Asking and giving forgiveness
Had an interesting conversation with my mother this morning. My dad is in Florida right now, visiting his dying father and helping his brother who just had a heart attack. My mom was telling me about how my father finally got a chance to "really talk" to my grandfather, get things off his chest.
Which is GREAT. My dads side of the family is like the worst stereotype of English Stiff Upper Lip-ness you can imagine. They just don't communicate emotions very well. My dad, especially. He can do it, having been forced to develop communication skills by marrying my hyper-emotional mother. But it's like pulling taffy when he does, and incredibly stressful for him. He's avoided any kind of non-practical contact with his father for a long time. He's been there for him physically, helping him out, but just has NOT been willing to talk to him about anything deep.
So, his dad is dying, in hospice, and barely aware. Perfect time for my dad to get things off his chest. According to my mom, he was very kind about it. He told my grandfather he forgave him for... for the myriad of crappy things he's done. It was good for my father, he felt lighter and happier and can deal better with the inevitable loss of his dad now.
And I bit my tongue on the first thought that popped into my head. "What about asking forgiveness, not just giving it? What about acknowledging the fact that the rift in your relationship was contributed to by the religion you chose to join? The religion that dictated distance with worldly people, including dads parents? What about asking forgiveness for judging so harshly aspects of his life you didn't understand and couldn't accept, including his sexuality?"
I'm glad my dad had a chance to tell his father how he really felt. But I want to point out that he may well be experiencing the same thing from me some day, where I sit by his deathbed and berate him for all the things I couldn't say to him when I was young because he simply wouldn't let me.
And I want to remember that, for all the berating I'd like to do, I'll have just as much apologizing to do. For all the wrongs done to us, we've wronged others as well. Relationships, be they familial or chosen, involve pain felt and inflicted. I want to remember that, so that I won't be sitting at my fathers deathbed someday, furious and sad and helpless to do anything but selfishly spout what I desperately NEED to say.
Which is GREAT. My dads side of the family is like the worst stereotype of English Stiff Upper Lip-ness you can imagine. They just don't communicate emotions very well. My dad, especially. He can do it, having been forced to develop communication skills by marrying my hyper-emotional mother. But it's like pulling taffy when he does, and incredibly stressful for him. He's avoided any kind of non-practical contact with his father for a long time. He's been there for him physically, helping him out, but just has NOT been willing to talk to him about anything deep.
So, his dad is dying, in hospice, and barely aware. Perfect time for my dad to get things off his chest. According to my mom, he was very kind about it. He told my grandfather he forgave him for... for the myriad of crappy things he's done. It was good for my father, he felt lighter and happier and can deal better with the inevitable loss of his dad now.
And I bit my tongue on the first thought that popped into my head. "What about asking forgiveness, not just giving it? What about acknowledging the fact that the rift in your relationship was contributed to by the religion you chose to join? The religion that dictated distance with worldly people, including dads parents? What about asking forgiveness for judging so harshly aspects of his life you didn't understand and couldn't accept, including his sexuality?"
I'm glad my dad had a chance to tell his father how he really felt. But I want to point out that he may well be experiencing the same thing from me some day, where I sit by his deathbed and berate him for all the things I couldn't say to him when I was young because he simply wouldn't let me.
And I want to remember that, for all the berating I'd like to do, I'll have just as much apologizing to do. For all the wrongs done to us, we've wronged others as well. Relationships, be they familial or chosen, involve pain felt and inflicted. I want to remember that, so that I won't be sitting at my fathers deathbed someday, furious and sad and helpless to do anything but selfishly spout what I desperately NEED to say.
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