When Grief Turns to Guilt

“In a way aren’t you glad she’s gone?”

The question surprised me so much I almost missed the statement that followed: “I don’t blame you if you are.”

I didn’t answer. But as an investigator I had seen it many times. You ask a question. Seated opposite you, the person you asked looks up and to the left as he recalls the answer, then, not liking the confession that comes to mind, his eyes shift down and to the right as he struggles to quickly come up with a less incriminating response.

I didn’t feel guilty of anything, but I didn’t like where my mind was going with this.

My friend and I were walking through the neighborhood, enjoying the Sunday afternoon sunshine. I guess he could tell I was struggling to answer so he continued. “Because if it was me, if I was you, I would be glad.”

I turned and looked at him. There was a brief silence before he finished. “I just want to give you permission to feel whatever you feel.”

Permission to feel whatever I feel. My wife had passed away several weeks earlier. Suddenly, without warning, in an instant, I was a widower, a single dad, alone. A massive storm had ripped through my life, ravaging everything in its path, leaving behind devastation and damage underneath rushing floodwaters. I was choking off my feelings, hiding them, ignoring them, trying not to feel anything. But the question was compelling, gripping. Glad she’s gone? How could I be glad?

My response was an attempt to keep from answering. “If you had asked me a year ago if I would like to be rid of her, out of our marriage, away from the alcoholism, no longer a prisoner to her addiction, whether by her leaving or her dying, then I would have said yes.

“Yes, a year ago, if you had said she would be gone, dead, all the desperation, despair, and distress of living with an alcoholic ended, I would have taken the offer. But now, today, with that being a reality, if you asked me would I want her back, like it was before, the drinking included (her probably at home drunk even now), I would also say, ‘Yes.’”

So I didn’t really answer his question because I didn’t want to hear the answer.

But I knew the answer.

Grief Turns to Guilt

When she was alive, throughout our marriage, I sometimes wondered how I would feel standing in front of the chapel, at her casket, talking to friends and family as they filed by offering condolences. I’m not as dark and hopeless as that sounds. I don’t thrive on grim thoughts and ghoulish fantasies. She was an alcoholic. It was easy to imagine something might happen. She had already been in a car accident, arrested for DUI and reckless endangerment of minors, lost her driver’s license, even spent time in jail. My daughters and I had lived through birthdays, Christmases, vacations, and everyday life not knowing if she would be sober or drunk, attentive or withdrawn, interested or detached, loving or spiteful.

Her most likely cause of death seemed destined to be another car accident or some form of alcohol-related health issue (neither of which came to pass). But every time this future-funeral played in my mind, I anticipated my reactions. I would fume because she left me to raise two little girls by myself. Fear of growing old alone would fester and seethe. She rejected me; she let her children down; she turned her back on her friends. I was going to be mad at her for a host of reasons. I would stand at her casket and silently brood in anger, disgust, and hate.

Well, she did die, but the emotions entangled inside me were opposite. I wasn’t mad or upset or angry. I was sad and crushed and distraught. At her funeral everyone talked about what a wonderful person she was, how much she loved her children, how much she loved me, how much I loved her, and how blessed we were to have had her in our lives. But wait … isn’t this the same person who we thought was ruining our lives? The same person who (I don’t really want to say this) we sometimes wished would just go away?

It was discomforting to feel relief from the bondage and abuse of alcoholism. What do you do when those feelings surface? Deny them? Suppress them? What happens when a trusted friend gives you “permission” to feel that way? I’m not supposed to be glad she’s gone. I’m supposed to grieve, put on sackcloth, cover my head in ashes, and shed relentless tears. Not feel relief.

Here’s the thing: I did not want her to die. I wanted her addiction to stop affecting our family. I wanted her to overcome the power and control of alcohol, to be free from the demons that tormented her. I wanted her to accept our love, to know she had friends and family who wanted to share her life.

She found that freedom. She knows that love. I may not be able to fully understand, but she now has new life in heaven, and she has seen Jesus as He is (1 John 3:2). She prayed for God to free her, asking for forgiveness and grace. In her prayer journal, several years before her death, she wrote, “Lord, please forgive me. I believe Jesus died for my sins, rose on the third day, and now sits at the right hand of God in heaven. From this day forward, I choose You, Jesus, and the eternal life that You promised for those who believe in You. I know You can set me free from the clutches of my addiction. I love You, Jesus.”

So why did I feel guilty? She had been set free. And so had I.

A Grieving Heart Condemned by Guilt

Moments like these—when a grieving heart is condemned by guilt—can happen even if a marriage or relationship was stable and secure. When one spouse dies, the other spouse feels out-of-place, disoriented, isolated. God ordained marriage as one man and one woman joined together as one flesh (Ephesians 5:31), so surviving spouses have lost a part of themselves. But newfound freedom to be your own person and make your own decisions can lead to guilty feelings.

Sometimes a parent can pass away, leaving behind a relationship riddled with brokenness, strain, or abuse. A father may have been judgmental, always seeming to carry a negative perspective. Or a perfectionist mother would be loving and kind one moment, then tear into a rage the next, without reason or warning, never allowing calm and peaceful assurance. Is there relief even in the dark valley of death? Yes, but guilt should not prevail. Your parent is free and so are you.

Guilty feelings can also be the consequence of remorse and regret. I read about a woman who told her husband she no longer loved him so she wanted a divorce. She demanded that he leave the house, leave their kids, and leave her life. He did. He packed a bag, got in his car, and drove away. Several miles down the road, he was in a car accident that ended his life. She was free from her marriage without the anxiety and anguish of a dreaded divorce. Now what? For her, a long road of guilt. She had cheated on him. The affair had ended long ago, but now the fear of discovery was conveniently concealed forever. She could go on with life as the grieving widow instead of an outcast divorcée. But she was shackled by shame, imprisoned by guilt.

Finally Free from Guilt

When grief turns to guilt, ask yourself two questions: Am I experiencing conviction from the Holy Spirit? Or condemnation from Satan?

If God is convicting you of unconfessed sin, the solution is simple. Admit your sin to God, and He will faithfully and fully forgive your sin, cleanse your heart, and restore your fellowship with Him (1 John 1:9).

But most of the time Satan is fighting to keep you from accepting the freedom offered through God’s love and grace. After my wife died, I was fraught with guilt because Satan told me it wasn’t fair. He convinced me to cling to the pain and the past. He reminded me of the hurt and the hate. He pointed to blame and regret. I crawled into a cave and hid in the blackness.

Then one day I heard a still, small voice as I read Hebrews 4:16. “Let us then approach God’s throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.” I was ready to “release [my] grip on a shattered future and grasp God’s outstretched hand.”

My friend’s question came back to me: “In a way aren’t you glad she’s gone?”

Yes, because I finally realized she and I were bound by the same chains. We were both trapped at the bottom of the sea. It wasn’t her fighting not to drink while I was fighting not to drown. We were allies, not enemies. We were captive together.

And we were set free together. At the same instant, by the same Liberator.

… if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.

John 8:36

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Do you struggle with guilt? I would love to hear your story. Please share it in the comments below. Leave your email address in the subscription box so we can continue to walk this road together. As always, thanks for reading.