Guilty as Charged

I've never really been one to do something wrong and not feel guilty about it afterwards. Even the smallest things I do will not sit right with me. I'll constantly question what I'm doing or how I'm handling myself. On more than one occasion, people have accused me of beating myself up a bit more than needed.

Well...guilty as charged.

My first memory of feeling guilty was when I was a young tomboy, although I don't remember the exact age. My friend, Andrea Koeniger, and I had picked all the apples off of my neighbor's prized apple tree. I was the one doing the picking and she was the one holding all the apples. When Mrs Blim stuck her head out the window, it was Andrea who looked guilty because she had the evidence in her hands. Mr Blim came running out of his house and dragged Andrea all the way home where she proceeded to get in trouble...and I believe was then forbidden from ever playing with me again.

I came into my home and not one word was mentioned to my parents by the Blims of my involvement. I remember sitting in the family room, watching track and field something or other with my parents and for whatever reason, there was one of those water coolers that has the spout in it sitting next to me. I remember playing with the white button on the spout as the guilt of my actions ate me up minute by minute. I can still actually feel the button on my finger as the guilt consumed me.

Finally, enough was enough. I couldn't take it anymore. I felt like I was going to vomit from the guilt...and then I did. Not regular vomit though. No...this was verbal vomit as I confessed my wrong doings to my parents.

When I was done, I felt a huge sigh of relief...until I looked at my father's face. Oh boy...this wasn't gonna be pretty. What had I done?!?

He marched me right upstairs and into my room, made me pull my pants down around my knees and bent me over his lap. I think you could hear that spanking throughout the entire town of Northbrook...along with my cries of agony.

When he was finished, he made me go into their bedroom and look at my little butt in the mirror so I would always remember that day and I wouldn't be tempted to do it again. I hobbled into their room with tears running down my face, went in front of their big mirror, turned around and pulled my pants down around my butt so I could see. Instead of my flesh colored fanny, I had enormous red hand prints all over my ass. I can still see those hand prints to this day. Think I ever picked apples again? No sir. He made his point loud and clear.

I think the amount of guilt I've always felt was normal...that is until I became pregnant with my first child. The minute I found out I was expecting, I felt guilty about EVERYTHING!! From what I ate to how much I was teaching to how much I was or was not exercising. EVERYTHING!

When my marriage fell apart 6 months into my pregnancy, I was made to feel guilty by others. Everyone always questioned me and how I could be the one to walk away with a child coming. How could I do that to my poor baby? How was I going to survive on my own? Even though I knew I was doing the right thing for my child and me, I still let others put cracks in my strength.

The day I went into labor was one of the worst days of my life. Not only was I in horrible pain, there was also a lot of controversy surrounding my delivery because I did not let my ex husband know I was in labor and did not let him into the delivery room. Some people felt strongly that I was being selfish and should think about his feelings and of my baby. They thought the father should be there no matter what had transpired, no matter what safety concerns arose and no matter what I, the one in terrible labor, thought was right. So not only was I in the most pain I had ever experienced in my entire life, I was also made to feel guilty for putting myself and my child first. What should have been an amazing day with beams of light from Heaven shining down and angelic voices singing out turned out to be a complete disaster. In fact, the whole hospital stay was a nightmare. Drama upon drama. Guilt upon guilt.

When I got home with my new son, it continued. My decisions were called into question by many people and things were said to me that were very hurtful and will go with me to the grave. One of the only people to stand by me though, regardless of his feelings, was my father. He came and helped me take care of my son both day and night and reassured me that if I felt it was the right decision, then it was the right thing to do. He let me know that he loved me no matter what-that I was his daughter and I came first. No one else or their opinions would change his love for me. I'll take that with me to the grave as well.

When I became a mother, the guilt got worse. As a mother, you feel guilty about everything. Not cooking dinner, what you did cook for dinner, did you dress your kid warm enough that day, did you dress them too much. You let your kid eat candy, you broke their heart because you said no. Every time your child cries, it tears your heart out. If I lose my temper...look out. Not only is Jackson in his room crying, I'm in my room bawling because of what I did to him. Every single thing I do on a daily basis I can find a reason to feel guilty about...and then I start to beat myself up. It's really a good time.

As my father's disease progressed and I spent more and more time there at their house, the guilt intensified. I can't ever find that happy medium.

If my parents call because they need something and I can't go, I feel terrible because I'm unable to help them. If I do go, I feel bad because I'm bailing on my family. I feel guilty because my little one spends so much time with the babysitter and doesn't get any time with me on a particular day. On nights where I've had to stay at their house, I feel guilty because I'm taking away from time I could be spending with my husband who I don't see during the week. If I don't go to stay with them, I feel terrible because I'm not doing all that I can to help.

It's a vicious cycle. There's no end. You're damned if you do and damned if you don't.

I blame this all on my grandmother, really. When I was born, she told my parents that they didn't have to worry--now that they had a young daughter (me) she would be the one to take care of them when they were old. She plotted out my destiny in a way I guess. Thanks to that statement almost 37 years ago, I now feel guilty if I'm not doing just that...helping to take care of them. So thanks a lot, grandma!

At the end of the day, I'm not going to be able to completely change my emotional make up...no matter how hard I try. (And believe me, I've tried) I will always second guess myself. I will always feel guilty about something and then something else two minutes later. I will always scrutinize my actions and feel bad. It's just how I am.

What I've come to realize along this journey is this: the way I've chosen to walk my path during this ordeal will cause me less guilt when all is said and done and that's what's most important. While I feel pangs of guilt when I'm away from my family here and there during the week or weekend, I'll still have time with them when I get home and in the future. They're stuck with me. The time that is in jeopardy though is that with my father.

Five years from now, I don't want to look back at this time and say, "I should have done more. I should have spent more time with my dad. I should have helped them more."

Five years from now, I'd like to know that I did everything I could to make the last years of my father's life more enjoyable or as easy as possible. I want to know that I did everything in my power to help him. I want to know that I spent as much time as I could with him. I want to be at peace with his death when he finally finds peace himself.

So call me crazy. Say I'm too hard on myself. Say I'm consumed with guilt. I'll agree with you. I'm guilty as charged...but when this horrible journey is over, I won't have guilt surrounding my father's death. I'll know in my head and in my heart that my father knew just how much I love him...that I never gave up on him...that I never put anything or anyone else in front of him....just like he did for me in 2004. He'll go to the grave knowing that just as I'll go to the grave knowing that my father never gave up on me. When he's started on his next journey, I'll know how much he loved me and he'll know that he meant the world to me in return.

I owe him that.

So bring on the guilt! I've got drugs for that now...but the guilt will have an end. There will be peace one day....

Until my kids become teenagers.