Survivor's Guilt Read online

  “Ouch,” I said in mockery. It didn’t really hurt, but he didn’t need to know that.

  “Your pulse is erratic and your skin has lost elasticity. Both signs of lack of nourishment and dehydration. Just appease me and at least attempt to eat something, Ell. We can go find a place away from the beach so it won’t be a… distraction.”

  By distraction, I knew he was talking about how the sight of the ocean seemed to affect us both. It made me wonder if I would ever truly get over my hatred for something so beautiful, or if I would now fear it for the rest of my life.

  “Okay,” I conceded as I let out a long, low sigh.

  “I’ll be upstairs. Just come and get me when you’re ready.”

  I nodded and then he was gone. I dropped my head into my hands as I took several deep breaths as my erratic heart thudded dully in my chest.

  I couldn’t tell if my heart was truly erratic and racing because I was indeed in need of nutrition, or from the same current of awareness I felt every time he touched me.

  WORKING THROUGH THE PAIN

  WHEN A LOVED ONE dies, there are no visible injuries to be seen. Nothing that marks your flesh to prove that you went through a traumatic incident. There are no physical symptoms that others can see unless they are truly paying attention to their posture or appearance. There are only feelings that mar you from the inside. A person’s loss is invisible, difficult to prove the quantity of pain, and damn near incomprehensible to the naked eye. So how will a person who has suffered such a loss be able to communicate the intangible damages to someone else they know? Or worse, a complete stranger?

  I thought about all of these things as Evan and I walked into an old gymnasium of the recreation center where our grief counseling was to take place. The smell of old leather and wood hit my nostrils as we walked across the creaking wood floor to where there were about twelve other people seated in a circle. Twenty-four eyes stared back at us from where they sat in old folded chairs placed in a circle that faced a middle-aged woman standing in the center.

  Evan and I took two of the three empty seats, sitting quietly as the councilor made her rounds to everyone in greeting. I took the time to take in all the many different faces that were in the group. Some young, some old. A pretty even number of men and women. It made me curious about all of the different stories, all the different kinds of pain that each person had to go through. Were they as traumatic as Evan’s and mine? Worse?

  “Hi Evan and Ellison. My name is Sandi. Welcome to the group. My deepest condolences for your loss,” she said as she shook each of our hands. “We’ll do a formal introduction in a few minutes. Most of these guys have been coming for a while, but we always introduce the new members of the circle.”

  “Thank you,” Evan and I both said before we watched her greet the rest of the people.

  “So, you nervous about this?” Evan asked, leaning over to where his shoulder brushed mine. His breath was hot against my ear and an involuntary shiver ran under my skin. I wasn’t cold by any means, it was just that damn awareness creeping in, making itself known when it had no business being there. What the hell was wrong with me? I felt sick every time the damn awareness was present because his touch affected me, and it shouldn’t. I was here mourning my husband, the love of my life. Yet, every time I felt the brush of his skin with mine, I felt comforted. I felt a sudden zap of peace and electricity at the same time.

  “Good evening everyone. Thank you for being here tonight. Most of you know me. My name is Doctor Sandi Dawson, but please call me Sandi. We are all here tonight because we have all suffered a loss in some way or form. We have all been through something very traumatic that has affected the way we live our lives from day to day.” She paused as she looked around the circle at each one of us.

  “The goal of grief counseling is to help achieve acceptance around the loss. We never truly get over the loss we feel in our hearts. Acceptance isn’t about feeling okay or fine, and it certainly isn’t about feeling happy after what we are grieving is long gone from our lives. It is about acknowledging that there is a piece missing in your life and then taking that fact and trying to weave it into your life. Try not to think of it as moving on and being okay with the loss, but about developing new friendships and relationships with other people, as well as with yourself.”

  She walked over to the last remaining seat, crossing her legs and allowing her flowing skirt to drape over her legs like a thin layer of curtains. Her blonde hair was knotted at her nape, secured by a tiny white flower. Dark framed glasses sat over her bright green eyes. Even though there was brightness to them, beneath the glass there was a sense of sadness that you wouldn’t see if you weren’t looking for it.

  “I thought we could start the session with sharing some of our stories. I’ll go first. I lived in New York City my entire life. I was used to the hustle and bustle of the big city. My parents both worked on Wall Street and my sister and I got to experience so much in our young lives. As we grew older, we didn’t move away, but instead stayed because it is what we knew. Fast paced living was for us.”

  She smiled slightly as if recalling a memory that made her happy, but then her eyes clouded over in pain as she said her next words.

  “On September eleventh, two-thousand and one, I lost my best friend. The person I confided in more than any other. She was more than my sister, she was my other half. The better half of me. You see, we were identical twins. She worked in tower one. The plane was a direct hit to one of the floors she worked on.”

  My hand covered my mouth as I tried to fight back tears. September eleventh was a hard day for everyone, but to actually lose someone in the terrorist attack had to be one of the most horrific experiences ever. I felt her pain as she spoke so freely about her sister. It has been fourteen years since that day, yet Sandi spoke about it like it had happened yesterday. Would I always feel that way? Would I always look back on my short life with Jeremy and let the overwhelming sadness of that day mask the wonderful times we did have when he was alive and with me?

