We're over DD kiosk. Finito. Kaput. You're not even getting the luxury of a strike 3. Because my morning coffee is not something for you to trifle with.
Forgiveness, to whom we give it and from whom we hope to receive, is as big and complicated a topic as love or death, in my opinion. Because in each situation, the transgression and redemption is intricate and complex, each side has their wounds and hurts to heal and move on...or not. Forgiving someone or choosing not to will shape the rest of both your lives, forcing you to grow up, grow stronger grow a thicker skin and a slightly hardened heart. Because getting there in the first place means that a relationship has hurt you deeply in some capacity, and now you must figure out how to move forward. I'm realizing now that's a BIG running theme of this project - moving forward. If the rest of you had this figured out by the 2nd or 3rd entry, allow me a moment to slow clap for myself.
Augh. How great was Heath Ledger's Joker, side note? So great.
Back to the point. Forgiveness.
When I was young, members of my immediate family cut ties for reasons I will not go into here. I've not seen them in 17 years. Do I forgive? I'm not sure. One of them...I'm sad we didn't get to grow up together. But it wasn't our choice. She was young too. I think we would have been close. For now, I just forget. It was over half my life ago. I know at some point down the road the issue will have to be addressed, but for now, the focus will remain on the people who did want me in their life. Simple.
I have not been forgiven either. During our relationship, P and I had two major breaks. The first time, P had broken up with me by phone while I was away for work in North Carolina, but continued to email or text me every day, like it hadn't happened. I was confused, and so hurt. When he continued to press if I was ok, I told him I wasn't left with much choice but to pick up the pieces and move on, despite my broken heart. He got angry at the idea that I was already "over us", and berated me, saying things so hurtful it induced my first ever panic attack. I knew what was happening, but I was scared and sick and hurting all by myself. Even thinking and writing about it now, my body kind of seizes in sadness. I couldn't speak to him for a few weeks after that, I was such a mess. When he came to me asking forgiveness, it was easy, because I loved him so much. P wrote me beautiful emails while we weren't talking, explaining why he'd acted so horribly (full of apologies) and effusing the many reasons he loved and respected me. When we got back together, it seemed like we'd be starting on better footing, from a place of forgiveness, from a clean slate.
Forgiveness was not a two-way street though. After weeks of him pulling away from me, I got miserably drunk right after New Years and exploded at him on the street. I wept. I screamed. I told him that he didn't really love me, and demanded that he just leave me alone. I could barely breathe, much less speak. That night, and the following day, he must have left a dozen messages on my machine, begging me to let him know I was ok, pleading for me to stay his friend. I couldn't answer. I whispered an apology for my behavior over the phone and said I needed to put some space between us, especially since in his silence he had admitted he didn't love me anymore. He said fine, and hung up.
We didn't speak for weeks. It was truly the worst I have ever felt.
He texted out of the blue about a month later, saying he'd seen something that reminded him of me. I was crushed. Didn't everything in his (formerly our) apartment remind him of me? Our plant, Ernest?The book I gave him, autographed by his favorite troubador? I texted back I had been thinking of him too (who am I kidding? I thought of him every day) and would it be all right to stop by his work and talk sometime? He said what about. I told him I'd like to apologize for my behavior....for real, sincerely, and in person. Because even though my outburst came from a place of real hurt and honest emotions, the way that I'd handled myself was shameful. A drunken, sloppy tirade was not what he deserved. Why would I unload the worst part of myself onto the man I loved? I wrote an apology letter and sealed it. When I stopped by his work, it was so good to see him, my heart ached. He said I looked beautiful and seemed much happier. We talked easily, and laughed like my life hadn't fallen to pieces in the months we'd been apart (even writing this now I'm choking down tears and the lump in my throat). I gave him the letter, and asked him to please forgive me, and said I'd hoped we could be friends.
And he said...."I'm not sure."
I think I choked out something like "I understand" while on the inside my heart screamed "How could you not forgive me? I forgave you!"
Standing there, with my hopeful heart in hand, I was lost.
P didn't forgive me. And apart from a quick email on his birthday, he hasn't spoken to me since. And this song, this beautiful cover of the Don Henley schmaltzfest, resonates even more with me now.
I don't think this entry has any kind of traditional "happy ending." Forgiveness is personal. It's a choice, and a gift. And whether or not you opt to offer it is your own story.
No comments:
Post a Comment