Yes, those words. The words that can alter the Motion Picture Association of America's ratings on films. The words that get bleeped out on the Maury Povitch Show. The words that assail your ears when the NY Giants are winning in Philadelphia. Words of exasperation, of frustration, of anger. Words that you know you shouldn't say, but sometimes you can't help it. Those words. They have been slip-sliding out of my mouth more often than I care to admit lately. Sometimes, they are the only way to express how absolutely angry I am. Sometimes, I am so mad that multi-syllabic words just won't do. Eloquence is not what I need. I need grit. I need dirt. I need vulgarity. I need to spit out my words in hateful beats. Through clenched teeth and red-rimmed eyes. Sometimes, I am tired of communicating my grief through neat and tidy packages - and I need to just let some obscenities fly. I mutter them to myself. I shout them to the heavens. I don't care. I am angry!
There's only so much anger you can feel without it exploding. There's only so long you can keep a pot of water on the stove before it boils over. Some days, I reach my limit faster than others. There is no good reason for me to be without my baby. There is no good reason for her to be gone. She is dead because she twisted too far in her umbilical cord. One too many cartwheels. I cannot hold my baby ever again because she was too full of life before her life even had a chance to start. The injustice of what has happened is a volcano inside me. Always churning. Liquid hot magma coursing through my veins. It's an anger I can't explain, although I am obviously trying.
This is not something that can be satisfied with an "Oh dear!" or a "Fiddlesticks". Nope. These words are called "Bad Words" or "Foul Language" for a reason. That's what they express. Foulness. Disgust. Frustration. Rage. And sometimes, that is exactly what I am feeling. Sometimes, I admit, I have to drop the F bomb. I just do. Because it is fitting - because there is no other word that works. No other word poisonous enough to propel the black tar of emotions that are clogging up my heart. If your child were ripped from your arms forever, do you think you'd be able to hold your tongue? I'll bet you that you couldn't. I'll bet even if you've never uttered a bad word in your life, you'd let loose a stream of sentences that would make a sailor blush. No matter how Scarlett O'Hara you think you are, when grief takes a hold of you, sometimes you just don't give a damn!