Living with survivor's guilt

"Repentant tears wash out the stain of guilt."

-Saint Augustine

September 3, 1998.

What if I was at home that day?

What would have happened if I didn't leave the house to go visit a friend in Shermans Dale to hang out, drink, smoke, and blaze a few joints? What if I came home afterwards instead of driving aimlessly along the roads of Silver Spring Township, lamenting my loneliness and my bad financial situation and fearing any reprisals that would come my way from a father who just would not let me live the life I wanted to live?

I ask myself those questions every day of my life. I live with them. They keep me awake at night sometimes. They give me nightmares. They make me question everything, especially my purpose in life and my faith in God. I can play through every detail in my mind as if it was captured on video. Ask me what I was wearing that day and I could tell you. Ask me what I was listening to musically that day and I could tell you. Ask me anything about it.

Some call it "survivor's guilt", which is part of the PTSD spectrum.

According to Psychology Today: symptoms of survivors' guilt include avoidance, feeling on edge, vigilant, detached, and easily startled. Additional signs include obsessing over what happened, feeling confused, unworthy, or ambivalent about living, harping on the meaning of life, or being plagued by the sense that no matter where you go, you’re never really safe. The resulting self-condemnation and isolation takes a toll on health and relationships. I am certain that this has taken a toll on many of my relationships with family and friends.

Carrying the guilt that you feel over not being there for a family member, friend, or loved one that needed you in the case that said person has caused harm or fatal injury to his/herself is a very heavy cross to bear. It is a cross that I really do not want to carry anymore, but I feel I have to.

Why? I was not there for my dad when he needed someone. His death is my fault in some ways.

Now, a long line of people, from friends and family all the way up to my therapist, have said the same thing: "It's not your fault". For 20 years, all I hear is "it's not your fault". Yes, that is correct. On the surface, that is 100% correct. I do not disagree with that. Yet, you are not looking deep enough. Dig deeper.

I was very irresponsible in the months leading up to dad's suicide. I was writing bad checks, stealing money from my dad's stash to augment my meager salary from my nursing home job, spending lots of time away from home, and more worried about the next pack of Marlboros or the next paycheck so I could buy a drum kit and start my dream of being a musician. Selfish shit. I should have stayed home more, then I would have known my dad was spiraling downward and his relationship with mom was deteriorating. Mom did tell me a thing or two, but I didn't buy it. Not dad, not the guy who had the balls to get up on a municipal plow during a blizzard and demand the driver clear our road so a mother with a newborn could get food for her kid. Not the guy who could put the fear of God into me with one look. Not the guy who all the kids in the neighborhood were afraid of and respected, even if they didn't like me. Not the guy who carried his family on his back and built a successful business from nothing. Not him. Mom was just telling stories, I thought. Dad's got balls of iron, nothing can scare him. He's the toughest man alive. He'll always be around, and I will be forever under his thumb.

I was yearning to be out from under his control, everything so orderly and responsible. I was wishing that something would happen so that I would be free of his authority, so I could live my life, and do what my friends were doing, living on fast food and alcohol, being wasted, writing music, playing

drums, sleeping on the floor of crummy motels, living the life of a musician (or so I thought it was at the time!)!

So, you could say, the day he died, my wish came true. Yes, I was overcome with grief, shock, and loss (because I did not want him out of my life THAT way! I was thinking more of my own place or something), but also a sense of relief and freedom I never felt before. Also, and may God forgive me for saying this, or may He punish me eternally in Hell for this...there were times I was actually GLAD he was not around anymore. Lord, have mercy on me and forgive me, please. How I could have felt gladness at all after the death of a parent is an unforgivable sin, even if it was brief and my mind would return back to reality and mourn shortly after.

Now, if I was a good, responsible son, I would have been there for him. I would have talked him out of it. I would have saved the relationship between himself and my mother. I know I could do it. What parent would turn down the wishes of their child? I could have been the glue that held them together.

But I wasn't there. Instead, I was hanging with a wastoid friend, being a wastoid, while at home my parents threw away 25 years of marriage and dad threw away 45 years of life.

So yes, in a way, his death IS my fault. I was not there to stop something I know damn well I could have easily stopped. If I didn't stop it, at least I would have tried my best, and if there would have been a struggle and I died, it would have been trying to help my family instead of  dying for something selfish. No greater love is there than a man who would lay down his life.

Also, the fact that I felt relief and freedom and sometimes even gladness at times after he was gone is an abomination, something I cannot forgive myself for. I should have grieved for him ALL the time and never felt any joy or happiness in those days afterwards. Yes, I DID GRIEVE, I DID MOURN, but not all the time. Those times of relief are a millstone around my neck. No priest can forgive that sin.

So, after digging deeper, you can most definitely see why this guilt may never leave. The guilt a survivor feels is like a penance. It's his price for survival. You're gonna carry that weight a long time. Have you had a loved one who has killed himself? A mother? A father? A brother? A sister? A child? A spouse? A friend? If so, surely you have felt the same way and still do. It's OK to feel that way and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

It is not much different from the soldier who lost his buddy in Desert Storm, or the friend who lost their co-workers on 9/11. You wonder and wonder how things could have been different, if you could have done something, anything, to save someone close to you. Even if it isn't your fault, your heart and your head will always say that it is. The hardest part is learning to live with the burden and not letting it destroy you. Somehow, I do. This is going to be with me the rest of my life. You can't cure it, so you have to find a way to live with it, and on days like the early part of this month every single year, it is a living hell.

Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy.