On Sunday, a friend of mine and her twin daughters were killed in a brutal car accident on their way home from church. I did not know this friend very well, but we had spoken on multiple occasions, spent some time together in the mother's lounge at church when we both had nursing babies, and walked the halls together with fussy toddlers. I made a meal for them when their twins were newborn. We had more or less been in the same ward for several years, but I would not say we were extremely close.
And yet, I have been wretchedly, achingly sad for the past several days. Sad, yes, for the three lives that were snuffed out so senselessly and suddenly. But mixed into my grief is also an inexplicably heavy dose of survivor's guilt.
Guilt that I was somehow not there for this friend in the weeks before she died.
Guilt for not remaining a participating member of my religious community.
Guilt for the fact that while she was on her way home from church, I was on my way to the swimming pool to spend time with my family.
Guilt and sadness and shame that I would never have her two beautiful little girls in my nursery class--they were just at the age where they would have started coming. (Never mind that I would not have been in Nursery anymore anyway.)
Overwhelming sadness that I no longer "know" where she is after this life. I hope with every cell in my heart that she and her daughters still exist somewhere, that life continues on in some fashion, but I no longer even pretend to know what that existence looks like. And that uncertainty, so early on in my faith transition, leaves me breathless with pain. I've been slowly learning to embrace uncertainty, to lean into it, and accept it calmly. But this is my first encounter with death since losing my faith, and I am taking it very hard.
The absolute hardest thing about this faith transition for me has been to lose my community. I made the choice to discontinue church attendance out of respect for beliefs that I could no longer share. The decision, in some ways, felt like an amputation, but I know it was the right choice. I also know that I am not responsible in any way for my friends' death, but I cannot let go of this notion that I was somehow not there for her, because I left my community. Sorrow, in this situation, is appropriate--even deep and howling grief. But guilt... How I wish there was something or someone who could grant me absolution from this needless guilt.
If there was and is an Atonement of Jesus Christ, it was certainly for situations like this: to cover the unbearable pain of loss and death. To bind up broken hearts. To comfort and provide meaning to a husband left behind. Not for tea and coffee.
And yet, I have been wretchedly, achingly sad for the past several days. Sad, yes, for the three lives that were snuffed out so senselessly and suddenly. But mixed into my grief is also an inexplicably heavy dose of survivor's guilt.
Guilt that I was somehow not there for this friend in the weeks before she died.
Guilt for not remaining a participating member of my religious community.
Guilt for the fact that while she was on her way home from church, I was on my way to the swimming pool to spend time with my family.
Guilt and sadness and shame that I would never have her two beautiful little girls in my nursery class--they were just at the age where they would have started coming. (Never mind that I would not have been in Nursery anymore anyway.)
Overwhelming sadness that I no longer "know" where she is after this life. I hope with every cell in my heart that she and her daughters still exist somewhere, that life continues on in some fashion, but I no longer even pretend to know what that existence looks like. And that uncertainty, so early on in my faith transition, leaves me breathless with pain. I've been slowly learning to embrace uncertainty, to lean into it, and accept it calmly. But this is my first encounter with death since losing my faith, and I am taking it very hard.
The absolute hardest thing about this faith transition for me has been to lose my community. I made the choice to discontinue church attendance out of respect for beliefs that I could no longer share. The decision, in some ways, felt like an amputation, but I know it was the right choice. I also know that I am not responsible in any way for my friends' death, but I cannot let go of this notion that I was somehow not there for her, because I left my community. Sorrow, in this situation, is appropriate--even deep and howling grief. But guilt... How I wish there was something or someone who could grant me absolution from this needless guilt.
If there was and is an Atonement of Jesus Christ, it was certainly for situations like this: to cover the unbearable pain of loss and death. To bind up broken hearts. To comfort and provide meaning to a husband left behind. Not for tea and coffee.
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