survivor's guilt
I'm sure somebody's going to send me an email explaining why this is not the correct usage of that phrase...yippee-skippy...for now, we will live on the edge.
You see, it's not that I feel bad that I'm alive, and my daughter is dead...although I would've gladly taken every fear, every heartache, and every pain from her, if that were possible. More to the point, though, is the heavy realization that I would not be doing the things I'm doing if she were still alive. Every ball game...every workout...every meal at home with the family...all seem to be a glaring reminder that Zoe's gone. Don't get me wrong...I love all those things! But considering the fact that those were all things I'd been sacrificing during Zoe's hospital stay, they're a constant reminder that my loyalties are no longer divided...no compromises any further needed...no sibling suck-it-up sessions required. So there you have it...survivor's guilt.
When you mix that with a twist of responsibility guilt...and a pinch of heavy grief...you've got yourself quite the cocktail. Trust me...no one wants the hangover that one provides. [Just a clever analogy, people...relax]
If you're cruisin for a bruisin, you'll just relish the addition of this reality: due to the demands of Zoe herself, Zane has very little use for me. Zoe insisted on my care 98% of the time...therefore, everyone else had, what has now been affectionately coined, "Zane duty." Although I'm sure this will change with time, it's especially heart-wrenching these days.
I find myself pacing throughout the pile-laden house...a gazillion things to do...with literally no concept of how to do them. I'm not sure why I'm telling you this...maybe I just want to admit it to myself. I thought I understood sorrow and grief...I can assure you, I was sincerely mistaken. I can also promptly add...wouldn't wish this understanding on my worst enemy...not that I have those...just sayin...
I found myself glued to the clock last night, as the one week anniversary of Zoe's death was quickly approaching. Why?!? What good would that do me? Zoe is still gone, whether I mark her TOD or not. As if making note of it would merit me the favor of those that continue to weep with us. I was prepared to be overcome with sorrow all over again. And there was, indeed, no shortage of tears. I even cried myself to sleep watching videos and looking at pictures. But something interesting also happened. My loving Comforter wept with me and spoke words into the very heart of my Father on my behalf...words I could not utter, still found their way to His ears.
I remember thinking, "It was one week ago that my world fell apart." I'm so thankful that the very next thought that supernaturally came to mind was this..."Hold up...wait a minute...that's not true! Everything may have crumbled around me, but I'm still standing! I should be huddled in a corner somewhere, but here I am...able to love on my family...in spite of the pain.
My momma's heart was most definitely broken last Friday, but my world...my life...most definitely did NOT fall apart.
Do I still feel like someone took a jagged edge to my gut??? No doubt.
Do I feel like I've got the worse flu epidemic in the history of the civilized world? Call the CDC.
But has my world, indeed, crumbled into an irreparable heap? I will answer that with the words our family stood and read at Zoe's funeral.
"But we have this treasure (our life with Zoe) in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed...So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen..."
You see, it's not that I feel bad that I'm alive, and my daughter is dead...although I would've gladly taken every fear, every heartache, and every pain from her, if that were possible. More to the point, though, is the heavy realization that I would not be doing the things I'm doing if she were still alive. Every ball game...every workout...every meal at home with the family...all seem to be a glaring reminder that Zoe's gone. Don't get me wrong...I love all those things! But considering the fact that those were all things I'd been sacrificing during Zoe's hospital stay, they're a constant reminder that my loyalties are no longer divided...no compromises any further needed...no sibling suck-it-up sessions required. So there you have it...survivor's guilt.
When you mix that with a twist of responsibility guilt...and a pinch of heavy grief...you've got yourself quite the cocktail. Trust me...no one wants the hangover that one provides. [Just a clever analogy, people...relax]
If you're cruisin for a bruisin, you'll just relish the addition of this reality: due to the demands of Zoe herself, Zane has very little use for me. Zoe insisted on my care 98% of the time...therefore, everyone else had, what has now been affectionately coined, "Zane duty." Although I'm sure this will change with time, it's especially heart-wrenching these days.
I find myself pacing throughout the pile-laden house...a gazillion things to do...with literally no concept of how to do them. I'm not sure why I'm telling you this...maybe I just want to admit it to myself. I thought I understood sorrow and grief...I can assure you, I was sincerely mistaken. I can also promptly add...wouldn't wish this understanding on my worst enemy...not that I have those...just sayin...
I found myself glued to the clock last night, as the one week anniversary of Zoe's death was quickly approaching. Why?!? What good would that do me? Zoe is still gone, whether I mark her TOD or not. As if making note of it would merit me the favor of those that continue to weep with us. I was prepared to be overcome with sorrow all over again. And there was, indeed, no shortage of tears. I even cried myself to sleep watching videos and looking at pictures. But something interesting also happened. My loving Comforter wept with me and spoke words into the very heart of my Father on my behalf...words I could not utter, still found their way to His ears.
I remember thinking, "It was one week ago that my world fell apart." I'm so thankful that the very next thought that supernaturally came to mind was this..."Hold up...wait a minute...that's not true! Everything may have crumbled around me, but I'm still standing! I should be huddled in a corner somewhere, but here I am...able to love on my family...in spite of the pain.
My momma's heart was most definitely broken last Friday, but my world...my life...most definitely did NOT fall apart.
Do I still feel like someone took a jagged edge to my gut??? No doubt.
Do I feel like I've got the worse flu epidemic in the history of the civilized world? Call the CDC.
But has my world, indeed, crumbled into an irreparable heap? I will answer that with the words our family stood and read at Zoe's funeral.
"But we have this treasure (our life with Zoe) in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed...So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen..."
