On Forgiveness

A very personal reflection
Real Live Preacher has done it again. His entry for July 7, 2003, has to do with forgiveness, and it reminded me of a discussion I had with my sister-in-law this past April. It had to do with forgiving my biological mother.

Now, I know many people have issues with their mothers. And, while I am reluctant to air much dirty laundry, I will say that physical abuse is a large part of the issue here. A snap-shot of my mother toward the end of her life (she died at age 63 or 64) may also be illustrative:

When my father died, I felt obliged to invite mother to the funeral — even though they had been divorced for almost 30 years. Immediately following the grave-side ceremony, my mother approached me to request my father’s social security number, so she could apply for military benefits. Now, I was sympathetic to my mother’s economic situation, but her request was insensitively timed. People within ear-shot were shocked.

Now, my attitude toward my mother turned a corner about 20 years prior to that, in 1976. I was working at a convenience store at 50th and May, and my Aunt Nellie lived nearby — which gave me a chance to visit with her frequently. Aunt Nellie was actually some kin of my maternal grandfather, but I had always been raised to call her "aunt." Nellie shared stories of my mother’s childhood, which gave me the impression that my Grandmother Kathleen emotionally neglected her daughter (my mother). This seemed to validate the proverb “the parents have eaten sour grapes, and the children’s teeth are set on edge” (quoted in Jeremiah 31:29).

This story, along with other information gained with maturity, convinced me that my mother did the best she could with the tools she had — as modern pop-psychology would have it. I actually tried to offer my mother forgiveness on this basis. The problem was, she could not accept it because she could not acknowledge that she had done anything that needed to be forgiven.

Well, I found it hard to maintain a relationship founded on a fiction, so I ended my side of the relationship. That is to say, I no longer contacted her independently. If she called me, I'd talk to her — but I would not call her, nor would I write her. Every so often, she would call and I would listen to her share her troubles, and her attempted "guilt trip" that I was being a bad Xtian by not honoring my parents (Ex 20:12).

The irony of our last conversation sometimes haunts me. She called me either Saturday or Sunday evening. We had our typical chat, which included a laundry list of her physical ailments, a reminder that I had been written out of her will, and a reminder of what a bad son I was by not maintaining contact with her. Then she asked, bluntly: "Do you want me to die?"

How can a person answer a question like that? I chose to do my best to be both honest, but gentle. I said, "I would not wish any more ill for you than I would any other creature." Well, she didn't like that answer; obviously, it was not the answer she had hoped for.

She was dead two days later.

Thus, it seemed that I was never able to fully forgive my mother because she could not accept that forgiveness.

In retrospect, I think a couple of things helped me through this. One was prayer, that the High Holy One forgive mother on my behalf. The other was to visit the Hutsell plot — final resting place of mother, her mother and father, and my uncle Halcolm — and express anger to Kathleen.

Prior to that strange day in the graveyard, it was not ok to be angry at Kathleen. She was the woman who had been the "true" mother to me. She may very well have saved my life by watching me when her daughter was occupied elsewhere. But she was also the one who had not been able to give that same maternal attention to her daughter. Expressing my anger acknowledged the "sour grapes" my mother had been fed, and their source.

Walking that path on my own, releasing the pain in that fashion, I learned that (as the RLP says) forgiveness is a gift you give yourself. It certainly was for me. Those echoes of my mother which still resound within me can now rest in greater peace.