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My son died and I promised to be at his side……. Now I am filled with guilt…..
01 May 2007 by Rod Smith in Forgiveness, Grace, Grief, Parenting/Children, Recovery / 18 Comments
Reader: My adult son died 9 years ago. I had promised to stay at his side. The day he died, we had a lovely day, chatting, laughing at things on TV, and just being quiet. By evening I was so exhausted that I told him I was going home and would see him in the morning. The nurse phoned later and said things weren’t too good and that I should come. I raced to him to find that he had already passed away. I’ve been tormented with guilt ever since. I’ve tried to let go, reminding myself that we had a wonderful relationship and that he would forgive me, but I still feel I let him down badly. I feel that I was being selfish by choosing to go home instead of staying. (Letter edited)
Rod’s Reply: First: Write your son a letter updating him on all that has transpired over the past 9 years.
Second: Read the letter to a group of people who also loved him.
Third: I challenge you to allow your anguish to end. If 9 years are not enough, how many years do you need to beat yourself up about wanting rest?
The highest tribute you could pay his shortened life would be to live your own as fully as possible.
About the Author: Rod Smith
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Verbal log-jam
When I was a boy I’d endlessly practice the fluent delivery of my name but it seldom flowed easily from my lips. As if it was new news to me, adults pointed out my stutter. Perhaps they thought I was beginning, at that precise moment, for the first time in my life to spit from the mouth, twist at the neck, jig my head back and forth trying to expel some inane statement log-jammed between my gut and my throat.
Idiots – always adults, children were surprisingly patient, – would make me repeat sentences as if a repeat performance of the humiliating uncoordinated gesticulations, my arms and legs flying in all directions, would make for an easier delivery the second time. That I’d just spent every ounce of energy trying to cough it up was lost on them. That I was already thoroughly humiliated was something to which they were blind.“Practice, practice,” they’d say as if stutterers simply didn’t speak enough. “Think before you speak. Now – try that again,” they would declare slowly and loudly as if I was stupid and deaf. These thoughtless people were ignorant of just how much stutterers do think. Too much – which is central to the issue!
If I’d known at twelve or thirteen that the day would come when I’d make a career of public speaking I might have strolled off a high-rise building.
Now it is quite easy to hide. I am very comfortable with crowds.
It’s asking driving directions or ordering food at a drive through where it gets tricky. Sitting in a cozy circle waiting for my turn to introduce myself sends my blood-pressure through the roof. The ticket attendant on the London underground can render me dumb after I’ve just spent days addressing a room full of graduate level adults about Family Systems Theory. I know. It sounds ridiculous.
I was almost immobilized the first time I saw Thulani put himself “on duty” in the event he needed to be my mouthpiece. He did it. No one asked him or appointed him. He just did it.
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Life in our beloved 122
If the inside of a house (outside, too, I suppose) is a metaphor of the lives of the people who live in it – which is something I once read somewhere – gosh, are we in trouble. Our house is a mess.
I consistently clean it room by room, thinking often of the legend that the Golden Gate Bridge that says there’s some guy constantly painting it. I feel for him. While I am sure the view is wonderful I must believe that the poor guy whose doing it daily from one end to the other must find the wind and the weather quite a challenge.
Our house is the same, but instead of painting from end to end and back again, I am the guy constantly cleaning, – and, it’s hard to tell.
Where I cleaned and swept and dusted and vacuumed and sponged and sterilized yesterday there are scooters and bicycles (boys), mail in piles (me), books (boys and me), newspapers (me), magazines (me), and socks (boys and Max, the Chihuahua).
Turn my back and the boys and Max are at it again – enjoying life as boys (and a dog) while I find being a cleaning lady quite an exhausting challenge.
There is a point of no return, I’ve noticed, or at least a point of the chaos where I feel compelled to let it all go for a while and I throw up my hands and join in the fun of trashing the place.
But when I clean I like to think I’m just like the guy painting the Bridge, which I can only imagine must be a slow and methodical task.
I do it room by room, starting at one end, the front, in the event that I soon lose interest – then, at least, the front room is somewhat in order. I push it (trash, magazines, books, socks, clothes) all back from the living room, through the piano room, then into the TV room until everything lands up in the kitchen.
