Forgiveness in Grief

Forgiveness in Grief

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While visiting my 95-year old grandmother, she said she’d been having more and more thoughts about troubling times earlier in life. In her words, she did things that “were not very nice.” The example she gave was when, as a frustrated young mother, she spanked my father out of anger during potty training that wasn’t going smoothly. Recalling the memory brought her to tears.

My father was coming to stay with her in a few days. So I suggested she apologize to him. In doing so, she could get it off her chest and give him the opportunity to forgive her. It would hopefully allow her to let the bad memory and associated guilt go.

But how can someone let go of guilt when the person they’ve hurt is no longer here to apologize to?

The finality of death is a difficult reality to come to terms with. It often comes suddenly and without warning. Many times there are no opportunities to say our goodbyes. And we lose the chance to heal all our old wounds with that person.

Sometimes we lose someone we love (or once loved) who we’ve had a difficult relationship with, or are estranged from. We are left with the guilt that we didn’t do enough to “fix” the relationship when we had the chance. Guilt may also be intermixed with anger. Especially if we felt we were the ones who need an apology from them – which we’ll never receive.

Even when we lose someone we had a wonderful relationship with, we may feel guilty that we didn’t do or say everything we should have.

In my case, the guilt is that I didn’t do enough to prevent my 4-year-old daughter’s drowning death. I have apologized to her more times than I can count. But without her here to say the words, “I forgive you Mama,” the apology is never enough. At least not enough to let go of the lingering guilt and shame.

So what do we do? Do we just live with guilt for the rest of our lives?

Do we just accept it as something we can’t change? Or do we try to shift our thinking, and change who it is we are apologizing to? Can we instead apologize to someone who is actually here to say, “I forgive you”?

The fact is, even if the person we lost were still here to accept our apology, we still need to forgive ourselves for the feelings of guilt to go away. In the case of my grandmother, even though my father accepts the apology, she still needs to forgive herself for a mistake she made almost 70 years ago in order to let the painful feeling go. The hope is that forgiveness from my dad will give her a sense of permission to forgive herself.

So rather than asking for forgiveness from the person we’ve lost – who we’ll never get a response from – we should be asking ourselves for forgiveness instead.

In my case, I need to come to terms with the fact that I am only human and make mistakes. Whether or not different choices or actions would have somehow kept my daughter alive…I’ll never know. I need to accept that my mistakes do not define me. Instead, I can use them as an opportunity to learn better decision-making skills and responses moving forward.

I am a work-in-progress, and will be for the rest of my life. Rather than asking my daughter for forgiveness, I need to ask it of myself. Will it be easy? No. But it will be the only way I will ever have a chance at letting go of my guilt and the shame associated with it.

My hope for my grandmother, myself, and everyone else who suffers the painful burden of guilt is that somehow we will find the strength to forgive our past mistakes and focus instead on how we can use the knowledge we’ve learned the hard way to make the best of the present.

Feeling Guilt After the Loss of a Loved One

Feeling Guilt After the Loss of a Loved One

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Guilt is a powerful emotion.

For me, it’s a combination of various feelings: sadness, regret, embarrassment, shame, incompetence, failure. The list goes on. No matter what feelings go into forming it, the result is always the same: blame. Whether we deserve it or not, guilt sets in when we blame ourselves for something we think we did wrong or wish we could have done better.

For many who have lost someone dear to them, guilt often creeps in almost immediately.

We feel guilty when we didn’t say everything we should have or didn’t spend enough time with them while they were here. In situations where we make choices for their care or medical treatment, we guiltily question whether we made the choice they would have wanted. Some feel guilty that they didn’t fight hard enough to keep them alive. Others blame themselves for not seeing the warning signs early enough.

In some situations, guilt after a loss is more complicated and often unwarranted. The loss of a child often brings misplaced guilt. Parents feel a responsibility for taking care of and protecting their children. Even when their children are grown.

I’ve heard bereaved parents blame themselves for just about any type of death at any age.

A parent whose young child died of cancer blamed themselves for not seeing the symptoms soon enough. They even felt guilty for passing along the gene that caused the cancer.

A college-age child died in a spring break car crash when his friend fell asleep at the wheel. His father blamed himself for not stopping his son from going on vacation in the first place.

The parent of an adult addicted to drugs blamed themselves for not doing enough to help their child overcome their addiction. As if it were in their power to do so.

The stories go on and on.

In some cases, guilt is expected (and some may even believe deserved). These are the “preventable” deaths.

My daughter’s death was one of these preventable deaths; she drowned. Not only did she drown, she drowned in our backyard pool while we were at home.

It is still hard for me to say that. I spent hours pouring over every detail of what happened that day. I could tell you until I am blue in the face that her death was a complete accident. Had I known what was going to happen, I would have gladly traded my life for hers.

But the fact is that many who hear that a four-year-old girl was near an uncovered pool alone – no matter for how short a time – will lay blame upon me for not being with her or taking steps to prevent it. And I cannot argue with them.

My deep guilt magnified the despair I felt after she died.

It made me feel like a complete failure as a mother, and even as a human being. Feelings of guilt led me to thoughts of suicide, which I thankfully never came close to acting on.

I was ashamed to tell anyone how she died and chose my words carefully to avoid having to disclose the reason. Saying, “She passed away” or “We lost our daughter,” seemed the most acceptable description. “She died,” or, “She died in a tragic accident,” were the most likely to lead to the dreaded response, “Oh I’m sorry. May I ask how?”

