Regret

I once wrote that guilt is a universal symptom of grief.

I believe that statement more now than ever before. In fact, no single emotion has amplified my pain or impeded my grief journey quite like guilt. Unfortunately, this is true for almost every griever (which is a big reason why my post When Grief Causes Guilt is one of my most-read).

In that post, I talk about 6 distinct types of grief-related guilt (adapted from Grief is a Journey, by Dr. Kenneth J. Doka):

1) Role guilt – the belief that you could have served more effectively in your individual role. Example: I could and should have been a better husband to Kailen.

2) Moral guilt – the belief that our loss is punitive. Example: If I had been a better person, God would have healed the cancer and Kailen would still be alive.

3) Causation guilt – moving a step beyond moral guilt, this is the belief that the griever did something to directly cause their loved one’s death. Example: If I hadn’t forgotten to give her an adequate dose of pain medication, the cancer wouldn’t have spread to her brain.

4) Grief guilt – when the griever experiences shame for his/her perceived inability to handle their loss. Example: It’s been 3 years since she died and my grief is still alienating me from my surviving loved ones.

5) Recovery guilt – when the griever experiences shame for his/her perceived ability to handle their loss TOO WELL. Example: I shouldn’t want to get married again and have a family; she’s only be gone 3 years.

6) Survivor’s guilt – the belief that if our loved one is dead, we should be too. Example: Instead of watching a sunset and appreciating its inherent beauty, I question why I get to see it and she doesn’t.

My grief journey has taken me through all 6 forms of grief-related guilt, though I confess that recovery guilt has long been my greatest struggle. I sometimes wonder if it will be a daily battle for the rest of my life.

Maybe you the feel the same way. Maybe you’ve been riddled with guilt ever since your loss. Make no mistake, guilt is destructive. It has the power to derail your progress, to crush your hopes and plunge you into depression.

But there’s something worse.

Guilt, once it has fully matured, has another name:

Regret.

It is this mature form of guilt with which I now grapple. I question everything – every decision and every indecision, every action and inaction, past, present, and future. I perpetually second guess myself, ever-fearful that I’m about to make another fatal mistake, another flawed choice that will further dissolve my life into chaos.

Guilt tells us we did something wrong.

Regret tells us we deserved it, and we can never go back to fix it.

Guilt may cripple you. But regret will put you in your grave.

Allow me to offer this word of encouragement (and please understand I’m writing this to myself as much as I am to you) – regret, just like guilt, has no inherent power. They’re both lies meant to misdirect, to distract, to pull you away from the healing you’re working toward.

They’re quite good at it. They’re convincing. But unless you believe them, guilt and regret are completely and utterly impotent.

You didn’t cause your tragedy, and you certainly didn’t deserve it. You’re not bad just because something bad happened to you.

May today be the day we relieve guilt and regret of their power; may today mark the beginning of something new, something fresh, something healthy.

May you look to the west this evening and watch the sunset, and instead of questioning yourself or God or whomever you blame for your pain, may you take refuge in something bigger than yourself, something over which you have absolutely no control.

For in that formative moment, when you realize the sun will sink below the horizon whether you want it to or not, you’re forced to relinquish your control. You’re forced to face the reality that you were an immaterial witness to your tragedy.

Like the sunset, Kailen’s death happened independently of my will. And in that simple realization, I find all the proof I need.

Every sunset debunks guilt and regret.

All we have to do is let go. And look west.

In His Grip,

Bryan