Once it hits the kitchen I separate out what’s Max’s – he’s has his own set of toys with which he ruins the house – what’s Nate’s, what’s Thulani’s, and what can be recycled, dumped, restacked on bookshelves, placed in drawers, hung on a hanger, or filed in the “important documents” file I keep losing.
We moved into “122” (creatively named for its street number and which has had very few updates since it was built in 1886) when Thulani was about two – and I have been getting it in order ever since. Nate joined us in 2002. Max, in 2009. The house- attachment, at least for the boys and Max, is strong. When I talk of selling Thulani reminds me that Rhino, the husky that was on the run for nine months and returned to die within a few weeks after we reconnected, is buried in an Air France first class cabin blanket just outside of the kitchen door. Nate reminds me of where the fat goldfish is buried and Thulani ends the litany with his inability to think of living in a house without the large tree in the front yard where he has his brother (and Max) have “peed like boys” (and a dog) for the past several years.
So. I’ll go on painting and, before you send me letters about giving the boys chores and responsibilities and assigning daily tasks and getting on top of it before it gets on top of me let me advise that you are barking up the wrong tree (sorry, Max for the dog metaphor) because we do have all that in place and it does work here and there and off and on.
I know, I know. Consistency is the name of the game for parenting and let me tell you, the ONLY thing that is consistent here is the need to keep going room by room with or without the boys (and Max) to get this little bridge painted one stretch at a time so the world can see just how organized and decent our lives are here at our beloved “122.”
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Being a white South African can come with complications
Being a white South African reared under Apartheid is no simple matter. It permeated everything for me. While I do not pretend to have been a political activist, I was always cognizant that my privileges, simply a result of being born white, were unmerited, and most unfair especially when enjoyed at the expense of others who were not. I think this unsettling truth (for I took advantage of my station in life) was somewhat of a companion to me from the age of about six or seven.
I am regularly aware that:- I was discouraged from playing soccer in the “front” yard (in view of the neighbors) with the servant’s children. While this may seem insignificant in the light of other much more severe problems rising from racism, it was huge for me as a child on several fronts. I loved the children and I loved soccer even more. They were excellent soccer players.
- I did attend a segregated school as did almost all white South Africans while there did exist some church schools that were integrated even under Apartheid. I vividly recall my school principal scolding the entire student body (over a thousand white boys) because a domestic worker (a black adult man) was seen walking in the neighborhood wearing a school blazer.
- Although, by no means wealthy, I was waited on hand and foot by a full-time servant.
- In the late 80s I was warned not to pray publicly for Prisoner “Nelson” Mandela from my church pulpit.
- A member of my family did balk at my request that I bring black children to his home-swimming pool to swim.
- Even as late as 1987 I was embarrassed that a young black boy whom I’d “helped” in his squatter camp had shown up at my door unannounced. I recall wondering what the neighbors would think seeing a child arriving at the home for a social visit and not to work in the yard.While I am aware that these are piddly problems in the light of what millions faced under the Apartheid regime, I am also aware that these factors in my immediate environment “shaped” me into believing perverse things (like in my own superiority and in “their” inferiority) about persons of other race groups. More significantly, I am frequently reminded that my children and I could not have shared life as we now do if we were still living in the era of Apartheid.
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Location, location – remembering winter in August
We live very close to our school and church, so close we can hear the school bell from our kitchen and the church bells in my bedroom.
Sometimes we walk to both and we don’t see the car for days.
I like it. I like not having to get in and out of the car. I like not having to negotiate traffic, something as synonymous with life in the USA as Disney, Fast Food, and the Fourth of July.
That’s the upside.
We are a 10-hour-drive to the nearest coast – and, most of the east coast beaches are not worth the drive. The west coast, which has many wonderful beaches comparable to where I was reared, takes three full days of driving to reach.
Being landlocked is one thing but another is the weather. Indiana weather is erratic, neurotic, and downright psychotic.
Days ago I could’ve (but I didn’t) ice-skated across the street. Now, as I write, there’s a small lake in the street next to the sidewalk from last night’s rain. The weather is so brutal and extreme (it is as hot as blazes in the summers) that when we do drive anywhere (there are no grocery stores in walking distance) the streets are often full of potholes making some of America’s finest suburban streets resemble stretches of road you’d find in a rural stretch of South Africa’s Wild Coast. So, I am exaggerating but really not too much. Washington Boulevard is a challenge to drive right now, you have got to dodge potholes and loose pavement or, unless you drive a tank, you stand to severely damage your suspension.
