The Guilt

Then there’s the guilt.

Perhaps this will be a cathartic release of the different guilt I have for fleeing.

There is the little guilt titbits that pop up like those chocolates that are left on the pillows of turned down hotel rooms; quickly seen to and disposed of. Nom-nom-nom.

Then there is the larger, Christmas dinner sized guilt that becomes bigger the more you eat. I have four of these that torment me for our decision to flee.

There’s the guilt that I’m depriving my parents of a very important part of their lives. That part where they get to dote on their grandchild, their first grandchild, my daughter who I’ll be stealing away to Belgium. I’ve wrestled and reasoned that I cannot sacrifice her safety, education and well-being on this. I’m not prepared to gamble on this here. The odds aren’t good – not now. Perhaps it’d be better in a few generations time but I doubt it’ll even become a fair gamble in her lifetime.

There’s the guilt that I’m taking someone’s daughter, Mrs. Black, and grandchild away from them. My wife’s parents are still both alive. Mrs. Black always vowed to stay here until they’d both passed on but since the birth of our daughter, Specoloos that’s her nickname, Mrs. Black’s concerns have taken a drastic left turn without indicating, flicker lights, hooting or any pre-warning! Mrs. Black hasn’t shown any wavering sign of ever turning around again. She has her sights firmly set on the horizon, waiting for the sails to billow with a stiff breeze so we may lift anchor and depart.

There’s the guilt that I’ve inadvertently coerced my family, through my cynical disposition, into leaving this place. This guilt doesn’t happen often, thankfully, but it does rear its head! It re-assures me to hear Mrs. Black’s thoughts on all the things she’d like to do when we’re settled in Belgium. As nasty as this is, it also re-assures me when she sees a terrifying reality in this place and expounds it to me.

Inevitably there’s the Catholic guilt. If you’re a practicing Catholic you may understand the next bit. To ensure my time-share in heaven, I should be looking after the poor, helping the needy and generally spreading and sharing goodwill. There’s enough of all the above right outside my house to swallow more than my lifespan of time and assets. I feel guilt for leaving the needy behind. I was the provider of music at the 11:45 mass at our church on Sunday for free and completely voluntarily. When we began our plans, I quit. I knew I wouldn’t be able to give it the little attention I already was and the equipment I used would have to be sold. As with human nature I have a counter-argument for this guilt too. Why else would I still be in the throes of fleeing?

I made a promise, a vow before God, family and friends that I would remain faithful and loving in sickness and in health (that means no matter what) to Mrs. Black. Through the sacrament of marriage where we give ourselves to the other before all those witnesses, it is my responsibility through utter and undying love to do the best by and for my family. The best right now is to move them to a place where they’ll be safer, exposed to more opportunities and experiences that they can obtain here. I hope for a happier, safer and far less stressed family in Belgium.

I've come to realize that I'm relieved when I see them at the end of the day. Relieved that nothing bad and no harm has befallen them because it is a constant and real danger here.

That's not living.

Ciao for now.