The Guilty Road
I should have done more. I should have moved. I never should have moved. When we tell ourselves these things, what should we do about the guilt that comes with grief?
I should have quit my job. I should have done more. I should have moved. I never should have moved.
A dozen, a hundred, a thousand times over the years, I’ve talked with someone who’s grieving a loss, and they say something like this. Without any good reason, they feel guilty. (Occasionally, people should feel guilty. Different topic.) The guilt keeps them up at night, going over the nooks and crannies of the relationship again and again.
Most guilt is misplaced grief. I know this in my heart…still, the same guilty ideas tug at me, after my dad’s death.
This fall, the weeks measure out the one year anniversary of my dad’s decline. As I count down toward the anniversary of his death, the guilt feels sharp. I should have quit work. I should have flown there every single week. In fact, I never should have moved away. I should have stayed with a job that had worn me out, instead of moving for a new job. I should have moved to the town where he lived, even though my husband laughed about the idea of living there.
Guilt makes the un-manageable feel logical. If I had done these things, it would have ended differently. He wouldn’t have died. He would have known how much I loved him.
None of it is true, of course.
Loss comes anyway, even in the most perfect relationship, and very few of us have that. Guilt is another way of holding on.
So I ask myself the questions I’ve asked other people over the years. Did you do the best you could? Could you have reasonably done anything differently, given all the other obligations in your life? Did you show as much love as you could?
Some days it helps.
-- Mary Austin
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