Forgiveness: a test of being all-zen-and-shit

“The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.”

– Mahatma Gandhi

“Forgiveness does not change the past, but it does enlarge the future.”

– Paul Boese

“There is a nobility in compassion, a beauty in empathy, a grace in forgiveness.”

– John Connelly

“There is no love without forgiveness, and there is no forgiveness without love.”

– Bryant H McGill

Forgiveness. Okay, maybe it’s not the F word that I use the most, but it’s one of my favorites because of it provides the most impact and quickest return on being all-zen-and-shit. Forgiving someone almost instantly releases heaviness and brightens your light. I could go on and on with forgiveness quotes; you could read them over and over like I did; but when we earnestly forgive, we not only understand but also (and more importantly) experience the truth of these quotes.

On 31 December 2013, I wrote my 30 December nightly positive post in the morning: “…fell asleep on Day 364 of fun-and-fabulous 2013 before mentioning she patted herself on the back for a personal achievement. Yay!!!” [Note: I often write in third-person on Facebook, especially when I’m clownin’ which is evident when I refer to myself as “Leenie”.] The aforementioned personal achievement was how I dealt with an incident that led to a new level of being all-zen-and-shit, and years later I experienced the grace, love, and peace born from forgiveness.

2013 was the year I built a strong foundation for allowing myself peace by sharing nightly gratitude Facebook posts. Years of reading quotes on mindfulness, choosing happiness, and the like, inspired me. I could talk the talk, post the posts, and share the quotes, but could I walk the walk of living mindfully?

On Facebook I share some of the silly dialogue between me and my dad. I title these posts, “Conversations with Chief Daddy“. My friends enjoy our humor and how well we get along now; most of them don’t know that my “vaguebooking” personal accomplishment on Day 364 of fun-and-fabulous 2013 was the day my dad had a meltdown (yelling, cussing, and belittling me) in front of my daughter because he disapproved of my life choices. I calmly said, “Well, I guess we’re leaving now.”

I understood where my dad was coming from with his expectations, but one of my earliest steps in becoming all-zen-and-shit was straight out of Hamlet as stated by “that Polonius guy“: “To thine own self be true.” I didn’t cause his issues. I didn’t seek approval or live to please my parents. I unapologetically am who I am and do what I do. My father chose to be upset. I chose to be all-zen-and-shit.

We left. I was well aware that my teenage daughter would learn from my example, so I didn’t stand for that treatment nor did I fight back or address his behavior – he was too irate for it to be a productive conversation. My dad and I didn’t speak to each other for a couple of years.

My father and I had the perfectly imperfect relationship for decades. We butted heads a lot. A LOT. And on almost everything. We are opposite in personality type and gender, so that may have something to do with it, and the generation gap always leads to “you don’t understand!” Any kind of dialogue between us more often than not turned into him yelling at me. He would stand by and silently stew over something until he blew up from holding it in even if the issue wasn’t originally a big deal. I understand because I’ve been guilty of doing the same. I get it.

Between me and my brothers, I was the one who “caused the most trouble” because I was the one who lived by “ask forgiveness not permission”. (Oh yes, the Universe “rewarded” me with my son, the younger of my two children, who fulfills the familiar parent’s curse on their own child, “I hope you have a child just like you!”)

I wondered if my dad and I missed the opportunity to bond during the first three years of my life because he was deployed for most of it. Sometimes he and I got along great; other times I felt like something was wrong with me because my brothers rarely seemed to trigger him. I felt like I was the kid who received the most yelling and spankings and the least positive reinforcement when I did right.

Even when I did well at school or in music, my mom might nudge him to say something. “I’m so proud of you!” came out sounding both sarcastic and insincere. I might have felt happy without hearing that at all. I was in high school, upset about something with my dad, so I cried to my mom. I can only guess it had something to do with one his fake-sounding praises, and my mom corrected me with one of her signature, “If only you knew…” statements.

“If only you knew how much your Daddy talks about you at work, and they’re telling him to stop bragging.” Umm, how the hell was I supposed to know that? And do I look like a mind reader? This was a few years before Dr. Gary Chapman’s book on The Five Love Languages and learning that people express love differently. I read it based on a co-worker’s recommendation in 2002, ten years after it was published.

Now I know that my dad’s primary love language is acts of service, but I was looking for words of affirmation. Sincere words that I would have received as reassurance that he loved me. I didn’t realize my mom was directing him out of his comfort zone. My dad had been showing his love for years by driving me to violin lessons and orchestra rehearsals and attending recitals and concerts after a long day of DC-area commuting and working full time. So many things I understand now, but my heart would have ached a lot less from my teens into my thirties if I knew then what I know now. I finally got it.

“Getting it” is a lifelong process if we continue to let lessons come to light when we most need them, when they’ll make the most impact us. Some we learn through our own experience, and others we learn as observers. Life lessons. Everyday.

After my dad’s outburst, I initially continued to call my mom regularly, but after enough times hearing my dad in the background with his remarks indicating he was still holding onto his meltdown, I stopped calling. He was like Homer in the episode of The Simpsons when he brought home from work the leftovers of a massive sub sandwich, but even after he threw it in the trash, he retrieved it quickly and ate more, knowing it could make him sick, which it did.

