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Does guilt always go along with grief? It sure seems like it in my experience. And often, as is the case with the recent death of my sister, I can't seem to find any way I could have done things differently to avoid the guilt. I would have felt guilty about something, no matter what. Damned if you do, damned if you don't.
My sister was diagnosed with lung and liver cancer on April 20, the same day I was having arthroscopic surgery on my knee. Another sister called to tell me the bad news the following day. Of course, my first instinct was to rush to her side - problem is, she lived in Vermont and I in California. In a perfect world, that wouldn't have mattered. I would have gotten on a plane and been there the following day. I don't live in a perfect world.
I'd taken time off for my surgery and I had 2 weeks of vacation scheduled for 3 weeks later to attend my daughter's wedding in Minnesota. I already had time, money and plans invested in all this, plus I had medical bills to pay. I questioned everyone involved about the prognosis - not great but she was starting chemo and had a good attitude. I decided to go ahead with my plans and tack an additional week onto my vacation so I could continue on to Vermont after the wedding and see her. Realistically, even in the most optimistic light, it was a good chance that it would be the last time I saw her. Since I don't believe in an afterlife, that has a very final ring to it.
Four days before I was due to leave, I got another phone call. She was now in a nursing home, not doing well. No one knew if she'd survive another two weeks. Once again, if life were perfect, I'd have leaped on a plane. I didn't have the money for a plane. I gambled that she'd hang in there. She didn't. She died two days later.
I keep second guessing myself on this. It seems that somehow I could have juggled all this in such a way that I could have gone to the wedding, seen my sister and dealt with the surgery. And I imagine I could have had I known for sure that she was going to die so quickly - it was only a month between diagnosis and death! The truth is that I gambled that she'd last longer and she didn't and now I feel guilty. Do I feel guilty because I didn't do enough or because she's dead and I'm alive? Or was I somehow avoiding the inevitable? Or am I just grieving and not making any real sense? Hanging onto guilt because it's easier to bear than pain?
I don't grieve well. I don't know how. I bottle everything up inside and then the next time I suffer a loss, it all comes welling up, all the stuff that's already stuck in there, deep inside and unresolved. Each time there's more. Each time, it's harder to tamp it all back into the little dark closet in my soul where I keep it locked up. It kind of oozes out the cracks. It's oozing today. ~sigh~
Does anybody else in here feel the way I do?
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