But I do love living here. My neighbors are some of my best friends. My children are free and safe in the neighborhood and everyone knows everyone’s children. Even as I write Joseph (born a week or so before Thulani) from down the street has wondered into the house and it is quite likely he will eat with us, stay the night, and then wander down back down the street to his home sometime in the morning. His mom and I will talk sometime between now and nightfall unless he of course chooses to wonder off home and be gone just as quickly as he showed up.
Potholes and crazy weather won’t send us running, although we will drive to church in the morning – even though it is really close. I’m not sure I want to brave the elements which could be a snow-storm, an ice storm, the threat of a tornado – or a little or a lot of each. What else could you expect during March in Indiana?
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Ready to adopt?
If you wait until you are ready to adopt a child you never will because you will never be ready. The baby, and only the baby, will make you ready. Reading the right books will be helpful, but “ready” magically comes upon you when a real baby is sleeping in your arms or crying in the middle of the night. If you are not ready to change diapers – and I always am amused at the big deal about this non-issue – being unprepared will last only as long as a clean diaper. Of course you can go baby-stuff-shopping, get a room painted, stencil yellow ducks on the wall – if you know long enough in advance your child is coming. But painting a bedroom with ducks and rainbows and a pot of gold, and getting a truck load of stuff from your local one-stop baby emporium will only fill your home with a lot of weird and wonderful, and mostly unnecessary, equipment.
Children interrupt everything. It is the child who is really ready to teach you, whether you are or not. Once he arrives he will become the hub of all your scheduling. You will be fine with this because the child is not an interruption to your life but rather, from this point on, central to it.
The baby will make you ready and you can’t really prepare for the baby until he is breathing in the crib right next to your bed.
Life inside the Smith household
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18 Comments
tobeme
True words! You must begin to live in the present and let go of the past.
04 May 2007 02:05 pm
Valria
Having witnessed far too much loss in my life, my guess is your son was able to let go, knowing you loved him and you shared a great day and relationship. Maybe he passed when you were home sleeping to spare you the pain of watching him die. Let go of your guilt, forgive yourself, your son has. Honor his memory without guilt.
15 May 2007 02:05 am
Evan Cole
If you cna loved and be loved and you can be happy and make others happy…you are forgiven.
20 Aug 2007 05:08 pm
Gabriell
My daughter died in April of this year. I was with her. I was holding her hand, but she did not die until I fell asleep. I was told once by Dr.Bernie Seigle that loves ones usually pass when you leave the room or fall asleep.
I have guilt for sleeping instead of staying awake, but I was so tired.
There is nothing I could have done to save her, she was going to die with or without me and I am learning that it was her moment, not our moment. She was not alone, with or without me she was not alone.
It happened like it should have.
I am letting go of the guilt by remembering what a good relatioship we had, how close we were and how well I cared for her while she was dying.
The rest was hers.
It think your son left when it was time for him to go.
Being a grieving mother is the worst think a woman will ever have to be. There is so much to let go of and it seems that there is nothing that can replace what has been lost.
We only have ourselves, and we have to care for ourselves like we cared for our children. It is what they would do for us.
Gabriell
25 Dec 2007 02:12 pm
Yvette
My son passed on November 29, 2007 at the age of 20.
He was born with Down’s Syndrome and a congenital heart defect. He had 2 heart surgeries and a stroke all before his 2nd birthday…and for a while he thrived. He was always happy and had a terrific sense of humor. Because of the stroke, he was never able to verbalize very well. We had our own form of communicating.
But this last time he went into the hospital it was different. He couldn’t seem to communicate with me at all and when I left one afternoon for a break (my husband stayed) they lost my son for about 15-20 minutes. They were able to bring him back, but he never opened his eyes or spoke any words.I prayed for strength. My brother and sisters came to the hospital and I informed them that I had signed dnr orders. And then I spoke to my son and let him know that mommy is a big girl now and if he’s too tired to stay then I understand why he must leave. The next day as they were preparing him for dialysis, his heart stopped beating again.
