Lots of dust bunnies settled in the corners of my mind the past two years—which is what happens when there’s such a mess in the middle of the room that you need to clean there first so you can at least move around.
I certainly wasn’t rushing to move furniture.
Can’t blame myself. The first round of cleaning was tiring; furniture moving is hard; plus, at some level I knew the mess I’d find.
So during this season of the GOP’s discontent (schadenfreude anyone?) and our collective net worth shrinkage, I finally moved the sofa and bookcase and got out the swiffer. The bunnies were given notice.
One of the bunny ringleaders turns out to be my career. Specifically, guilt about the time I spent at work my son’s last two years. Time not spent with him.
The evenings I got home after he was in bed. The mornings I left before he was up (including the day he died). Field trips I didn’t chaperone. Days I didn’t leave work early (although I did the day before he died—someone was watching out for me).
Every parent has guilt when their kid dies—unresolved relationship issues, last words said or not said, not preventing the death, etc.
My guilt is ‘normal’ working mother guilt (am I spending enough time with my child?), ratcheted up a few masochistic levels by virtue of his being dead (I didn’t spend enough time with him).
No second chance. Can’t ‘make it up’ to him later. And the rationale that I worked to provide him a better life via college, great trips, etc.? Well, I’d send him to a state school, vacation in the Poconos, and work as a waitress if I could have him back.
No, it’s not logical. (Who said grief is?) If we lived our lives such that every loved one might die any minute we’d never leave their side. And never be able to pay bills, save for retirement, never accomplish anything or truly ‘live’ as we’d be in a constant state of fear.
I’m hard on myself. I was a good mother and I’m not giving myself credit for my nurturing, our tight bond, his amazing character. Parents never feel they give enough—and losing your kid freezes ‘never enough’ for posterity.
I’ve struggled with the thought of going back to work full-time and guilt is part of it. Irrationally I feel when I go back, when my life truly moves on, I’ll somehow be leaving him behind.
And having been through the gates of hell, how do I re-enter the world of commuting, staff meetings, Outlook and office politics?
That’s the world that took me away from him and I have yet to forgive it—or rather, myself.
I’m working on it. Before moving on to the next bunny.
