The Guilt Free Life

Loss can be so devastating that we can be stopped in our tracks from continuing on with life. The sudden emptiness we feel in the absence of another; the loneliness we experience when our habits prompt us to call a loved one no longer there; the feeling of dread knowing that something dear to us will never be seen again. I have experienced all of these feelings, and have not only survived, but have grown from each and every loss in my life.

I do not consider my story sad, but when I tell it, people adopt that face of sympathy, pat me on the shoulder, and tell me how sorry they are for me. And for those moments, I feel consoled, and I can actually pity my situation, as if it were happening in a movie I were watching. I can feel the leading lady’s pain, submersed in her misery, and overcome with grief. I am detached, yet I drink in the sympathy as if it permits me to be the victim.

Then I snap back, ashamed of myself, guilty for feeling the pain of my losses. I don’t want to be the victim, for that in my eyes makes me weak, out of control. And then the guilt hits me from the other end of the spectrum, for I should be ABLE to grieve but somehow I cannot muster tears to my eyes. I am a monster.

My Story, briefly…

My father died on his 50th of a heart attack; I was 5 months old. My mother thought all other men were just out for one thing, and refused to marry. Because of this, I grew up in a single-parent household and my mother worked 2 jobs to raise the 4 out of 5 of us that remained at home. Between the ages of 3 to 10 I was subjected to random sexual abuse from a grown cousin. He told me that I was bad, and not to tell anyone or else.

There were the usual losses throughout my twenties, but nothing that created much stress. But in 2005, I decided to leave my husband of 8 years. I was planning to visit Florida to break the news to my mother, then 80, who was living in a nursing home completely unable to care for herself. My trip was planned for Mother’s Day. I never got to tell her, as she died the day before–with only a nurse by her side. I went to work that day, and three days later, traveled to Kansas City to teach sold-out quilting classes. I could not shed a tear, and was riddled with guilt because that meant–to me–that I did not love my mother.

We were living in Mississippi at the time, and although my husband and I had agreed to part, I had not yet moved out to a new home. On August 29, 2005, Hurricane Katrina hit the Gulf Coast, and 40 years belongings were lost. I had taken my son to a safe place several hours away; by the time I was able to return home, the home had already been looted of anything I could have salvaged. My job at the casino was lost, as it would take nearly 2 years to rebuild it. I was homeless, jobless, nearly penniless, and terrified.

Yet all of my friends were in the same boat, for all of us lost at least something that year. We were mesmerized by the reports on CNN about the damage, identifying former hangouts now washed across Highway 90. We could not let go of the past.

So I had to leave.

And here I am. I have a new house, a wonderful man, a great job, and a healthy son. And a future, once I conquered the guilt that clouded my vision.