Why Grief And Guilt Walk Together (And How To Question The Story)

Four years after my dad died, I'm finally understanding why bereavement guilt feels so insistent - and why I don't have to accept it as truth

Photo by Kunj Parekh on Unsplash

It'll be 4 years since my dad died this Thursday.

Every deathiversary feels different. But a constant is some form of guilt or regret about how I didn't appreciate him enough when he was here.

I'm faffing with headphones he gave me and feel sad I’ve left it it so long to charge and try them.

I look at the bay tree finally planted in my garden and feel a guilt pang because he wanted me to take it five years ago.

Regrets are part of life. But guilt and grief are constant companions.

And I’m starting to understand why.

Guilt is baked into “being a good son/daughter”

When my dad died, my guilt wasn’t just about medical decisions. It linked into a bigger story, namely the Was I a good enough daughter? Did I show up enough, appreciate him enough, call enough? one.

Researcher Jie Li defines bereavement guilt as:

“…a remorseful emotional reaction in grieving, with the recognition of having failed to live up to one’s own inner standards and expectations in relationship to the deceased and/or the death.”

Jie Li, 2014

I still feel guilt about that Monday night I’d absentmindedly turned my phone to silent while dad was in hospital. I’d missed the early morning calls from them sharing that he’d slipped into unconsciousness overnight and was now in ICU.

I didn’t realise it was the last time we’d speak on that Monday night when he called early evening. He seemed more coherent than previously, so I remember thinking he was taking a turn for the better.

How wrong I was.

It must have taken so much effort for him to call and share what was on his mind.

Damn.

Research consistently shows that guilt is one of the most common emotional themes in grief, not a personal glitch or character flaw.

It’s a normal emotional response after parent loss especially around the idea of, “I should have done more for them.”

It shows up enough that we even have a Bereavement Guilt Scale to measure different flavours of it, like responsibility, indebtedness, survivor guilt, general guilt.

If you’re in a culture with strong expectations about how you should care for your parents, the guilt ramps up even further. It might not show up as “I killed them,” but more quietly as “I didn’t live up to what a good son/daughter should be.”

Aspects of guilt, such as responsibility guilt, indebtedness guilt and degree of guilt feeling, can predict prolonged grief disorder or depression.

This resonates with my Asian background and my deep need to be a “good daughter”.

Even when my mates tell me I did enough, those ridiculously high inner standards are hard to shift. Guilt slots straight into that void.

Caregiving for a parent: guilt, relief, and the “did I do it right?” loop

If you were or are involved in your parent’s care, the guilt script gets even louder.

Studies with adult children in caregiving roles, and young adults who lost a parent to cancer, all point the same way: the more responsibility and love you felt, the more likely you are to carry thoughts like:

• “I didn’t do enough.”

• “I chose the wrong thing.”

• “If I’d pushed harder, they might still be here.”

This story revisits me regularly when I replay my time as dad’s next of kin, with the hospital decisions, the consultant conversations, the complex shitty options chats over the phone.

Maybe if I’d broken the quarantine rules and parked myself in the ICU waiting room, I could have advocated for him more directly in person. There might have been other tests I wasn’t aware of that could have indicated the multi-organ failure earlier.

I know logically that I did what I could with the information I had and the restrictions in place. But grief doesn’t care about logic.

The research suggests this kind of guilt is strongly linked with more intense grief and depression, not because you actually failed, but because the brain quietly turns:

“I wish it had been different”

into

“Their death proves I failed them.”

It’s not particularly helpful or correct, but a story that fits a wonky self-story we don’t challenge when we’re grieving and exhausted.

And because the outcome (their death) is final, the brain treats it as “proof” that we picked wrong, even when no option would’ve led to a happy or different ending.

Relief and guilt can coexist

There’s another layer people don’t talk about enough: relief.

Depending on our personal grief experiences, caregivers for elderly or very ill parents commonly report feeling relieved the suffering is over, and guilty for that relief.

When the doctor told me dad had passed, my first thought was “Oh god, no. Please no.”

A second thought floated through: “Thank god he’s not suffering anymore.”

My third thought was “What kind of daughter feels relief? I’m terrible.”

It’s a totally normal emotional conflict, and not proof you didn’t love them enough.

It’s actually compassion in action. You didn’t want them to suffer. Of course there’s relief when the pain, confusion or indignity ends.

But then we twist that into a story that we “wished our person away” or “didn’t fight hard enough to keep them here.”

The more you avoid, suppress or obsess over the painful bits, the easier it is for guilt to take over and write the script for you.

Part of bereavement is gently challenging these narratives when they start to harden into facts:

• Is this guilt telling me the truth?

• Or is it just the loudest voice in the room right now?

If we don’t question it, guilt quietly becomes the judge, when really it’s just one witness with a very narrow perspective.

One small thing to notice if guilt is noisy

If guilt is loud right now for you, try this:

Pick one guilt thought that keeps circling or looping (for example, “I should have done more”).

This week, when the headphones guilt kicked in, I tried something different. Instead of spiralling with the “I should have used them sooner,” thought, I reframed it and myself: “What does this guilt show me I cared about?”

I realised it showed me how much I valued his gifts and what a caring, kind dad he was. Whether it was big or small, he thought of something I might like and need.

That’s not failure, but a wistful love looking for somewhere to go.

So, maybe explore what guilt is really trying to tell you.

Key takeaways

Guilt is often baked into how many of us define being a “good son/daughter”, especially if we were carers or decision-makers. It’s common, not a character flaw or moral failing.

The research shows that intense, ongoing guilt, particularly “I failed them” self-blame, is linked with heavier grief and depression, even when you did everything you reasonably could.

Feeling relieved their suffering is over doesn’t mean you loved them less. It usually means you cared deeply and wanted the best for them.

This Thursday, when the guilt shows up, and I know it will, I’m going to try something different. I’m going to ask it what it’s really protecting.

Because underneath “I should have done more” is usually just love that hasn’t found a peaceful place to land yet.

And maybe that’s enough.

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P.S. I’m working on a 60-minute(ish) on-demand workshop to help you Navigate Grief With Compassion. Hit reply or comment below if you want to be one of the beta users to help me build it.