I’ve lost a lot of people in my life. That’s not to say I’ve lost more than anyone else, or I’m in some special situation. It’s just a statement. I’ve lost a lot of people. My dad’s parents died when I was 11 and 13 years old. My mom’s dad passed when I was 16. My dad died when I was 24. My mom’s mom went when I was 29. My wife’s maternal grandparents - who I had grown very close to - both died when I was 35 and 37. My mom died when I was 42. That one really hurt. The other ones hurt, but that one was devastating. Then my brother died four years ago. Losing people is part of life, but it sucks all the same. For most of these people who died, I could process it as a normal entry in the circle of life. But there were a few that were not so easily handled. As you can imagine, those would be my dad, my mom, and my brother. It doesn’t take a genius to read my posts and deduce that my relationships with those three people were complicated. As time has passed, things have grown messier. I kept growing and changing, and they didn’t. They were just frozen there. As I began to recognize things and deal with issues, the view of the past became murky. Things were no longer so black and white. The way I saw those people wasn’t so clear. And the question began to eat at me of how to come to peace with people who are gone - especially when you didn’t realize everything when they were alive.
When I started this writing project, and when I saw the plan for the sermons on forgiveness - I set a pin in this one. How to forgive the dead. I probably put too much pressure on this sermon. I doubt that one sermon can fix what therapists have been working on for close to a decade. But there has been these ragged threads in my soul for a long time, and I am desperate to see them tied off. How am I going to be able to forgive and move past things now? I’m a person who talks through things when I’m wrestling with them. I also write, but that is usually after I’ve talked about the topic with someone. But this is a case where talking hasn’t helped. I’ve talked a ton to Heather and to each of my successive therapists. But there is still a lack of closure. So I was ready for today’s sermon. I had prepared myself for the possibility of tears. I saw the songs that were printed in the bulletin, and they already pulled at my emotions. Then the pastor began and …
Nothing
The sermon was good. The passage she used was good. There was nothing wrong with the sermon; it just didn't give me release or answers. I guess a part of me hoped that there was something I was missing, some verse I had overlooked, some tip or technique I hadn’t heard. I was a little let down, a little disappointed. When she finished speaking and the service continued, I just sat there and thought about everything. There was one line that the pastor shared that kind of stuck. “It is you giving yourself permission to move on.” I felt that.
I don’t know if holding onto things - even bad things - is a way to keep a person around. It kind of feels that way. I’ve heard the statement that “grief is love that can’t be shared any more.” I definitely agree with the sentiment. The love that I had for my mom, for example, didn’t just go away. But I can’t call her any more. They can’t text her or email her or post on her FaceSpaceGram. I can’t let her know when the kids do something awesome. I can’t tell her that I miss her. I can’t show up at her door and give her a hug. So that love has nowhere to go, and it becomes grief. But, then there is the not so pleasant feelings - the anger, the bitterness, the pain. Those emotions also have nowhere to go. It’s like anti-grief or something. That’s how Star Trek does it. They just tack “anti” onto something and then - boom - it’s the opposite. Matter … anti-matter. Time … anti-time. Grief … anti-grief. As time goes on, the love seems to fade into something less intense. However, the anger and pain and anti-grief grows as more things are uncovered. It’s like a nightmarish economics graph showing supply and demand.
If we just stayed in the same emotional, spiritual, mental place forever, this wouldn’t be as big of an issue. But that doesn’t happen. I know that I am not the same person I was twenty years ago. Or ten years ago. Or five years ago. Or last year. I am exploring so many things now, testing concepts and beliefs. In doing that, I have uncovered some uncomfortable truths. Have you ever found out that something you had always believed wasn’t true? It can even be something simple, like the fact that the city of Kiev is actually spelled Kyiv by people in Ukraine. That Kiev - the spelling that I had always seen until last year - was how Russians spelled it. And that one way to show support for the people in Ukraine was to spell it the way they wanted it spelled: Kyiv. That isn’t a life-shattering discovery, but it is surprising. It causes a shift in understanding, makes you think twice before you write the name.
