Day 56: Addressing the Guilt

April 25, 2014

Riding the Waves: Day 56. Addressing the Guilt Head-on.

Gareth's dad had a message for me as we stood over Gareth in the hospital on that Tuesday in early March. He held my hands and looked at me both lovingly and sternly, if that's possible. "You must never reproach yourself," he said, "or I'll be cross."

Several people since then have said similar things. "I hope you're not blaming yourself, Bridget, because this isn't your fault, you know." And I'd agree with them. "I know it. I really do."

I'm aware now more than ever that Gareth struggled with things long before we met. I know that alcohol-related incidents were not isolated to the morning he fell from that apartment window. I know that he was, perhaps, on a course with a tragic ending that would have happened if he had met me or not. This is what people who love and knew him tell me. This is what I tell myself. So, clearly, I am not to blame.

But do I really believe that?

It's apparently quite common for people to feel feelings of guilt and responsibility about a friend or family member's death. It's common for us to question things we said (or didn't say), things we did (or didn't do). I've heard guilt-laden comments from several people in the days and weeks following Gareth's death:

"I should have known he was struggling."
"I should have listened to him more."
"I should have been a better friend."
"I should have been in touch with him more."
"I should have come to Korea and forced him to come home."
"I shouldn't have been drinking with him that night."
"I shouldn't have invited him to my apartment."
"I should have told him to go home to his apartment."
"I should have done more to get him help."

I responded like any of you would. "You're not to blame. Gareth was a grown man who made choices, and his choices led to his death." I hold none of you responsible. The idea is not only silly, but it makes me sad that anyone would add to their grief by compounding it with guilt.

And since I intellectually know I'm not responsible, I've dismissed, shoved, buried, and clenched my eyes tight to the monster that is lurking over my shoulder at all times. You tell me it's not real. I agree it's not real. But there it is, anyway, giving me a sinking feeling in my gut at all times. The idea that perhaps I was responsible for what happened.

The truth of the matter is I play a large part in the narrative of Gareth's death. A few of us do. And three of us, I believe, are holding large pieces of guilt- even as we intellectually know we aren't responsible and even as we assure the other two that responsibility does not lie on their shoulders. I will stick to my own feelings of guilt as the other two are not stories of mine to tell. I can assure you I have absolutely no feelings of resentment nor ideas that anyone could have done anything differently- myself excluded.

Here's the narrative in its shortest form. Its most painful. I broke up with Gareth just weeks before he died. I did this when it became clear to me that his drinking and struggles were not getting better. I had to let go of him in the hopes he'd get better. I had to not cry wolf. He absolutely lost himself when this happened in a way that was extremely alarming to everyone that saw him except for in the very brief times he tried to hold it together. He was spiraling out of control and drinking almost constantly. He sobbed. He cried. He raged about me to anyone who'd listen and when the rage stopped he'd sob and talk about how much he loved me and how much he missed me. He did this for several weeks. He was doing this the night he died.

Here I will voice my guilt in the hopes that shining light on it will make it go away. I don't need the voice of another to tell me that these things aren't true, because I already know that. I don't need someone to try to get me to see it another way, because I'll only agree with you. It's a ridiculous trap to be in, the one where I find myself, because I understand the rational results, but my guilt is not rational. And it can't be thought away.

Here it is. My litany of guilt:

Gareth was in unbearable pain because he felt I abandoned him. He drank because of that pain. The drinking led to his death.

He would not have died had I not broken up with him.

I caused him to have the greatest suffering of his life for the last 3.5 weeks of his life.

I should have stuck it out with him. I loved him more than I've ever loved anyone. How can you leave someone if you love them?

I thought that perhaps my leaving would catapult him into getting some help. I should have known that he was too fragile for that.

When I heard how much he was drinking and about some of the disturbing behaviors people were seeing, I should have reached out to him.

Maybe I could have gotten him home to New Zealand where he could have gotten some real help.

I should have contacted his family and friends earlier when I was concerned about him.

So what if he had problems with drinking? Did that really affect me? I should have not made a big deal about it.

So what if I suspected a real mental illness. Plenty of people are with people who have greater illnesses and manage to keep it together. No wonder he felt abandoned.