  When she was finished with her story, she called on several of the other people in the group to share their stories. One was a young woman, not much older than I was. Her hair was short, laying against her cheeks like a frame for her face. Her skin was light, which showcased a small tattoo on her inner wrist.

  “Hi. My name is Jessica. Three years ago my husband and I found out we were having a baby. It was the biggest joy of our lives and we couldn’t have been happier. The pregnancy wasn’t a difficult one. In fact, if it were any more perfect, it wouldn’t have been normal. At seven months pregnant, we found out we were having a baby girl. Phillip and I were both excited. Daisy was always a very active baby. Sometimes she would keep me awake at night from moving around so much.”

  Jessica paused as she looked down at her belly, now flat and missing the sign of life growing inside of her.

  “The week she was due to arrive, I noticed that her movements had decreased significantly. I called the doctor because I was concerned, but they told me it was normal since she was running out of space. Phillip and I went to our last check up on the day she was due. Everything about that day seemed off. Then we found out why when the doctor put the ultrasound probe on my stomach and couldn’t find Daisy’s heartbeat.”

  She paused again taking a deep, shaky breath. Sandi leaned over and handed her a tissue from a pile of boxes that sat on the floor beneath her feet. Apparently there was a need to keep them in a stockpile.

  “The chord had gotten wrapped around her neck. The doctors predicted she had died right around the time I noticed her not moving as much. I still had to go through the birth. Still had to push and feel the pain of childbirth, but I would gladly do it and feel that pain everyday for the rest of my life if I it meant I didn’t have to feel the pain of seeing my daughter not breathe when she was born. I’d gladly take the damage to my body over and over again if it meant that I could have her here with me now.”

  The only sounds
that could be heard were the sniffles that came from Jessica and some of the other women in the circle, myself included.

  So much devastation.

  So much loss.

  My already heavy heart felt even more weighed down as more stories were brought to the surface. A man whose wife had died of cancer only one month after she was diagnosed. A woman whose son drowned in a neighbor’s swimming pool. It was hard having to hear about all the pain that each of these people felt. But at the same time, it gave me hope that eventually I would be able to look upon my short life with Jeremy as something beautiful and not remember the agony and distress of the day he died.

  “Evan? Ellison? Would either of you like to share your reason that has led you to this group?” Sandi asked as her kind eyes flicked back and forth between Evan and me. I hesitated, not quite feeling strong enough to speak publicly about my loss, but Evan stood up and spoke for both of us.

  “Ellie and I were both celebration our honeymoon,” he began and was interrupted by Jessica.

  “Oh, congratulations,” she smiled sweetly at the both of us and my eyes grew wide. She thought we had married each other.

  “No, Ellie and I didn’t marry each other, we were celebrating our honeymoon separately, with our respective spouses.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she apologized looking at both of us, “You just looked like an adorable couple, that’s all.”

  Her statement couldn’t have shocked me more if I had been electrocuted with a Taser gun. A sudden coldness hit me in my core. My husband had barely been gone a few weeks and yet the awareness of Evan wouldn’t leave me. Now to have someone suggest that we were a cute couple, put the last layer of guilt on my conscious. I wasn’t supposed to be experiencing this type of feeling with a man so soon after my loss, if ever.

  “We were on a diner cruise,” he continued, seemingly ignoring Jessica’s comment about us being a couple. “Everything was great until we got caught in a storm.”

  “Oh my gosh! You two were on the boat that sank off shore a few weeks ago?” Jessica interrupted yet again as she brought both of her hands to her breastbone in relief. It was the same reaction nearly everyone gave us when we had to tell our story.

  “Yes. I lost my wife, Lilly, and Ellie lost her husband, Jeremy.”

  “Oh my, I’m so sorry,” Jessica said quietly as her chin came to her chest and she stared at her hands as if she felt some sort of inkling of the pain we were feeling.

  I hated the look of devastation on everyone’s face. I didn’t want people to feel sorry for me. It wouldn’t do any good, and it certainly wouldn’t bring Jeremy or Lilly back.

  ***

  TRYING TO IGNORE THE young girl’s statement regarding Ellie and me was hard. Not allowing my reaction to show, proved to be difficult as I told the group our painful story. Something stirred inside me every time I had to look at Ellie. It was odd that I was looking for certain little things about her that I hadn’t ever noticed before. Like the small ring of dark blue fire that surrounded her pupils and contrasted against the lighter blue of her irises. Or how her long dark hair looked almost auburn in the sun, like it had been spray-painted with rays of sunshine to add a subtle low light effect. If the guilt of losing my wife didn’t consume me, it was the guilt of feeling this strange cognizance I felt around Ellie.

  I sat back down in my chair after finishing our story. Instinctively, I looked over to Ellie who had her hands fisted in her lap, her shoulders slumped in towards her chest and an overall defeated look to her postures and features.

  “Thank you, Evan, for confiding in us with your story,” Sandi said as she nodded her head at me. “I have a little activity that I want us to do tonight.” She stood up and reached beneath her to produce a stack of blank paper and some pencils, instructing us to take one of each and pass it around.

