Survivor's Guilt?

“Who would like to go?” was the question that accompanied a dear friend's post on Facebook. She had attached a link with information about the “Taste of Georgia.” Impulsively I responded that I would love to go, and then before I could change my mind, I followed the link and purchased a ticket. Later while communicating via text with the same friend, I admitted that this future outing will be the first time that I have socialized with friends sans children since Woody died.

I am conflicted in my emotions. Part of me is excited at the prospect of grown-up interaction in a relaxed atmosphere with people I thoroughly enjoy; yet the other half of me feels guilty—guilty for allowing myself to live and laugh without Woody. It has been over a year, yet I still feel as if I will wake up one morning and find him lying next to me in bed with a mischievous grin on his face and explain how it was all a horrible hoax. I still struggle at the thought of allowing myself to engage in life, enjoy new experiences, and make new friends without him. I still miss him with every fiber of my being. Sometimes the feelings of loneliness and loss overwhelm me, until the pain is a physical ache deep within my chest. However, at the same time laughter comes quickly. Smiles grace my lips; and with every bit of joy I experience there is also a twinge of guilt for allowing myself to be happy.

Perhaps this too shall pass. I really don’t know. What I do know is that God has carried me through the worst season of my life, and He will somehow assist me as I navigate through this next phase of grief.

An Open Letter to Cameron Sterling

I am stunned. My heart is broken for a 15 year old boy who had to watch his father’s violent, senseless death. My mind races back to a day 14 months ago when my 14 year old son had to watch his father’s violent, senseless death. And, no, the circumstances are not similar, but the loss and heartache are. As I view the video of Cameron Sterling standing next to his mother in his bright horizontally striped shirt, pulling up the collar to hide his face and somehow squelch the sobs, I am overtaken with pain as I watch him succumb to the sorrow and sob into a male relative’s arms.

Cameron, I am SO sorry! No young man should experience this kind of pain. This next year will be horrific as you walk through the fog of grief. You may block it from memory and refuse to acknowledge the pain, as my son has done; or you may engage in self-harm, as another child of mine has done. No matter what you do, the pain will stab at your heart and sting your eyes. The void will grow larger as you realize the gravity of your loss the next time you want to call or text your dad and realize he’s not there. More than anything, I wish I could wrap my arms around you and hug away the agony that grips you so tightly. I pray that through all of this you know that you have a heavenly Father who defends the orphan. He will be your Father and love you unconditionally. He alone understands the depth of your sorrow. My son and I are praying for you; and unfortunately, we know how to pray. We know what this year will look like for you and your siblings, and that is why we will not cease our prayers.

I will say this: although Cameron and Haden are the same age and have experienced a similar loss, it is not the same. Haden—a white male—does not have to worry about racial profiling. He walks down the streets of the city without fear from the police. I can honestly say that Cameron will never know that sense of peace. How many more lives must be lost before a black man can walk through the city with the same confidence as a white man?

A Wedding

It was a lovely wedding. I have known the bride and groom for years and have loved them both separately but love them even more as a couple. As they knelt to take communion together, I watched as the bride’s arm went around the groom’s torso and her hand rested lovingly on his back. Tears stung my eyes as I witnessed a long journey concluding at the altar. She had waited—and waited—for a man who would cherish her like Christ loved the church. I was honored to witness a union firmly established in faith.

The evening was bittersweet. I remembered the day I had pledged my life and love to a man who loved me with such great compassion and joy. We spoke of how we would grow old together and watch our children and grandchildren blossom into men and women. We planned trips around the world. We imagined retirement together. Our lives were ever intertwined. There was no future ever fantasized that did not include “we.”

But then the unimaginable happened. The man I vowed to love until death did us part tragically died shortly after his 43^rd birthday. Suddenly the future grew grim and gloomy. I realized then how very little control we have over what tomorrow might bring. We are not promised “old age.” We are not even guaranteed next week. We can only be assured of the moment we are in.  Life truly is short.

I know I will witness more weddings, and every one of them will be a joyous occasion. I just pray that every couple who walk down the aisle and enter into that covenant relationship will value every day after the wedding even more so than the ceremony itself. I pray that they treasure the years they are given and never squander even one single hour of any given day. Love is a gift from God, and marriage is by His design. Do not waste it.