Guilty, Your Honor: The Burden of Guilt After a Suicide

Guilty, Your Honor, I whisper.

Have you ever done anything so horrible that you would prefer to hide in a dark closet for the rest of your life than have someone find out you did it? Have you ever done something so bad that even remembering what you did causes you to hyperventilate and shake?

I have. I've made too many mistakes in my life. I should have done better.

Sometimes I envision myself standing before a judge who wears a long black robe, with my head hanging low in shame. I am holding tightly to a large bulging sack.

The judge with the long black robe says, "Hold your head up to answer me. Who are you?"

I answer him quietly. "I am a mother, a wife, and a teacher."

"Were you a good mother?" the judge asks. I notice his eyes are staring impatiently into mine.

"No, Your Honor," I reply, shaking my head sadly. "I was not a good mother."

The judge says nothing, so I continue.

"I tried my best, but I made too many mistakes. I brought them to show you. They are all in this sack," I explain, straining to push the sack closer to him so he can see it better.

The judge looks at my sack and mumbles to himself, "Looks like this woman's got a ton of bricks here."

Then, he sighs and says, "Hmmmm - How do you plead?"

"Guilty, Your Honor," I whisper. "Guilty."

The reality is, however, I carried that huge sack of guilt with me from the moment the officer told me that my teenage daughter, Arlyn, took her life. I found the largest sack I could and opened it. Then, I threw bricks of guilt into it, one by one.

In the sack, I placed bricks for each memory I had of the times I had raised my voice to my children. I placed more bricks in for times I punished them for making childish mistakes.

If only I had been more patient, -

In the sack, I stuffed bricks for each time I was too busy grading papers or washing clothes or talking on the telephone to give my children, the most precious people in my life, my undivided attention.

If only I had kept my priorities straight, -

In this sack also, I added bricks for memories of many times when I had failed to listen to my children with my heart.

If only I had been wiser, -

After Arlyn died, I walked around carrying my sack of guilt; it was a painful reminder that some of my actions could have contributed to the Depression that led to her death. I did not pull the trigger that hot August day, but I felt as if I did.

To me, Arlyn's suicide provided tangible evidence that I had failed in the most important mission of my life - mothering. I deserved to have to spend the rest of my life lugging a heavy sack of bricks around.

This was almost a complete turn-around from the attitude I had before Arlyn's death. Prior to August 7, 1996, I had confidence in myself; I had achieved the goals I set, so I thought I knew it all. If there'd been a Miss Arrogance pageant, I would have won the crown.

But I was knocked to my knees when Arlyn died, and I would never stand tall again. Any crown on my head was shattered.

After Arlyn died, the world no longer made sense. I doubted every thing I had ever learned, my beliefs, and my values. Most of all, I saw myself as a huge failure in life.

So here I was, trying to muddle through each day, attached to this huge burdensome sack of guilt that I could not and would not put down.

Ughhh! My sack of bricks was so heavy: the bricks representing all the mistakes of my life were so heavy that I'd need the help of a bulldozer to move it, at least.

Most of the bricks in the sack had to do with Arlyn: sins of commission and sins of omission. Arlyn had killed herself, and the guilt I felt was consuming me.

Every day after I woke up, I'd stand at the foot of the huge ugly load and looked up at it. As much as I hated it, I felt connected to it. I sometimes reached out and stroked the bag up and down with one hand, never letting go with the other. It was MINE.

Day after day, I stood there, holding on to my sack full of bricks of guilt. Friends would w