Oh that’s easy – naming the something, not the forgiving bit: My father for emotionally abusing my mother.
I’m sure we’ll both (mom and I) forgive him some day – maybe she already has – but until this divorce is finalised I want nothing to do with him and I pretty much hate him. Yes, I know that’s a strong word and yes, I know it’s a negative emotion that affects me more than him, but for what he’s done to her, for writing me off more times than I care to remember, I have more than just a strong dislike for him.
This is a very difficult one for me. It forces me to face how selfish I’ve been. Well, used to be, I hope.
There was a time in my life where I was the only thing that mattered. I was young and moody and wanted to do my own thing.
I was not dependable as a protective big sister when we took a girl in to foster and later attempted to adopt. I felt threatened, I suppose, and insecure – I wasn’t a good enough daughter – and this scared little girl was on the receiving end of my misery.
I was not a patient grandchild. I suppose I was only acting the way teenagers typically do, but I hated sitting still and being hugged too hard. It’s too late to get those hugs now.
I was a terrible friend. I was blind to a friend’s depression, because it was not something I had recognised in myself yet. At least I’m getting a second chance to make that right now.
Just because things didn’t work out the way I wanted it to; just because I was unable or unwilling to see things through, just because I did or do things some people will not approve of, does not make me a disappointment. Looking back, overall, I’m sure I’ve made them proud. I need to believe that.
I trust she’s forgiven me. I know they have forgiven me, and he’s giving me a second chance, so the only person that needs to forgive, let go and forget is me…