A call came informing us that our firstborn, who was several states away on a church youth group ski trip, had life-threatening injuries after his ski accident. On the long drive to Virginia to join our son in the ICU, I thought there was a high likelihood we would soon be joining the undesirable “club” of those parents who have lost a child. As I described at length in a previous post, the last three years my focus has been heavily on this group of grieving adults. I felt I was about to step across the great chasm dividing me from them. One person was especially on my mind. I now would know firsthand what my friend, the wife of my husband’s business partner, was experiencing. Three years earlier, she had suddenly lost her firstborn in an accident. No longer would I have to imagine her grief. It would be mine as well.

But the next morning in the ICU, the doctors informed us the bleeding on my son’s brain had stopped. Though the long-term impact of the accident was still unknown, one thing seemed more certain. My son would live! Relief filled my heart. Joy was overflowing. My son would survive his ski accident!

But it took no time at all for one very uncomfortable thought to start plaguing me. How would my son’s survival affect my friendship with the woman whose son had not survived? Would we still be able to meet up for the occasional coffee and encourage and strengthen one another as we had been doing the last three years? I could not imagine being in her shoes and sitting across from a person who had been spared the grief she bore. My son had survived but would this friendship?

The only term I can think to describe how I felt was “survivor’s guilt.”

I desperately wanted to know how my friend was being impacted by my son’s survival, but I knew asking over text would not be best. I wasn’t even sure talking about it over the phone would be a safe option. Waiting till we could meet in person was all I could do. And pray. I begged God to comfort her, which I had already been doing for three years. From my perspective, I felt like my son surviving was like pouring salt in my friend’s open wound. My heart hurt for her even more than it had in the preceding three years. I now felt I was the source of further pain and impotent of being a source of any comfort.

I was torn how to handle this seeming obstacle that had emerged in this valuable relationship and so sought advice from a couple people. They each separately confirmed exactly what I was thinking. We all three had immediately thought of earlier motherhood days when we would experience pregnancy but be around those who struggled with infertility or were suffering miscarriages. The blessing bears a slight discomfort. A survivor’s guilt if you will.

My friend and I live in two different worlds and must make an effort to connect since our paths do not naturally cross. Finally, I reached out to her to see if she would want to meet for coffee. I honestly did not know if she would ever want to see me face to face again. But she was willing. I breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps we could manage to continue being friends despite our very different outcomes.

When the day came for us to meet several weeks after my son’s accident, I was overcome with emotion. The thought of facing her caused me so much emotional turmoil. I felt so helpless to comfort her. I felt I could only be adding to her pain. This internal anguish was probably the hardest aspect of my son’s survival. As I made the drive to the coffee shop, tears flowed. I prayed and prayed for God to help me and to comfort her.

Thankfully since I showed up a little early and she was running a little late, I had time to attempt to compose myself. By the time she arrived, I was feeling internally calm. But then she sat down with bright eyes and a smile and immediately wanted me to tell her everything about the accident.

I stared at her, this mom who knew the deepest grief possible, and my mouth hung open as I searched her eyes and desperately tried to figure out how in the world to respond. My heart was consumed with her pain, rendering me completely mute. How could I talk about my son? Her son was all I could think about. So, before sharing anything about the accident, I had to go straight to what had been tearing me up inside for weeks.

Choked up before the first word came out, I dived in headfirst and started pouring out all that had been weighing me down. I hardly ever cry around anyone, but this situation overwhelmed me and there was no restraining the emotion I felt. I explained how I had thought I was joining the “club” and then how horrible I felt when I realized how radically different our situations had turned out.

Why does God let one child die but not the other? Why does God break one heart and spare the other? Why??? Why did I have to be the one who was rejoicing while she was the one weeping? I did not understand why I had been chosen to experience joy and she had been chosen to experience grief. My heart hurt so deeply for her and I felt guilty of causing her more grief.

Perhaps you have never experienced this. But I believe this is an example of survivor’s guilt. I would never want my child to have died. I just desperately wish hers hadn’t either. And I have to once again purposely place absolute trust in God that He knows what He’s doing. I have to believe that He is good and fair and just and right in all His ways. I have to have faith because what I see is pain, heartbreak, and the deepest grief imaginable.

My friend was so gracious. So kind. She would never want me to experience her pain. I figured that, but it was very comforting to hear it directly from her lips. I wish so badly that I could take away her pain. So, so badly. I long for Jesus to come back and make everything right. I long for her to be able to look in her son’s eyes again and feel the joy I am feeling these days. I long for Satan to be defeated once and for all.

Almost losing my son makes me able to weep with my friend even more. And perhaps losing her son helps her be able to rejoice even more with me. She intimately knows the pain I was spared, which would definitely be cause for greater rejoicing. And I came the closest possible to knowing her pain firsthand.

Our friendship has survived.

If you are dealing with survivor’s guilt, I am sorry. It’s a real thing, and it is hard and confusing and painful. But I would encourage you to totally and absolutely trust God and sensitively talk with those who you now feel you cannot face. Perhaps your relationship can be even stronger. Perhaps this chasm in outcomes will actually be a source of greater comfort. I feel this is what has happened for my friend and me. For the rest of our time together, we had a very good talk about both of our son’s accidents. Though the outcomes were different, we had new common ground and understanding that had not previously existed.

I am so thankful my friend was able to truly rejoice with me, and I will most definitely continue to weep with her. Romans 12:15 epitomizes our friendship and I believe is the answer in a nutshell to survivor’s guilt. “Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep.”

Don’t believe you are guilty of anything for surviving. That is all a lie from our enemy (John 8:44). Instead, focus on fulfilling your mission! That’s the only reason we are still here. As soon as our mission is accomplished, it’s our time to depart this old, cursed world and enter that perfect land with our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ (Revelation 21). My friend’s son finished his mission. Now it’s our turn to finish ours! (Philippians 1:21-26; II Timothy 4:7-8)