Jenga

By Sherrie Ann Cassel

Weekends pass so quickly; it can sometimes feel like you never left the office. Time marches on and it waits for no one. Not even guilt can deter it. Even after Little Boy’s decimation of your former self, your brain still yields new neurons that beg for the continuation of life, a life that appeals to our natural hedonistic tendencies. Does a sunset make you feel good? Does a concert bring you joy? Does falling in love make you feel giddy?

Joy is possible — even after you lose a loved one.

Mourning is a timeless ritual in many cultures which helps begin a pathway to healing. For example, funeral pyres, entombment, burials at sea, and internment are age-old ceremonies that help us say goodbye. Celebrations of life are now common in the grief process. Death rituals make things real. They provide the opportunity to fully address the shocking impermanence of life.

Grief is how we deal with the absence of someone’s presence, and it is painful in every possible way something can be. There are days when we are beset with grief , when even focusing on our breath is a monumental feat. But courageously — we soldier on. We learn about ourselves through the grief process. We ask ourselves very tough questions. We judge ourselves harshly. Guilt is born out of grief and I can’t see a single reason why guilt should be so prominently placed in the life of a griever. Holding on to guilt has served me no purpose as I crawl, march, or sprint through the process.

I’ve made grief my pet project — and I see and have a lot of guilt since my son died. But I am healing in great leaps and bounds, in between days when melancholy falls on me like a shroud. If the truth be told, losing a child has both leveled me and strengthened me. I will always miss my son, and as any grieving parent would say, Not a moment goes by when my child is not on my mind.

I shouldn’t have to qualify or apologize for my ability to move forward — forward to— not away from. I know I sometimes find myself feeling guilt for having the survivalist’s compulsion to move on. Emotionally I chant mea culpa very well — a consequence of the lifetime of guilt I inculcated from the teachings of two prominent sources in my life.

Holding on to guilt and shame is a consequence of our need to judge one another, either for religious reasons, or for survival purposes as we navigate our complex social world on our way to a rich and meaningful life.

Guilt is temporary and illusory. For example, are we really the only ones who have done thus and such? Are we really the worst people who ever lived? These are doubtful propositions, yet we beat ourselves up quite often for all we couldn’t do or shouldn’t have done, all of the things we should or should not have said, but – we ran out of time.

Perhaps guilt is our common denominator, that one thing in which we are equal (unless one is a sociopath). We are our worst critics is a cliché because it happens so often it is now a normal expectation in American consciousness, followed closely by guilt.

Once I planted a sunflower when I was a little girl. I placed it in the shade underneath my bedroom window, so I could watch it grow; sadly, it didn’t survive my gardening prowess. My father told me some plants need to be in full sun for them to grow. I planted my next sunflower in the sun where it and several successive generations thrived. I beamed with pride.

Guilt prevents the sun from awakening our full potential. Grief hurts, no doubt, but I think we hold on to guilt sometimes because letting go of it completely breaks the chain connecting us to our loved one. Letting go of guilt, to me, has meant what it means every September 11th, I should “never forget,” as if not ruminating somehow erases your memory of your loved one. It doesn’t.

Guilt deters rather than promotes healing. Kubler-Ross’ model of the 5 Stages of Grief (b), has been our model for how to navigate grief. Originally, Kubler-Ross’ model didn’t impress upon us the hope that we could release guilt and begin healing our hearts and minds. She led us to acceptance, but no steps for what happens next.This model is one of the longest-standing theories we have on grief navigation. We have decades of new data to add to the scientific literature.

Guilt makes us not like ourselves; it distorts reality. Guilt keeps our self-images poor and anemic. There is nothing we could have done to save our loved one. There is nothing we can do now that they are gone. Each one of us gives our relationships the best that we have, and sometimes a chapter closes — and we are free to write the next one. I don’t mean to trivialize our greatest losses, but guilt serves no purpose in renewal.

Humanity is capable of amazing things, art, love, scientific discoveries, but we still haven’t found a way to stop our self-destruction, or let go of emotions that only cripple us as we come face-to-face with the greatest decision of our lives: to fully live, however briefly, or to die, even as we live.

Don’t think I’ve got guilt licked. I don’t. I have to remind myself of this every day when I feel the need to self-destruct and flagellate my soul. Letting go of guilt is a process. I wish I could have saved my son, but I couldn’t. My faith tradition compels me to believe he is alive in a heaven beyond my comprehension, and because I believe this, I can face the rest of my life, in peace.

Everyone keeps telling me love never dies, and guilt has no place in love. We make mistakes and sometimes we are remorseful, but guilt destroys people, and it certainly won’t bring us to wholeness. I encourage you to find a group, a therapist, an activity that feeds your soul, and pour your passion into rebuilding yourself. Start by clearing away the broken bricks that have crushed your self-image for too long, maybe even chiefly among them: guilt.

Honoring our love for someone we’ve lost should bring smiles, sometimes mixed with tears; it should solder the slivers of our hearts together again. Honoring our loved one means we make a pact with our logical selves to gradually let go of the guilt that inhibits our growth. I am healing from the loss of my son. As I build a healthy relationship with my memories of him, I mentally let go of all the sadness and hurt for as long as I can manage that merciful balance.

And when I hold guilt against my chest like a security blanket, I must instead force acceptance of my process and encourage myself toward perfect clarity to see my brokenness, to be my own good Samaritan, to tend to my wounds and to heal myself.

(a) Kubler-Ross, 5 Stages of Grief