He never said an unkind word to me until that difficult conversation, and then he unleashed the most harmful things he could think to say. He later told a friend that he felt that he was at war and had to keep throwing hand grenades to keep from getting hurt. He was deeply, deeply sorry in his last days for the way he reacted and he never knew that I forgave him.

He had no idea that in those weeks when he was missing me desperately, that I was missing him desperately, too. He didn't know that I cried as though I were experiencing a death and that I had to rely on others to talk me through times that were especially hard, like driving in the car, when he and I would normally talk for long periods of time. He didn't know that I grieved for the loss of him and prayed that he'd get well and come back to me. He didn't know I wanted him desperately to come back to me.

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I've also read that it's a good idea to list all the ways in which you loved and were there for the person who died. I will try to put as much into this list as I did the one above:

I loved Gareth in a way that I've never loved anyone, and he constantly felt that. "I love you SO much," I'd say. "I know," he'd say, "I can feel it."

Gareth felt like I truly understood him. He talked about this at great length.

When Gareth would start to have what we later termed a "mental migraine," (a sudden onset of distress), I seemed to know exactly what to do without ever being condescending or dismissive. If he were going to live with this level of distress with or without me, I truly believe I brought a level of calm to him that he would not have otherwise had.

Gareth experienced moments of pure joy with me. Not the masked happiness that I've seen him have in social settings where he'd question himself and everything he said/did when we'd get in the car to go home. This was a joy that allowed me to see Gareth when everything else that was troubling him fell away. A happiness. Moments of calm. Deep, deep connection with me.

Every morning when we were both at our apartment in Hadong (even after he moved to Gyeongju, he still referred to it as "our apartment" because it felt like home to him), I made him eggs on toast and a cup of tea. "These are perfect!" he'd say. "You really love me, don't you?" he'd question.

I was Gareth's constant collaborator with his writing, and this was an honored place to be. Not only did he share work with me, he valued what I had to say about it and told me frequently that I had a way of talking about his writing that never made him feel judged, but that it also pushed him as a writer.

I allowed Gareth to feel safe enough to sometimes be small. To be the one cradled in my small arms as opposed to be being wrapped up in his large ones. He loved this. "Is this ok?" he'd ask. Of course it was. Everyone needs to feel this, I'd say.

I was so incredibly attracted to him, both his insides and his outsides, and I told him so whenever I felt it. I laughed about the fact that I told him often when I had that feeling of him being a "man"- it's hard to explain. Sometimes I'd just be overcome by his masculinity. And I'd tell him. And this delighted him to no end.

Gareth felt so proud to be with me, always. When we'd go someplace together, especially if we met up with friends or coworkers of his, Gareth would always, always tell me in the car on the way home how proud he was to be seen with me.

Gareth thought I had a great sense of fashion (he specifically loved my large assortment of "summer dresses"- And Gareth, babe, you'll be happy to know there are a couple of guys I work with who have made that same comment to me on more than one occasion. Not in a creepy way. Just an appreciation of my dresses, and I think that would make you (a) happy and (b) proud. Back to the point- because of this, he felt free to try out things that he wanted to try without feeling judged. A new kind of shoes. A leather cuff bracelet. A certain shirt/pant combo. He had a fashion buddy.

Gareth was impressed by my self care and as a result he made attempts to do the same when he could. He tried running and really wanted to run a 5K. He prayed from time to time in his own way. He meditated from time to time. His last journal entry before he died was a gratitude list, a practice he picked up from me. I made him want to be better.

I made Gareth laugh. A lot. He commented often on (and wrote about) my being prone to joy. He delighted in seeing me this way and told me I was truly one of the happiest and most joyful people he'd ever known. I allowed him to be bathed in my joy, and this brought him great relief at times, I believe.

The weeks before he died were a tiny blip on the timeline of our experience together. Our relationship suffered the consequences of things beyond my control, but it was not fraught with pain. We did not have a troubled relationship and we never at any point were the recipient of ill-will or unkind words or behavior from the other while we were together. The intention was always there to love.

I was loved.
And I loved.

There is no guilt in that.