Sylvia's Journal

Something has changed about my sense of guilt. My therapist Ruth Conway had already introduced the word ‘responsibility’ in our first session last week and it has poked around my head ever since. I have shifted from guilt to responsibility. This is more than a semantic shift.

There was much about guilt in the early days or even weeks after the crash in my journal and conversations with others. I remember clearly the moment I regained consciousness in the plane wreck; when I realized what I had done. As I waited for the rescuers to free me, I I kept saying softly , “I am sorry, I am sorry,” like a mantra. It was meant for Joan, for Axel, and for everyone else I had inconvenienced but I doubt anyone heard it.

Later, in the hospital, seeing Sita’s pictures of the others (I still have not seen Joan in the flesh) or when seeing Axel in his various states of recovery, I often thought, “What have I done to her/him?” Or when I was thinking about Morsi and his kids, “what havoc have I wrecked on them?” or “Look how I messed up their vacation!”

The other night when Axel was in great pain, having a terrible time with his arm as he tried to settle for the night, the same thought returned and I expressed it. This was not the first time for him to hear me say this (“What have I done to you?”). At previous occasions he had tried to talk me out of my guilt, as many others have tried. To ease my mind people have invoked the wind as the culprit, or forces outside my control (how about a broken windsock?). It does no good but everyone kept trying. I suppose it feels good for a brief moment, like peeing in your pants. Only for a moment.

But this time Axel’s answer was different. I think his answer snapped me out of the guilt mode. He said, “OK, it is true that, as the pilot, you are responsible for the crash that led to my sorry state. But then you also have to take responsibility for all the good that is coming out of this adversity; the love that people are pouring over us, the new friendships that have emerged with people we did not know so well before; the re-connection with friends we had neglected; the gift of idleness, etc. etc.” Suddenly the responsibility wasn’t such a burden anymore. The scales of the bad/good consequences appear to tip towards the good side, and responsibility seems OK.

Our last Monday of the summer was a quiet one and stood in sharp contrast to Sunday. I woke up to see a bunch of small tents scattered across the end of the yard. A few of Sita’s and Jim’s friends had stayed for the night and camped out. They enjoyed the beautiful day, the smoldering fire on the beach from the night before, kayaking and swimming. They also cleaned up and removed the last vestiges of the party while Tessa put in another work day in Rockport.

Axel had a visit from Sandy his nurse and then Robert, his new physical therapist from the VNA while I finished another book. At 6 PM Barbara Oswald (from our circle of Waring School friends) brought dinner, as announced on the calendar, and sat with us for awhile. It turns out she is an occupational therapist and was able to help Axel reduce the swelling on his arm. We are starting to think such appearances of skill and expertise when we need them are normal. Barbara set the table for the two of us and laid out the (adult) macaroni and cheese dinner she had cooked and accompanying salads. And so we had a lovely diner for two.

After she left we sat at the table, both teary-eyed about all this giving that has come our way. Axel reflected, “so many people doing this much for us, it is hard to absorb, I have difficulty in comprehending, absorbing, and accepting it. When someone brings dinner like this, it is another level of kindness; I am just so moved by it.” And while he talked I pulled out my computer and started to type his words. We talked/typed for a while, a first start for Axel to begin writing what this experience is all about. In the absence of his ability to do this for himself, I’ll be his chronicler for now.