On April 11, 2016, Chris went in for minor hip surgery.  Their goal was to remove an acetabular impingement (pronounced ass-tab-you-lar  im-pinj-mint) from his hip joint.  After years and years of chronic back pain and pain management and chiropractors and other surgeries and physical therapy and pain meds, we went in filled with a new hope that we’d finally found something that could relieve his back pain.

The arthroscopic surgery went perfectly.  And for 12 days, his recovery went perfectly.  Everyone was thrilled with his progress.  And our attention to detail.  And that we followed all the instructions, and directions, and recommendations, and regimens so well.

12 days post-surgery, out of the blue, without warning, within less time than it takes for a decent kiss, Chris was gone.

Survivor’s Guilt.  It’s a thing.  When you feel overwhelming guilt because you’re still here, while someone you love is not.  It took me almost a year – and a lot of time with a grief counselor – to realize that’s what I’ve felt for that year.  Guilt.  Because he was the better person.  He was the better human being.  He was the one that should still be here.

And because of that guilt, I became driven to find ways to replace him.  To take on the traits he had and I lacked.  To become who he was.  So that the world wouldn’t feel the loss as heavily.  So a version of him could still be with us.

It’s hard to fathom thinking that you could become another person.  It’s so impractical, illogical… maybe even silly.  And yet, it seemed like the only option.

Several months after Chris died, I heard of someone else who had a pulmonary embolism.  He was much older than Chris, with kids, and had lived a longer life.  But he survived.  And Chris didn’t.  Yes, anger was one of the many emotions I felt.  I feel horrible about that anger.  But it was there, nonetheless.

So I needed this loss to have purpose.  It couldn’t be for nothing.  There had to be a bigger reason.  And as always, I took control of the situation.  And decided that I would give it my own purpose.

Y’all.  That’s not purpose.  That’s guilt.  I’m not responsible for making purposes.  I’m only responsible for recognizing when I’ve been given one.

Because where we are now is not the bigger picture at all.  Where we are now is a snapshot.  Where we are now has one main purpose –  for us to make our choice for where we’ll spend eternity.  That’s it.  It’s like… pre-school…compared to the bigger picture.

And Chris, he had already made it.  He loved and loved and loved, but more importantly, he loved Jesus.  He’d made a decision.  He’d already made it over the eternal dividing line – to the pretty eternity.

So him no longer being here only feels horrible to us now.  Because he’s already where he would have ended up anyway.

As for me, I’ll be there too eventually.  I mean, God will probably sit me in a holding cell for a while.  I’ll probably have to sew others’ wings together, feather by feather, with thumbtacks and dental floss, watching everyone else through my own iron bars fly around and enjoy the bliss of heaven.  Thinking about my rash decisions on Earth.  But I’ll get there.

So Survivor’s Guilt is a silly earthly, limited perspective, human thing.  Because none of us are getting out of here alive.  Not one of us.  It’s the one thing that’s promised:  death.  Along with change.  And the purpose of our time down here, when we really break it all down and clear away the cobwebs of “life purpose” and “career goals” and “charitable giving” and “life passions”…the purpose is to make a decision:  Yes or No.  That’s it.

Yes, there’s a lot to be said for after we make that decision.  But those are just details compared to that first big decision.  Yes or No?  Are you in or are you out?  Jesus or No Jesus?  That’s all.  The end.

I hate that I’ve felt this guilt for so long…that I’ve let it overtake me.  Let it control me.  But then again, there’s probably worse things that one can be controlled by.

I still believe in the power of living.  To use every moment you have on Earth.  To love others to the point that they feel loved.  Because those things could make the difference for someone else.  Could help them decide whether to cross the line or not.  Whether to say Yes or No themselves.

But I can’t be responsible for their decisions.  I’m only responsible for my own.

I guess that makes it fitting that the Easter season will always be my earthly reminder of when I lost Chris.  Because I didn’t really lose him.  He’s just already where I’ll be too…eventually.

We might have all survived something.  Maybe it was bravely, or by chance, or by fate – we’ve all survived something.  But in the end, it will not be death.  We cannot feel guilty for living when someone else has died.  Because death will happen to all of us eventually.  No matter how many times we try to escape it.

So it’s not about “survival”.

It’s about a decision.

Yes or No.