Grief. Guilt. Mourning. I’m showing the symptoms, and that’s OK

A brief conversation with a longtime friend helped me deal with guilt I was feeling.

I have said more than once I don’t particularly enjoy visiting Evelyn in the place she’s living now. But one conversation made me feel bad about feeling that way.

It’s not that I hate visiting Evelyn. I often do have a nice time while I’m there. (And I go almost every day.) I talk and laugh with the aides and the nurse on duty and listen to them telling me about their lives.

I’ve developed a deep affection for several of the residents. Some are able to carry on a limited conversation. Some smile when I greet them. When I encounter one lady in the hall, she always brightens and offers me her hand. “Hi, honey,” she says to me. “How are you?”

85 percent one-sided

It's a warmer greeting than I sometimes get from Evelyn, who is most often engrossed with whatever’s in her hands in front of her. My time with her is all about tending to her physical needs and trying to elicit some response from her to my questions about what she’s reading or my comments about the weather. It’s work. It’s about 85 percent one-sided, and I can’t say I always enjoy it.

But a few weeks ago, at a casual supper with a couple of other Artis spouses, one of them said to me, “Mark, you say you don’t enjoy visiting with Evelyn, but I do enjoy my visits. I like spending time with my wife!”

“Me too,” another chimed in. “I want to be with my husband.”

Each of these folks spends more time each day with their spouse than I spend with Evelyn. Even though I don’t see any other family member there as often or as much as these two, their example and their testimony made me feel guilty.

Tori snapped a picture on a nightly stroll outside the patio in Evelyn’s wing. It was a warm evening in October.

Why can’t I feel as good about my time with Evelyn as they seem to feel about walking the halls with their loved one? Were all my years with her more about what I was getting than what I was giving? Have I quit enjoying her simply because I’m not getting anything from her anymore?

Grief and guilt go together

I poured all this out to my friend who listened quietly and then helped me see something I hadn’t realized.

“In all my years working with people in grief,” he said, “sooner or later they always find something to feel guilty about.”

Grief? This is a symptom of grief? This is normal? Other people feel this way?

“You’re in mourning,” he said to me. Evidently everyone in mourning eventually tries to find some reason their loss would have been easier, or even prevented, if they just hadn’t somehow failed.

Mourning may last very long

Even though something triggers tears for me almost every day, I wouldn’t have said I’m in mourning. I’d say the big changes are behind us. I’m not coping with Evelyn at home any longer. I haven’t been sure for weeks if she knows who I am, and I’m no longer surprised by that.

We’ve settled into a routine. Each day for her is mostly like the day before. Meanwhile, I’ve busily filled my time with get-togethers with friends, household duties, service projects, and writing (little freelance jobs as well as twice weekly at this site).

I’m coping pretty well, I’d tell anyone.

But my friend, insightful and compassionate and experienced, said, “You’re mourning.”

I don’t want to be in mourning. I want to smile and laugh. I want to enjoy the world and contribute to it. I regularly report to others how God has blessed me in so many positive ways in spite of this great loss. That’s what I want to think about.

Not the emptiness I feel on a weekend night at home alone. Not my impulse even now when I awaken in the night to check on Evelyn in the bed beside me—and the resignation mixed with relief mixed with sadness that she’ll never be there.

I did a search for the word change at this site and saw I’ve written about it regularly. But the drip, drip, drip of change in our daily routine is all behind us now. I’ve written about the good care she’s receiving. I’m not under financial pressure. Life is good.

But my friend says I’m mourning.

Only two more weeks to go in this series of devotions.

Moving forward

Others who know more about grief than I say a loss like mine is not something you get over. As one reader kindly reminded me, a good goal is to move forward, not to move on. Memories of what we had will always be with me.

And so, like many others, I will just keep moving forward: paying the bills, monitoring her health, making myself useful, thanking God for the blessings while engaging in the release that comes from lament—acknowledging and mourning the loss while stopping to rejoice in all that remains.

And remembering, all of this is nothing to feel guilty about.