even amount to a second thought. In my life, however, that’s all I hear. “My dad is coming to the rescue.”
I’m grateful for his dad’s help. I truly am. But I’m so incredibly jealous. I find myself in situations all the time SINCE that I want to call my dad and ask him this or that. My dad was and is my hero. He ALWAYS came to my rescue. Whether it was a car breaking down (twice!), a ride that disappeared, or even a husband who was working second shift and was too exhausted to help in our move. My dad did all of that. He came to my rescue. He was my safety net, my training wheels, my superhero.
I would never wish this on anyone, but there are times when I catch myself thinking, “Why couldn’t it have been your dad instead? Why did it have to be mine? I still need him.”
They don’t mention jealousy when talking about grief in psych class.