What little I know about forgiveness has been milked from shrivelled memories. Some say it is possible to forgive, yet not forget. I'm not so sure of that. Forgiveness happens so slowly because it needs constant nourishment given from happiness and joyfulness. How is that going to happen if I cannot forget the hurtful deeds, the unkind criticisms, or wrongful decisions? Holding tight to those memories makes it impossible for anything other to surface.
I worry that I will pass on my suffering to my children and my life partner. There is so much child-like, childish hurt bottled up inside of me that I put on a shelf in my subconscious. Only on days like today do I take it out and polish the glass sides, checking whether the seal is still air-tight.
Deep inside, I hope the hurt will miraculously evaporate, leaving an ether of forgiveness that permeates the walls of my heart.
They are no longer here. Surely it is time to let the hurt die as well. For no one deserves to be measured only by their mistakes, inadequacies, or their worst deeds. I yearn to put those to rest. I want to love them again, as I did as a child, before the suffering began.
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