The moment your child breathed his last breath on this
earth, you embarked on a trip you were not prepared for. You were not given
time to pack in advance, you were not allowed to pore over brochures to give
you an idea of your destination, you couldn’t book a hotel room and worst of
all, you were not given the chance to say good-bye.
One day you were at home living your life, the next, you and
your family were ushered into the “Grief Hotel” without a suitcase, much less a
reservation.
Your legs could barely hold you
as you stood in the lobby in bewilderment. You swayed when the receptionist at
the front desk handed each of your family members a key. You were given none
until all eyes locked on you. Your heart began to pump harder, faster, louder,
when one by one, all of them, the people that you love, thrust the keys at you
and turned their backs on you. The words engraved upon the keys’ smooth surface,
fuzzy at first, marched before your burning eyes in a procession of horror: “Room reserved for the Guilty.” The
receptionist smirked as she called a bellboy to escort you to the Guilty room. You were pushed inside and
heard the clanging sound of the keys turning in the lock. You pounded on the
door until your fingers bled, but no one heard you, and if they did, they
ignored you.
You didn’t know what to do with
yourself and seeing there was no way out of the room, you decided to turn the
television on. You tried to blink the images away, but it was too late. Your
blood turned to ice and sweat began to pour down your back when you saw
yourself with your child that fateful day. Everything was clear, transparent,
mocking, as the large screen taunted you with every detail you desperately wanted
to erase from your brain. A cackle reached your ears. “Did you really think you
could forget? You will never forget!”
You grabbed the remote and tried
to punch a button, any button. All you wanted was to stop, stop that horror movie
from playing. Your hands were numb; all your attempts to shut the television
useless. The cackles morphed into your
baby’s sweet voice until all you heard was, “Guilty, guilty, guilty…”
Air. You needed air. You ran to the window and flung it
open. Your stomach dropped to the floor when you saw them.
Faces, many of them, all of them bearing masks of hate,
pointing their fingers at you, chanting, “There she/he is! Guilty. Monster. You
should be in prison!”
You couldn’t stand anymore. You
covered your face with your hands and slumped against the cold wall. Wild
shrieks tore from your throat, bruising it until you were convinced you were going
to choke to death. Good. Then maybe, just maybe, you would find peace. But even
death refused to whisk you away. Everything and everyone conspired against you.
They wanted to make sure you would never forget.
The Grief Room is where you replay the last moments before your child’s
death over and over in the movie screen of your mind. You wish you could
replace some of your actions that day, change what you did, how you did it,
what you said and how you said it. You are tortured by what ifs and long to
rewrite the script of your life and how you lived it on that last day. If you
were not with your child those last moments, you try to bend reality and
pretend you could have done something, that your presence could have changed
things, if only you had been there.
You share your thoughts with
close friends and family members who haven’t written you off and just when you
think you have found a little respite, the fragile bud of hope blooming in the
barren garden of your soul is yanked by the whispers, the indirect accusations
and veiled threats aimed at you. They are everywhere, they won’t let you go.
Solace is too much to ask for. You don’t deserve it. Upon closing your eyes,
your own baby’s voice rings around you and drapes you in a shroud of regret.
Grief will grip you and wrestle
with you. You will tumble and fall and slump and sink and cave and bow. Your
own grief is enough to deal with, but when others’ mourning attacks you, you
need to act. Guilt is a relentless, merciless warden, and if you give him the
keys to your soul, he will keep you in that room for the rest of your life.
You have become a prisoner, but
you don’t have to remain that way. The Guilt
Room is not meant for a lifetime, though many have made the mistake of
turning it into their permanent residence and have even moved their belongings
there.
But it doesn’t have to be you.
Refuse to stay locked within those walls. Make up your mind you are there to
pass, not to stay. Be aggressive and get ready to exit that place of darkness.
Ask God to bring you clarity of
mind and heart. Oftentimes your guilt builds dangerous fantasies and scenarios
that are far removed from reality. As your mind begins to heal, you will
realize most people are not against you and those that are are so
grief-stricken they are lashing out at you because their heart is scarred. They
need to blame someone, and whether you were with the child or not when he/she
died is irrelevant. It is a defense mechanism they activate for their own
self-preservation. If they allow themselves to entertain the frightening
thought, even for mere seconds, that this could happen to them, they would go
insane. It has nothing to do with you, it is about them, their pain, and the
way they choose to cope is through anger and blame. That doesn’t make it right,
but it frees you from the grip of unfounded guilt. Do not sink down to their
level. Rise above it and begin to rebuild your life. Your baby is watching;
make him/her proud.
