Forgiveness

I've been thinking about forgiveness. And Don Henley wrote a deep and wonderful song containing that line. But I'm not going to sing for all of you now. Today would have been my brother Scott's 52nd birthday. Today there is no cake with candles or carefully chosen, brightly wrapped gifts for him to open. He died last August at the much too young age of 51 after battling pancreatic cancer for a year. I'm sure his memory is on the minds of many people on this day, certainly on mine. Scott and I had not spoken for over ten years at the time of his death. His wife and family were puzzled by this lack of communication, my brother actually said he didn't understand why I had cut off contact with him. There are those who are very close to me who know the full story and it isn't important for me to go into the details here. So that's why I've been thinking about forgiveness. It's a term that's tossed around quite a bit in therapy and counseling. It seems that among professionals in that arena each has their own little take on what forgiveness actually means and how it can be used to heal our hurts that fester on the inside. I went through an enormous amount of emotional turmoil ten years ago after spending an entire week vacationing with my family of origin. What I learned about my family and myself, and my role inside of the family, was revealing and priceless. Going through that turmoil and having the support of my husband and friends helped me come to a conclusion. That the only way I could move on from certain events in my growing up years was to end all contact with my brother. This moving forward and healing process also involved forgiving him. The hardest part was knowing that although these actions that were essential for me to end some self-destructive behaviors, they also had the potential for dividing my family. Over time, I talked to the ones who I felt it was important to tell. I was very clear about not taking sides, that this was something that was between Scott and me. I also felt that if he was to ever come to me and ask about the silence, that I would tell him why as honestly and without blame as I could. Beyond the initial period of anger and frustration that followed the family vacation, I never felt the need to have a face-to-face confrontation with him. I forgave him. I healed. And a tiny scar remains within that reminds me of what I survived. There is no anger or bitterness toward my brother and there hasn't been for a very long time. I didn't cry when I learned of his death, I suppose because I had mourned losing my love for him so many years earlier. But I felt sad for the people in his life who did love him, those who no doubt are missing him very much today.