Note: I wrote most of this post while my brother-in-law was still in hospice care. He passed away yesterday. I’ve decided to share these reflections as they were, with minimal changes, as part of my own processing journey.
I was scrolling through Facebook on our way to Georgia last month when my husband spoke. “Mark* left a message,” he said, his eyes straight ahead, his voice measured in that way I’ve come to recognize as emotional self-protection. “He’s in the hospital. He has throat cancer.” I dropped the phone onto my lap and looked at his blank face.
What do you do with news like that, delivered in an emotionless voicemail after years of silence? How do you respond to a cry for help from someone who once said, “Mom was right about you. This is goodbye forever”?
“Are you going to call him back?”
My husband shook his head. “No. That was his decision, not mine.”
I couldn’t argue. The scars my husband carries from his brother’s abuse may not be physical, but are still painful reminders of a life spent walking on eggshells, trying to please the unpleasable. There had been no contact with Mark after my mother-in-law removed us from her life (a story for another time, or see my previous post). It was only after her passing that Mark attempted to “mend fences.”
Lord, why does reconciliation so often look like an invitation back into captivity?
What Mark meant by reconciliation was, “Let’s be in relationship again with you doing everything I want while I bear no accountability or remorse for my past treatment of you.” A one-sided peace treaty that benefits only the offender.
Thankfully, God had already been doing restoration work in my husband through a trusted Christian counselor and his psychologist uncle. This time, he recognized the pit with its slime before falling in again.
But here I sit in the desert of meta-guilt. Meta-emotions—something I just learned about this week—are feelings about our feelings. You might feel happy about being content, or frustrated about your anxiety. In my case, I feel guilty for not grieving properly for my brother-in-law, who passed away yesterday.
“Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts.” (Psalm 139:23)
Is my assessment of my emotions even accurate?
When trying to understand our emotions, it helps to recognize them as reflections of what we value or love.** Think about it—we feel joy when something we value is protected or enhanced. We feel anger when something we love is threatened. We feel sadness when something we cherish is lost. Our emotions are like signposts pointing to what matters most to us.
I feel guilt because society tells me I should grieve when a family member dies—as if the family relationship itself should automatically be something I value deeply. But why do I feel this strange numbness at the news of Mark’s passing? Perhaps because what I truly value—authentic connection, mutual respect, grace-filled relationships—were absent from our interactions with him. How can I mourn the loss of something that never existed?
The truth is, Mark lived a life that stood against things we value: selfless love, remorse for wrongdoing, mutual respect, the give-and-take of healthy relationships. How can I grieve a life that rejected these things?
Yet in the quiet moments, I realize I am grieving—just not in the expected way. I grieve the brotherhood that should have existed between these two men. I grieve the person Mark might have become apart from the nurturing of a narcissistic mother who doted on him while rejecting my husband. I grieve that he never broke free to become his own person, instead becoming the mirror image of that same narcissism.
So I grieve, and I pray. I pray that Mark found peace in his final moments. I pray that God’s mercy reaches beyond our human understanding of reconciliation and brokenness.
Sometimes the most honest prayer is simply, “Lord, have mercy.”
Do you ever find yourself feeling guilty about your emotions? Have you experienced grief that doesn’t look like what others expect? I’d love to hear your story in the comments, or send me a private message if that feels safer. We’re all walking this road together, and sharing our stories lightens the load for everyone.
*Not his real name.
**Recommended resource: Untangling Emotions by J. Alasdair Groves & Winston T. Smith
I can identify with your conflicted feelings about expected grief response. My mother had a very traumatic childhood which made it difficult for her to be a nurturing mother. Instead, I was most often the adult caring for her. I often disappointed her. I couldn’t fill her cracked cup. So when she died, I grieved what we never had and then I felt relief. I was released from the responsibility of trying to make her cracked cup hold water. She did know Jesus. When I looked at her still body back in 2009, my first thought was she is free of the mental handicaps that plagued her throughout her 76 years.
Thank you for sharing this with me. Your words about grieving “what we never had” and the powerful image of trying to fill a “cracked cup” perfectly capture the complexity of these relationships. I’m moved by how you found peace in seeing your mother finally free from her struggles.
These complicated family stories are rarely discussed openly, which is why I felt compelled to write about my experience. Your willingness to share yours makes me feel less alone, and I hope my post did the same for you. Thank you for understanding exactly what I was trying to express.
Kari,
I feel I have lived this story a good part of my life. I am, in fact, struggling in this area right now. I will share more privately. Thank you for your transparency. I’m sorry hubs has had this experience. Thankful he has you, but more thankful that God has always known and holds him up. Miss you and yours.
Thank you for sharing this glimpse of your own journey. It means so much to know these words resonated with your experience. I look forward to hearing more privately, whenever you’re ready to share. These complicated relationships can be so isolating, which is exactly why I believe in speaking our truths.
You’re right that God has always known and held my husband through this journey. That divine understanding has been our greatest comfort. Praying for you as you navigate your own similar path right now.
Thank you for being so real in the questions and the struggle and vulnerable to share. Profoundly helping me understand things I possibly have never looked at due to the pain. Thank you
Emotions can be hard to process, can’t they? Sharing our stories openly and honestly not only helps us process, but also creates space for others to process their own difficult emotional journeys. I’m grateful my words resonated with you, and I appreciate you letting me know. ((Hugs))
Oh, Kari! I can definitely relate to the feelings of guilt about the emotions I’ve experienced around illness and death, caregiving, and parenting. Some of the wisest words I’ve ever heard are, “cease striving”, when I was praying fervently for the feelings to match my expectations. Grief takes many forms and I think you nailed it when you described what you are truly grieving for. I’ve realized that self-protection is not a sin and accepting abusive behavior is not a badge of honor. This journey will look different for all of us and it’s not for anyone to judge how we “should” feel. Thanks for sharing.
Thank you for these wise words, friend. “Cease striving” resonates deeply with me – that permission to stop forcing emotions that aren’t authentic. Your insight that “self-protection is not a sin and accepting abusive behavior is not a badge of honor” feels like truth I need to hear again and again.
I’m grateful you understood exactly what I was trying to express about grieving what should have been rather than what was. It’s comforting to know others have walked similar paths with complex emotions. Thank you for validating my experience and for sharing your wisdom from your own journey.