Survivor's Guilt

It's been a while since I've written a new post.  Lots of processing...lots of realizations...lots of discovery.
I've come to grips with the fact that he is not well...in many ways.  I have learned to let go...to walk away...leave the wreckage behind and begin a new life. My very wise counselor said that he would show up...and he has. In ways that I never would have dreamed or expected.  He is a stranger to me...I have no idea who he is anymore.

I've defined it as survivors guilt...this feeling that comes from time to time.
Imagine you are the passenger in an airplane where your husband is the pilot
whom you trust implicitly.
You have been in the air for what seems like a lifetime,
experiencing minor turbulence, but overall enjoying the view and the ride.
You expect that you are close to your destination
when suddenly,
you realize he has taken his hands off the controls...
and has had them off for a very long time.
You discover that you are far off course and are headed straight into the side of a mountain that you never saw until the moment before terrain meets metal.  Your worst nightmare comes true and before you know it, you are lying on the ground with wreckage all around and everywhere you look little fires are burning. One of the fires is dangerously close to exploding what's left of the jet fuel and you know there are only seconds before you are caught in the ball of fire. You look for him and find him trapped under the wreckage and in a split second, you have a choice...to try to free him from the wreckage that binds him...knowing you are not capable of doing it...and you will die in the fire with him, OR walk away and save yourself.
I made the choice.
I walked away.
Partly, because I knew I would make a horrible messiah,
and partly because he didn't want me to save him...
or us.
And, once in a while I feel guilty
that I am a survivor...
not a victim
and he will be trapped in the wreckage
for a very, very long time.

As each month gives way to another month,
I have the stark reminder that not once...
Not once has he checked on me,
asked how I'm doing
am I healing?
am I settled in my new home?
will I be okay?
do I need anything?
Not once...
has he said I'm sorry
I love you
I hate what I've done to our family
I want to make this up to you.
Not once has he shown any sign of compassion toward me.
Not once.

And I realize...
It didn't just start on January 21.

My good friend reminded me of the last two holiday seasons
when I gave voice to
the loneliness,
and lack
and longing.
I didn't understand where the feelings originated...
but the Spirit in me did.
He was grieving it too.
My heart was so heavy and burdened.
The darkness threatened to undo me
made me want to run...
flee the feelings of abandonment and find
somewhere
someone
who could touch the pain.
Yet, I stayed.
Till death (death...death...death)
as I heard it echo that day I said "I do".
And I did...
till the death...of me.
'Till all that I knew was uniquely me,
had seemingly shriveled up and died.
But God...
"unless a seed falls to the ground and dies, it will not bear fruit."
"They tried to bury us but they didn't know we were seeds".  (JH Fearless)
Resurrected
brought forth
from the dry and hard soil
a tiny blade of green.
He has caused His face to shine on it.
He has watered it with words from
very wise counselors
friends
sometimes, strangers.
He has caused it to grow
and slowly I remember
who I was
who I am
who I was created to be.
He has breathed new life
into old dreams.
He is making streams in the desert.
He is showing me love
in antique fabric swatches in frames
on Florentine terraces
in the faces and hugs of children
who call me 'auntie'.
I am finding my voice
to sing again
a new song...much fuller and richer.
I embrace the silence
and lonliness
because, he is healing the broken places
that were too afraid of
abandonment.