Would he have stayed if I had asked? Did he think I was pushing him away? He was my son, my friend, my heart and my angel. I am so empty without him. I need a purpose to continue…I’m still young (41) and I don’t want to spend the next 40 years feeling guilty
Yvette
01 Jul 2008 10:07 pm
Denise
My husband went to have surgery at the hospital (surgery was successfull), was in CCU for 10 days, and before his surgeries I had promised him that I wouldn’t leave him. But I went home at night to rest, preparing to come back the next day and be with him again. I told him that I’d see him the next day, but I too got that nurse’s call to come–a blood clot had taken him before I could get there. They brought him back twice, but they couldn’t do it the third time. I too am full of guilt for not being there like I’d promised. But maybe it would’ve been TOO terrible to be there and watch while they fought to get him back. I don’t know, but I DO know that I’ll always wish I’d been there—I’d promised. How do I know that he doesn’t think I lied to him, that I abandoned him? I never got to say goodbye–I mean, REALLY say goodbye. I don’t think I would’ve left if I’d known it would be his last night with us. Telling someone to “let go” sounds easy, but exactly how does one “let go”? It’s only been 6 months, so maybe I’m not expected to do that yet, but eventually I’ll have to do that. I really don’t know how to forgive myself–or him for leaving either.
16 Jul 2008 10:07 am
janet erambert
i don’t know what to say i lost my son when he was 24 y/o it has been almost 10 years ago and i am still searching i had costody of his children for 3 years only 1 of them swas actually his but they alll 3 get suvivors benifits from him dyiny now i am giving them back to their mother but whay i am so overwhelmed someone please help jfk62256@yahoo.;com i misss him………..
28 Aug 2008 10:08 pm
Exrn
Please, please don’t beat yourself up because you weren’t there. I am a former nurse who has seen many patients pass away, and one thing I truly believe is that to some extent, the dying person chooses the moment when they pass away. Quite often they wait until all their family has left the room or gone home for the night. Even if they’re only left alone for three minutes, those are the three minutes when they die. I don’t know for sure, of course, but I’ve always had the feeling that they do this to spare their loved ones the pain of seeing them pass away and allow their family to remember them as they were in life. So perhaps your son’s dying in your absence was an act of love on his part. It’s obvious that he loved you, and although I never knew him, I don’t think he would want you to spend the rest of your life focusing on one moment – that of his death – to the exclusion of all the other moments of his life in which he accomplished wondrous things and touched countless people. Please, be gentle with yourself. You did nothing wrong. You are human, and human beings have breaking points. You can’t be faulted for acknowledging that you had reached yours – exhaustion – and that you needed some rest. Death is unpredictable, and you can’t be blamed for not knowing it was about to happen. Forgive yourself. I’m sure your son would say the same if he could.
23 Oct 2008 01:10 pm
amanda
I have not lost a child or a husband, but an uncle and a cousin. Two people who were very very close to me. My cousin died in a car accident from drinking and driving. This is still very raw as it was in August 08. My uncle died April 10 09 of cancer. I believe that we all choose our time to go. He waited till him mom had kissed his head and left the room and it was just my uncle and me. I sat down and played guitar and sang to him while I watched his chest stop. It was very hard, and still is, but I know he was sparing his mama from that and was waiting for me to play for him. It hurts, and will probably always hurt. I feel guilt because I was there and his mom and sons weren’t but that is the way it was supposed to be. Anyway, I just wanted to write my story in hopes that it will help you to know that that they all go when they are ready and when it is right for them. Be strong and always know that they love you just as you love them and they would never want you to feel guilt. If the roles were reversed would you want them to feel that way?
17 May 2009 07:05 pm
John
I must admit that the only remedy for this is practicing Buddhism. It teaches about letting go and unneeded guilt; read some Buddhist books and practice meditation, I can assure you that you will feel so much better.
My metta (Buddhist prayers) go to you and to your beloved son who is now surely at peace.
p.s: you don’t have to be a Buddhist, you can just practice the Buddha’s teachings.
