Who Is Forgiveness Really For?

They say to err is human but to forgive divine.  Those are some powerful words that can have a lasting impact on your life.  We can all look at that saying and make the decision that since we are not divine we don't have to forgive.  We think that not forgiving someone puts all of the hurt and hatred on them in some form of cosmic or karmic punishment, but in actuality it eats us up inside and we are the only ones in the end that suffer from a lack of forgiveness.  Right now I'm processing that concept because I came to the realization that I have been unable to forgive a group of people and, although I haven't thought about it in years, it has truly taken its toll on my sense of well being and ability to be happy.  Even now as I'm having this epiphany, I still cannot let go of the pain and torment that surfaces when I recall what went on.  Yes, there are times that I don't even give it a second thought and feel that I've passed being so resentful and angry, but as I progress through my recovery and dig deep to unearth some of the beliefs and feelings that have been buried for so long I realize just how much damage can be done by not forgiving even those who don't seem to deserve it.  As I begin to work through these thoughts and emotions that still seem so raw, I decided it might be beneficial for me to put my writing skills to work and share the situation here because I have found by doing so I can process things more clearly. I think I'm finally grasping the incredible value of catharsis.

Growing up I was always at least somewhat aware that there was an unspoken rift between and distance from certain relatives.  My father came out of a family dynamic that can only be described as incredibly cold and unfeeling.  I remain convinced to this day that my grandfather, dad's dad, was an absolute asshole in just about every respect possible and I was always grateful that he died before I was born.  The stories I've heard over the years have led me to the belief that he could be, and often was, truly evil.  My grandmother was cold, distant and seemingly uninterested in our side of the family.  To my complete amazement, I learned that they never really accepted my mother into the family and always considered her an outsider and unwelcome.  Now mom was an exceptionally intelligent and well educated woman, having an undergraduate degree from Oberlin College and a Master's from Case Western Reserve University.  She was poised, loving, affectionate, and demonstrative just to name a few of her fine qualities.  I know I'm biased but she truly was an amazing woman and, especially in my adult years, was the best friend I ever had.  Interestingly enough, and fully admitting that I wasn't as close to him as I was to mom, my dad was very much the same way.  For the life of me I will never understand how such a warm and caring person as my dad emerged from that emotional black hole of a family, but it's certainly proof in my eyes that miracles can and do happen.  I came to understand that it wasn't just mom that was never accepted by his parents and sister, but the same held true for dad and his offspring as well.  I especially remember finding out that when my grandfather passed away no one told dad until after the service and burial had taken place.  I can't imagine how hurt he must have been.   It always made me incredibly sad to think about just how unfeeling my grandparents and aunt really were over the years..

The culminating coup de grâce came years after my father died.  My grandmother had made the decision to relocate my grandfather's remains from Florida to the local Oak Hill Cemetery in Millersburg.  Several plots were purchased in a newer section that required headstones to be flush with the ground, and naturally Dad wished to be laid to rest there.  We even had a beautiful marker fashioned out of his much beloved Briar Hill sandstone and, of course, mom planned to be there when her time came as well.  As was family tradition, every year various family graves were visited, cleaned up and decorated with flowers around Memorial Day.  One year mom was dutifully making the cemetery rounds with one of my siblings and was horrified to discover that my grandparents graves were no longer there.  Some further searching and investigation resulted in finding that their plots had been moved to another section atop a hill to be along side my dad's sister's graves and their flush markers had been replaced by much larger and more prominent headstones.  Mom was completely devastated.  No one had informed her of the move and, much as it was in his life, dad was left alone with his family scornfully looking down on him.

I don't think I had ever up to that point seen my mother so mortally wounded to her very core.  To her, it was just the final fatal blow that ran so true to form from those frigid and unfeeling people.  Our immediate family rallied around her, and when she proposed that we move dad's grave to another cemetery in another town, we all unanimously agreed.  I remember her sheepishly asking me one day if I thought dad would haunt her for doing so and I recall emphatically stating that I thought, given the circumstances, that he would if she didn't move him.  We found an incredibly beautiful area in another cemetery and we all just knew that it would make dad so happy and allow him to truly rest in peace.  The final exclamation point came from my father himself when, us having decided to create a monument much bigger and more beautiful than anything his relatives could have dreamed of for themselves, a massive raw slab of granite was selected and it was decided it would be left all rough-hewn except for one polished oval area boldly displaying our last name.  It was only after we settled on the slab itself that dad's voice of approval was confirmed when it was discovered that particular piece of granite came out of the last quarry he had visited prior to his death.  That was the final sign from above that we had done the right thing and it finally brought mom a real measure of peace.

Sadly, mom's time came in September of 2001 when she was diagnosed with advanced pancreatic cancer.  She had returned to the comforts and familiarity of Ohio and in her last days she was visited by dad's sister and they had the opportunity to speak privately.  Nothing was ever revealed about their final conversation but I can only surmised that mom made peace with her in her own way.  I think mom had somehow forgiven them before that time for her own peace of mind as she never, at least openly, displayed any signs that the whole history with dad's family ate away at her.  Not to say there wasn't pain and scarring that could never be wholly eradicated, but I've come to understand that mom knew forgiveness was actually for her and not for the benefit of any of those people.  In many ways and countless situations throughout my life I have been successful in emulating my mother's example and have tried to be a genuinely forgiving person.  And yet there are a few circumstances, such as what I've described heretofore, that I have been unable to absolve and find even a modicum of the inner peace I know mom was able to achieve for her own self-preservation.  I still grapple with feelings of hatred and contempt when I think about dad's family and what they had done over the years toward my parents and my heart aches for what mom had to endure.  But I am now coming to realize that so much of that ire and vindictiveness I harbor is only harming myself.  Everyone directly involved is now long since gone and undoubtedly without care or affect regarding the emotions and bitterness I unwittingly cling to.  The work of finally laying to rest the power I've allowed those old wounds and scars to have over me is beginning in earnest.  While I know it will take time and perhaps a great deal of effort, I do truly hope to achieve that level of forgiveness and inner peace mom found so that I can finally let it go and move forward.