Guilt-free grief?

When I think of guilt, what springs to mind is a child-like guilt. The scolded behaviours we all

engaged with, that at the time felt monumental, but were often meaningless ploys used by our

parents to teach us a lesson. Perhaps this was staying up past your bedtime, or hiding your

Nintendo DS under your pillow, or sneaking out without your parents knowing. I never

considered guilt to be a particularly heavy or loaded emotion. Of course we all feel that weight

when we say something we shouldn’t, when we let someone down, or when we cut someone up

in traffic when they have the right of way. But for the most part, this wasn’t a feeling I had

extensive experience with. Yet after losing my dad, I found myself riddled with that very

emotion, cut up and torn with shame and regret more often than I could bear.

When we lose someone we love, we lose our way of life before their death. Things we once

enjoyed become a different experience, charged with all kinds of different emotions and

memories. I can remember when I moved back to university a few weeks after my dad died, and

tried to slot back into the life that I had once had. But I found that my form had changed, and I

didn’t quite fit like I used to. At a party, with music blaring, lights flashing, and people shouting,

all the guilt came rushing over me. I asked myself, ‘how can I be here, enjoying myself, when

weeks ago I watched my dad suffer and die?’. I declared myself an awful person, and went to

bed riddled with guilt and confusion over the feeling in my gut. I knew I wasn’t the kind of person

who would stop doing the things I loved, and I was never going to shut myself away and resign

myself to a life of takeaways and listening to Phoebe Bridgers… But it felt wrong to laugh, to

smile, or enjoy myself. I was supposed to be grief-stricken and miserable…right?

Suddenly, the same conversations my friends and I were having before I was bereaved caused

me to feel full of shame, and almost humiliated. Our friendship hadn’t changed, but there was

this fundamental, cosmic shift that I couldn’t quite explain. It wasn’t that they were saying

anything wrong, or that my views had changed or I had become a different person, but the guilt

of talking about supposedly “superficial” things, riddled me with disappointment in myself. I felt

as if I wasn’t doing my dad proud because I was carrying on as normal (as possible) and in my

mind, the sign of grieving well was to pause all regular activities and abandon my previous life

for days of weeping and moping around. It certainly didn’t involve parties, fun days out or

excessive laughing. Being young and wanting to enjoy my 20s was squaring up to fight the

monster of my guilt, and I wasn't sure which side I was on.

There was the guilt of trying to embrace my youthful years whilst still honouring my dad and the

so-called ‘grieving process’, and then there was the guilt that surrounded his death. This in

particular caused (and causes, if I’m honest) a lot of guilt and regret along with my grief. I’d lie

awake at night, those nighttime thoughts are often the hardest to shake, and berate myself for

leaving the hospice when I did, only a few hours before he died. I told myself I should have been

there, that it’s what he would have wanted, that I was selfish for going home to sleep instead of

staying and holding his hand. The weight of this guilt felt unmovable, and as though I deserved

it. It was a worthy punishment for my actions, and I deserved every sleepless night that befell

me as a result. I never told anyone how I felt - I knew what they’d say. They’d tell me I had

nothing to be guilty about, but I had already decided that this wasn’t the case. I didn’t want to

hear it. There was no solution, no words that would soothe the aching and sting I felt when the

guilt would swell in my chest.

Through my journey with guilt and grief, I’ve come to understand that this is a very commonly

experienced phenomenon - not that that makes it any easier, but somehow knowing I’m not the

only bereaved, guilt-stricken young adult out there, is a little bit comforting. Many bereaved

people (young and old) feel enormous amounts of guilt in relation to losing a loved one and how

this impacts the way they live their life. We all want to honour our dead loved ones, and it can

feel innately wrong to enjoy our lives when they no longer have that privilege. We will all have

moments of guilt when our heads are out of the fog of grief, and then we remember. We

remember we’re living without them. That we haven’t cried in a few weeks (or months).

Although I still have days, or weeks, where guilt seems the prevailing emotion in my head, I find

I am better at reassuring myself that this is not the way I should live my life. Guilt is normal, and

it is natural - it’s a human emotion that has evolved with us over time. But it is not a feeling that

should dictate the decisions I make or, more importantly, how I want to remember my dad. I

want to remember how my dad lived his life to the fullest, how full of love and excitement he was

- my guilt has no part to play in me reflecting his attitude to life. These situations are out of our

hands, and we can’t change outcomes of the things we can’t control.

It’s important to highlight that it’s okay to feel these emotions. When we experience something

as life-altering as losing a loved one, there is no feeling that isn’t going to be part of the

mysterious cocktail of our emotions. You are not alone in feeling this way, no matter how broken

and hurt you feel. Working through these feelings, recognising them when they arise, why they

arise and not bottling them up inside can help relieve the sharpness. Talk to your dead loved

one, write them a letter, try to verbalise the guilt rather than allowing it to fester in your head.

Take time to feel close to them.

Guilt can be a powerful emotion, and it can feel debilitating. Navigating this path often leaves us

at a cross road; torn between the weight of our emotions and the desire to honour the memories

of our loved ones. It may take some time to untangle the grief and guilt - I often visualise this as

two vines tangled up with one another, fighting for space. But in time, the vines begin to grow in

their own ways and often in opposite directions. It won’t feel like this forever. Allow yourself to

inhale and feel yourself alive and breathing. Your loved one is with you, so embrace the joy,

laughter, and even a guilt-free moment - it’s what they would want.