  “On the first side of this paper, I want you to draw your face. But not just any face, I want you to draw the mask that you let others see. Regardless of our circumstances, there are only pieces of us that we truly let others see. I’ll give you a few minutes.”

  Sandi walked around the circle, taking in each person’s drawing as she looked over our shoulders. I sat staring at my blank white piece of paper for several minutes. I understood what she was asking us to do, but didn’t know exactly how I wanted to put my thoughts into a picture of my face.

  “Mark,” she said grabbing the attention of the man whose wife had passed away from cancer, “Will you show us your mask?”

  Mark stood up slowly, his age showing in the shake of his knees and legs as he made his way to his feet. Turning around his piece of paper revealing a picture that showed him smiling, yet the smile looked forced in his drawing.

  “The mask I show is a smile, so that people can’t see the hurt and pain I still carry inside. It’s been nearly a year since I lost my Betty, but it still feels fresh to me, as I wake up everyday expecting to see her cooking breakfast in the kitchen like she had nearly everyday for the forty-two years we were married.” He sat back down and looked at his drawing as he adjusted the wire-framed glasses on his face. Lifting his hand, he rubbed at his eye behind the glasses, wanting to pretend like he was okay, yet I saw the glistening wetness that had formed there when he spoke about his wife.

  “Thank you, Mark. Like I said in the beginning, acceptance isn’t about being okay or fine with our lives after we experience loss, but about finding a way to live through the loss. It doesn’t mean we ever have to forget.” She looked over to me and I was nervous about having to show mine to the group.

  “Evan?”

  Slowly, I stood up looking down at my paper then to the group as I turned it around.

  “You didn’t draw anything?” Sandi asked me with a look of puzzlement on her face.

  “I didn’t have to. This is my mask. Blank. Stoic. Vacant. This is what I show the world. No emotions. I pretend to go about my life normally, letting my outward appearance seem as if nothing ever happened and I am just fine. But really, there is a storm inside of me. There is anger, resentment, sorrow and a shit ton of regret.” I paused swallowing past the lump in my throat and looked down at Ellie who had her face downcast and turned away from me. I knew she had taken my statement of regret to heart. Did I blame her for losing Lilly? Absolutely not, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t blame herself. I saved her, and in reaction, Lilly was the one I couldn’t hang on to.

  “Thank you Evan. I understand your picture completely and thank you for explaining that to us. Ellie, how about you, dear?”

  The paper in Ellie’s hand trembled as she stood and turned her paper around. On the white page, it showed downcast eyes, with cracks on the tops of her cheekbones. I didn’t know if they were a strange version of tears, but I wanted to reach out and take her hand. I could feel the fear radiate off her and knew that for her to speak about her feelings and her deceased husband had to be terrifying for her. I had an instinct to want to comfort her, give her some reassurance, even though I couldn’t even do it for myself.

  “My mask shows how I dry my tears so that no one else can see them. The cracks under my eyes represent dryness. I show this mask to the world because I don’t want them to think I am weak. I don’t want people to constantly feel like they need to walk on eggshells around me as if I could break any second.”

  “Is that how you feel, Ellie? You fear that people see you as weak because you mourn your husband?” Sandi asked looking at Ellie with kind eyes.

  “Sadness does not mean you are weak. It just shows the depths of your love for the person you lost. Sometimes when people close to us die, the other people that surround us daily feel like they have to be softer towards you. No one wants to upset you more than you already are. They hurt seeing you hurt because they love you.”

  Ellie nodded at Sandi and in return Sandi smiled sweetly at her.

  A few other people shared their mask drawings with us, but my attention was solely focused on Ellie. Her confession had me feeling concern f
or her. She was anything but weak, in fact, she was probably one of the strongest people I knew. I knew the kind of pain she was going through, because I myself felt that same pain. I knew what the anguish felt like, and the physical and emotional blow that we were both hit with when Lilly and Jeremy died.

  “The purpose of this exercise,” Sandi said breaking me out of my thoughts, “Was to show you that what you show others, hides what you truly feel on the inside. Yes, I understand that it is your purpose to hide certain things, but by doing that, we also don’t give our relationships with other people the chance to understand what it is we really need from them. If we let others know what we need and what we really are, then that builds better and lasting relationships with the people who are still in our lives. It is those relationships that we tend to let slip through our fingers when we experience the loss of someone. The key is to feed those relationships. To nourish them because it is those relationships that will help you ease your devastation. That’s all I have for tonight. For those who have one-on-one time scheduled with me, I’ll be ready in a few minutes. Have a good night.”

  The group disbursed as they grabbed their belongings. I waited for Ellie since we rode together, when Sandi approached us.

  “Thank you for being here tonight and for your cooperation. I know that these sessions are court ordered for you two, but I truly believe that this group will be beneficial in helping you learn to deal and work through the heaviness in both of your hearts. I know what you two went through was traumatic. Your spouses were both very young. You both recently married. Saying that, I also think that the biggest support you can find, is in each other. Your pain and anguish is similar. It may not seem like it, but you two share a bond. Even though that bond was brought from grief, it is important that you two confide in each other.”