I spent years in counseling and support groups working through my grief and guilt. They told me over and over that it was a terrible, tragic accident and that I shouldn’t feel guilty. I’ve heard all the reasons why it was an accident, and how it could have happened to anyone. And often does. The sad fact is that drowning is the leading cause of death for children under the age of five. I listened and nodded in understanding.

But deep down, the guilt remained.

While I cannot say that my guilt over my daughter’s death is completely gone, it has loosened its grip.

Why? I think it all comes down to choice and perspective.

I read an article describing how humans have an inherent tendency to focus on the negative. Born out of primal survival skills, when we are aware of the danger around us we are better prepared to run from it. As a result, we’re often unconsciously looking at the downside to every situation and anticipating the next potential threat.

The problem arises when tendencies turn into habits. Then long-term habits begin to shape our reality without us even realizing it. But when you hit the proverbial “rock bottom” – in my case, the death of my daughter – and survive it, one of the only ways to go is up.

“Up” for me has been slowly learning a new perspective on life using the lessons I’ve learned the hard way. I began learning how to embrace life and live it to the fullest. I’m continually trying to work on replacing tendencies of negative thinking with conscious choices based on love, truth, compassion, and joy. I’m slowly learning how to stop worrying over the past and future, and focus on what I can control here and now. It has not been easy to try to overcome lifelong habits, but it has been rewarding.

To combat the grief and guilt, I chose to focus less on the circumstances of her death and more on her and how she lived.

I’ve chosen to remember how vibrant, confident, adventurous, and loving she was. I know these qualities are testament not just to her inherent personality, but to the loving, supportive environment we provided for her.

I’ve chosen to acknowledge that it’s unrealistic to think we can keep an eye on our children 24 hours a day. I recognize that for the most part our children DO stay safe; but accidents can happen. I’m confident that I remain, and always have been, a loving mother who adores her children and provides a nurturing environment for them. And I can happily say that I know how much my children love and adore me.

Whether my guilt will ever completely go away remains to be seen.

Until then, I’m going to keep chipping away at it by sharing the unending love I have for my daughter with the world as my witness.

Learning How to Smile Again

Learning How to Smile Again

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When my daughter died, the pain was overwhelming. The belief I could ever feel any ounce of happiness again felt ridiculous.

In those early days of grief, the mere idea of being happy didn’t just feel impossible, it felt wrong.

One evening during the first year after her death, my husband insisted I sit down with him and our boys to watch a funny TV show we’d watched for years. My husband knew that after their sister’s death, our boys needed life to return to as “normal” as possible in order for them to cope and feel safe. That didn’t just mean regular daily routines – it meant a return to the personal interactions with us they were used to.

Begrudgingly, I sat down to watch the show. During the show, something was so funny that for the first time since her death, I actually felt the urge to laugh. Instead of laughing, I bit the inside of my cheeks to force myself NOT to smile.

The idea that I could ever be happy again felt like a betrayal of my daughter.

The logic (or lack thereof) was this: if I allowed myself to be happy, it would mean that I was okay with the fact that she had died. Looking back, the self-imposed state of misery served several purposes.

First, it was a matter of basic survival. The pain of losing a child is so overwhelming and intolerable. Many people say they feel numb early on. I think it’s similar to the body’s natural defense mechanism of passing out while experiencing severe physical pain. When my initial numbness started to wear off about three months after her death, I tried to maintain it by suppressing my emotions. Since I couldn’t pick and choose, that meant trying to suppress ALL emotions, not just the pain and guilt. In reality, this misguided effort only suppressed everything BUT the pain and guilt.

Second, when my daughter died, life as I knew it ended. I was living in a world that suddenly felt alien and intolerable. Not only did I feel like I could never be happy again, I felt outright angry that people around me were happy. To smile, laugh, and have fun again felt like it would mean that there was no longer the possibility that I would wake up from this nightmare I was in. It would mean that I would have to accept that she really did die and life really did go on without her. But I couldn’t “move on”.

In a convoluted way, the pain had become the biggest connection I had to my daughter.

I could no longer see her, touch her, hold her, or hear her sweet voice. Family and friends stopped talking about her because it had become too painful for them. The pain of missing her was what kept her present in my thoughts almost every minute of my waking hours. It’s what I talked about at the support groups I went to. Talking about her was painful because she was no longer here, but it meant I was still talking about her. I was acknowledging the continuing importance of her place in my life and in my heart.

Before my daughter died, I’d heard the old adage that those who’ve died wouldn’t want to see us living in sorrow and misery. I didn’t fully understand or appreciate what that meant until I was faced with it myself. Sorrow and pain will come no matter what. However, we often allow ourselves to get stuck in those emotions when it feels like they’re the only connection we still have to our loved one.

Over time, the notion of happiness as a betrayal of my daughter faded.

At some point, I gave myself permission to smile and to be happy again. I don’t think there was any specific moment I can pinpoint. Instead, it was a slow realization that life was going to go on without her physically here whether I liked it or not. It helped that I still had four other children – one born after she died. The joy and happiness that they bring into my life is undeniable.

The pain of losing my daughter has not gone away, but it does not occupy as much room as it once did. I chose to allow myself to smile and be happy again. And I chose to focus less on her death and more on the happy memories of my daughter’s life. I choose love and happiness, and can’t think of a better way to honor her memory.