Hard it is to lose a friend
Whose dying could foretell my end
And hard it is to pick up strands
Of living, when those other hands
Are stilled which often soothed my brow
And gave me courage up to now.
There is no way to understand
Why she is gone - and I am here.
Lois Tschetter Hjelmstad
From: Fine Black Lines: reflections on facing cancer, fear and loneliness. Mulberry Hill Press, 1998.
I have been told recently by more than one person that I should never ever have survivor guilt. That is easier said than done. I wrestle with it constantly. It's persistent in my thoughts throughout the day and invades my dreams at night.
Why me?
Why not her?
They say it's God's will and I suppose that is what I need to come to terms with. But how? How do I do that when I can't grasp the reasoning behind it? What makes me so special? What is it that He has in store for me? What is it that He wants me to learn and go forth and do?
I ask and ask, yet the answers elude me.