My father had his own opinions and point of view, and I was used to us not seeing eye-to-eye; but he was not going to apologize for his behavior nor was I going to ask him to change his views or apologize for losing his fucking mind and blowing up at me. During those years, I didn’t cut all ties but reduced contact with my parents to greeting cards. My mom would call me on holidays and want me to greet my dad. She got to the point of telling me that my father had changed and was so peaceful and that they wanted me and the kids to come visit. It was my turn to steer my dad out of his comfort zone. “Mommy, until he can talk to me and ask me himself, then no.”

[Note: This moment, 3 October at 1128, my Spotify daily mix started playing The Heart of the Matter by Don Henley (lyrics).

These times are so uncertain
There’s a yearning undefined
And people filled with rage
We all need a little tenderness
How can love survive in such a graceless age
The trust and self-assurance that lead to happiness
They’re the very things we kill, I guess
Pride and competition cannot fill these empty arms
And the work I put between us,
You know it doesn’t keep me warm

I’m learning to live without you now
But I miss you, baby
The more I know, the less I understand
All the things I thought I figured out, I have to learn again
I’ve been trying to get down to the heart of the matter
But everything changes
And my friends seem to scatter
But I think it’s about forgiveness
Forgiveness
Even if, even if you don’t love me anymore

There are people in your life who’ve come and gone
They let you down, you know they hurt your pride
You better put it all behind you, baby, ’cause life goes on
You keep carrying that anger, it’ll eat you up inside, baby

The Heart of the Matter, Don Henley

Thanks for your understanding with that little break in the story. I promise it will carry more significance in a few more paragraphs.

Fast forward to returning to the scene of the crime and the first time I visited my parents after my dad lost his shit in front of my kid. I felt cautious because of his past inability to control his outburst, but I was willing to give my dad a chance – and a chance to let love win over fear. Another life lesson at the threshold.

I couldn’t be foolish and believe I had all the answers or that I knew how it would turn out just because of what happened in the past. My parents were in their 80s, and I would rather try and fail in making amends than live with the regret of my ego keeping me from peace.

Our visit went fine even with avoiding any discussion about the last time we saw each other, and when it was time to leave, my kids had their farewell hugs and kisses with their Lolo and Lola first, then I hugged my mom and awkwardly approached my dad standing next to her. We hugged, and I was overwhelmed, facing the walk after talking the talk. I sobbed as I hugged him. “Daddy, can we please start over? Neither of us is going to change, and I accept you as you are. Please accept me as I am.” He mumbled something in agreement, and that was enough for me. He at least stepped a little bit out of his comfort zone, and we closed the door on the past and opened the door to a better future.

My relationship with my parents improved over the remainder of the year if only in calling them at the bare minimum of birthdays and holidays. My ego wouldn’t let me treat the reunion and reconciliation like a panacea, so I kept my guard up and limited the topics of conversation. My brothers, the kids, and I all made it home for Christmas, and I know my mom was elated to have her Christmas wish like one of the cheesy, all-is-right-in-the-world endings of a Hallmark Channel movie.

2018 arrived and delivered even more tests of being all-zen-and-shit. In April, our family had a situation in which both of my parents ended up in the hospital. My dad was the one who needed to go to the hospital and was admitted so they could figure out what was causing his symptoms, then my mom was admitted a day or so later because of chest pains. They didn’t want me to come up, but since when have I listened to my parents? hahahaha

My mom was released the day before I arrived, and she was hopeful that my dad would be released that afternoon. If my dad and I hadn’t agreed on a clean slate the previous year, it could have been awkward being his “surprise Uber driver”, but when I followed my mom into his room and hugged him, he said, “I’m glad you’re here.”

One more time of skipping ahead… Last year I reverted to calling my parents every day, just to check on them. I started to be less guarded and let them into my life a little bit more, knowing that they may disagree with how I live but feeling that my parents were finally getting it – that I was going to be me with no apologies, and it was their choice to accept me or cause their own unrest. I felt like the three of us had arrived at another Hallmark movie ending, but time revealed that 2018 was actually the too-good-to-be-true perfection, foreshadowing a darker time ahead. In December, my mother was hospitalized and died on the 23rd. (Right. Festivus will never be the same! Yes. More humor as a coping mechanism.) On 31 December 2018, five years after my dad’s meltdown, I stood beside my dad and comforted him at my mom’s funeral.

Forgiveness. The clean slate. The reconciliation. Timing is everything. If I had not forgiven my dad when I did, we wouldn’t have established a better relationship before my mom died. It absolutely facilitated being there for my dad. And for all the decades of him being a man of few words or a father of mostly yelling, I am honored that my dad talks to me and lets his guard down with telling me how he feels, and I am proud of him for stepping further out of his comfort zone and using his words… at a reasonable volume. 😉

Current Events

I started writing this post a couple of weeks ago and hit writer’s block, but on Wednesday, 2 October, Amber Guyger received her sentencing, and Brandt Jean (the younger brother of Botham Jean who died after Guyger shot him) displayed a greater act of forgiveness. The case has been controversial for various reasons, but I want to focus on forgiveness. Brandt Jean gets it. He walks the walk.

Of all the forgiveness quotes, one stands out for this ’80s kid, and answers best why we should forgive.

“…for man with no forgiveness in heart, life worse punishment than death.”

Mr. Miyagi, The Karate Kid II

Luceat lux vestra.