When I was ten years old, I broke my foot. Well, I tripped as I was running to watch the new episode of National Geographic Explorer and broke my toe. At some point, I also broke my heel. Did you know you could break your heel? Yeah, I didn't either. And we never really knew how I broke it - if it was from walking on my heel all night or if it was a preexisting thing. I was (am) such a klutz that it really could have been a myriad of events. I have hurt myself so many times in so many stupid ways that I wouldn’t be surprised by anything at this point. Whatever caused it is irrelevant. The end result was that I was sitting in the Emergency Room at Good Samaritan Hospital in West Palm Beach, waiting to find out what was going on. It was a week or two before I started fifth grade at a new school. And I would be starting it on crutches with a cast. It was at this point that my mother said, “David, there is something I need to tell you.” She then proceeded to tell me that 1) she had been married two times before, 2) my brother was from her second marriage and NOT from her current marriage with my dad, 3) my dad had adopted my brother when he married my mom, and 4) they had been lying about how long they had been married so that I didn’t know any of this. As I’m sure some of you are doing right now, I wondered why in the FRICK she decided THAT was the time to drop all of that information on me. I went so far as to ask her both why she waited until I was TEN years old to tell me and why she decided that the best time to tell me was when I was sitting on a paper covered hospital bed with a broken foot waiting to be put in a cast. She said she didn’t think it mattered or it wasn’t a big deal or something. Then she made some dismissive comment about how I should just accept it or whatever. I knew my dad had been married before; I had three older siblings from that marriage that I had met and interacted with many times. But I really had no freaking idea about any of the other information I had just absorbed. It rocked my world. As a kid, I had a certain image of my parents and my family. And it had been shaken like a snow globe. At different points, I would ask my mom why she hid that information, and she always would get defensive and brush it off. TO THIS DAY, it bothers me that I didn’t know this information until I was starting fifth grade. When our kids were growing up, I would often comment to Heather - like when our youngest was starting fifth grade - “Just think. This is how old I was when I found out that my brother was from my mom’s second marriage.”
I thought being ten and finding out new vital information was bad. Little did I know that there would be shocking information discovered when I was in my 40s. Quite a bit of it was after my parents were dead. And a lot of it was hurtful to me, my sister, my wife, my kids. What am I supposed to do with that? How am I supposed to work through those things? I can’t ask questions, I can’t get clarification, I can’t express my anger and pain. I can’t get an apology (or a brush off). How am I supposed to work through the anti-grief? How am I supposed to forgive? Do I even want to get past it? Maybe holding onto it is a way of holding onto them. It sounds kind of sick and twisted, but in some way it may be true. Letting go of those rocks (nice call back) means letting go of that person. We will never be able to throw those rocks. I can’t even have one of those movie moments where I stand at the grave and scream in the rain. Let all of my pent up frustrations and anger out. Cry and let my tears mix with the downpour. Secure my first Oscar nomination in “a star-making turn” in the role of frustrated comic book store owner. My dad is buried in Vermont. My mom and brother were buried as ashes at sea. I could stand on the beach and scream at the water, but that isn’t as Oscar-friendly; it’s more likely to get men with big butterfly nets called to come get me. “Career destroying decision to scream at the ocean.”
So the sermon didn’t give me the answer. Or it did. There isn’t some magic combination of words and behaviors to fix this. The pastor even said “If there was some magic wand I could wave and make this better, I would. You know I would.” She also made the point that some things need to be said, to be named or called out, for healing to happen. Not just “I forgive you for all of what happened” or “I’m sorry for what I did.” But actually naming those things. Coming face to face with exactly what I’m feeling and why. Releasing those rocks, and accepting that it may mean losing those people again in some way. It comes down to me being willing to let these things go, to let these people go. So what I decided this morning as I sat there in my folding chair, somewhat ignoring the church moving on around me, is that I need to write them. I need to lay it all out there. Now, this isn’t a new idea. My therapist suggested this months ago. Which shows that I can be a big stupid moron sometimes (lots of times). Yup. That’s what I’m going to do. Hey, I was complaining the other day that I was having a hard time coming up with content! Here’s three days worth. Heather asked if I was going to post those letters, and I said I wasn't sure. I’m leaning towards yes. But I don’t know for sure. I guess it depends on how they go, and if it would be painful to someone else - like a sibling or relative. I’m hoping the act itself will be freeing.
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