Forgiveness

I remember the exact moment I shut my mother out of my life. I was in college and my grandmother, Nana, was sick. My mom had called to tell me, so I went to visit her in the hospital. Nana moved back to West Palm Beach shortly after that and my mother called me one day to tell me that hospice had come, but that Nana looked much better and she thought she would get better. I didn't know anything about hospice at the time and had no idea that this was not possible. I do not think my mother lied to me. I think she told me what she herself needed to hear. 

Meanwhile, a pastor at my church talked about the importance of "No Matter Whats" and how you needed to have things in your life that you held on to as "No Matter Whats." I decided then and there that No Matter What I would be at Nana's funeral. It didn't matter if there were finals, if I was sick, nothing. I would be there.

I got the phone call from my cousin Pam one morning. She said she had a bad feeling and found my number in my Aunt Mary's address book. Nana had passed away. The funeral would be in West Palm Beach, in two hours.

There was no way I could be there.

Nana was the one who cared for me during my visits to see Mom. She was the one who dragged me away from my mother's passed out body and said, "Let's go to the mall." "But I want to wait for Mommy to wake up!" "No sweetie, let's go to the mall."

She would buy me anything I pointed to and made me eggs and grits for breakfast and hugged me and loved me. She protected me the best she could. I remember watching her search through my mother's things, hunting down the small, half empty vodka bottles and pouring them into the toilet. One time she said, "Help me look" so I did. I saw the bottle hidden behind the bed post. I looked at my mother's still body on the bed and said, "None back here." It didn't matter what condition she was in, my loyalties remained with my mother.

Until that day. The day my one and only "No Matter What" was stripped from me. She didn't call me. She didn't even call to tell me my Nana had passed away. She took away my faith in "No Matter Whats" and my opportunity to honor my Nana and to say my final good bye to the woman who would have done anything for me. The woman who played the role of my mother because my own mother could not. 

I washed my hands of my mother and said out loud, "I will never speak to her again." 

I lived several years with a hardened heart. I pulled away from God. I stayed angry at my mother. How could she do that to me? She didn't call me and I didn't call her.

I heard from her one day when Isaac was a baby and I was pregnant with Jared. "Do you want any kids?" "We're leaving it in God's hands."

She didn't ask the right question, and I didn't give her the complete truth. 

I told Larry and my Dad, "She doesn't deserve to see her grandchildren. She wasn't here for me, she can't be here for her grandkids. I don't even want her to know they exist."

My father is a wise man and responded, "You know, I never kept you from seeing your mom. I never felt the need to punish her. I always felt like she punished herself enough. She missed out on so much and I never felt that she needed me to punish her. She punished herself."

With that remark came the slow process of forgiveness. She did meet Isaac and Jared. We saw her again at a family reunion. She eventually got on FB and saw the pictures of my family and Katie. 

But see, that's where things get confusing. I prayed and prayed and forgave. But then an opportunity would arise and I would find myself angry or reserved. I struggled a lot. Did I forgive her? If I forgave her, my heart should be softened. Grace and forgiveness is not reserved. At least, it should not be. Jesus Christ is not reserved in his forgiveness of us. I answered her phone calls and accepted her friend request on FB cautiously. I did not know if I was doing the right thing, but I did know that if forgiveness was my claim, I had to support it with grace.

Now that she is gone I know that I have forgiven her. I understand that forgiveness did indeed happen before her death. I know that because of the way I feel toward her now. I am not angry at her. I am not angry at what happened to my childhood nor do I feel sorry for myself. Instead, I am sad for her. I am incredibly sad at her life and what it turned out to be. I am sad for her that she missed these opportunities that I get with my own kids. I am sad for her that she died in a smelly house high on drugs. She deserved better than that. My heart has been softened by the tears it weeps for her.