05 Aug 2009 12:08 am
Daisy
My beloved 32 son died suddenly this June 28th while in another country on a business trip. He relapsed and died of a drug overdose. I simply want him back. As his mother, I am devastated to the core of my being. Period. John, you may be well intentioned (or not) but your simplistic claims that practicing Buddhism ‘is the only remedy’ is offensive in the extreme. I was in agony waiting for my son’s body to be returned from England and in desperation called a local Tibetan Buddhist monastery (founded by the Dali Lama) and asked that a candle be lit and prayers be said for my son’s soul. A candle was lit (maybe) and someone supposedly said prayers for 5 days. The bill was $175. Most religions offer instruction in prayer and meditation; Buddhism is not for everyone. For me, it’s a cold-blooded and life avoidant practice, and offers little to no comfort. Take your proselytizing elsewhere please. It’s offensive to grieving parents.
13 Aug 2009 02:08 am
Robert McCarty
Hi, I lost my 14 year old son in my arms. I have also lost my mom and dad. I’m not that old though. call me and I will try to cheer u up. 818=406=2166
30 Aug 2009 06:08 pm
Robert McCarty
Hi again, I am really depressed about my son’s death. I thnk I am going to kill myself. No one cares at all. That’s the sad part…..
30 Aug 2009 06:08 pm
Robert McCarty
I hope someone will hear me. Losing a child is so bad that you just want to die!
30 Aug 2009 06:08 pm
Robert McCarty
sorry, bye
30 Aug 2009 06:08 pm
Audrey
Hello Robert,
I'd first like to say that you really are not alone, there are lots of us out here that have lost a child. You din't say how long ago you lost your son, I guess not so long ago.
My son died on the 23rd July 2008 and my world died with him.
It is a pain that nobody should have to suffer and noone who hasn't lost a child has any idea how you feel. On the other hand you wouldn't want them to.
The first few months for me are a blur, I was just existing not living. Now, more than a year later I can say it doesn't "get better"it changes, you get used to it.
I don't know where you are in the world but try to find a forum on the net for parents that have lost a child. I found one here in holland (in dutch I'm afraid) about 7 months after my son died and it really helps to talk to people who are also dealing with the loss of their children. It is amazing to read your thoughts and feelings written by some stranger! You can say anything to them and they don't think you are going mad! I also had some grief counselling, that also helps, it's worth trying anything isn't it?
I don't know what more I can say,
I wish you well,
Audrey
10 Sep 2009 06:09 am
anne
Dear Robert I really feel for you and your pain , it looks as if you have found yourself in a really bad moment where it seems like nobody cares out there . I know the feeling since I have a chrnoic illness for years and it feels like that from time to time . Sometimes it looks like I do not even care about myself either any more. The good news is that emotions come and go and although the sadness about your loss will stay with you for the rest of your life , the emotions will come and go from time to time and you might find yourself suddenly feeling a bit better within a few days , suddenly you will think a new thought,discover the new meaning , have a reasonably ok day … We all have our cross on our backs and trust me I am not the only one out there who can feel your pain – but sometimes it seems that way. I know that you will come out of this soon , maybe not completely but at least enough to keep going with some sort of peace within yourself … and I wish you all the best , after so many things that you had in your life and that were not pleasant you sure deserve some happiness now , I am sure it will find you sooner that expected , just hang in there ! Anne
01 Sep 2009 07:09 am
Dee
I lost a child 25 yrs ago and suddenly it like it happened last week, she battled congential heart disease for 6 yrsoneo. I have numbed myself with having 2 more children and then over the years alcohol and drugs. Just to coast by and numb my feeling, No one really new my abuse was so bad they all just joked that I liked to drink. I was/am somewhat still a functioning individual, I know how to bring home a paycheck and pay my bills buy my kids the things they needed. Made it all look good. I still make things look good, but now I dont want to live I feel that I raised my children and its time for me to be with my little girl.
My daughter passed away in my arms. I watch the heart monitor until 4;35am in the morning. It slowed through the night. I watched her suffer for 9 weeks. The things that happened to her body are undescribable, I kept telling her its going to be ok… just hang on,(I lied) she was the most precious little girl and would never hurt a fly. But in that ICU she hated me. She was on a ventalator she was in pain, the doctor made up contractions to keep her liver functioning, I watch them be proud of themselvesfor this invention, as my daughter was dying, suffering. Her heart stopped the had to use the defribulator I have horrible memories of her tiny body bouncing up from the table. Theres so much more but I have to stop.
Thank you for letting me get that out. I’m at a point in life that I feel very lost I dont want to live.
06 Jun 2011 06:06 pm
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