Different Roads, Same Roots
Some of us have chosen to move forward, taking lessons and memories from the past but not letting it completely direct our future. Some of us have learned to accept that our parents were imperfect people, who came from flawed childhoods of their own. Some of us have chosen to forgive, not because everything was right, but because holding on to resentment only poisons the present.
Forgiveness for me is not pretending that the past was perfect, it’s choosing peace over bitterness. Life wasn’t perfect or easy but in some ways it shaped us into who we are today. Not all of my siblings see it this way, the way that I do. Some have said they have forgiven, but their words and actions tell a different story. They bring up the past over and over almost as if letting it go would mean letting our parents off the hook. They speak as if the wounds are still fresh, even decades later. Growing up in a dysfunctional or abusive home, often results in dwelling on the negative, which makes it harder to let go. Maybe the bad overshadows the good and the bad is easier to remember. I do remember a lot of the bad, but I choose to focus on the good times I remember Christmas’s in our house were always so good in my opinion. We were poor, no doubt, but it was a day that the love was present, we always got and appreciated our gifts. I remember my parents being happy for us when we excitedly opened our gifts or emptied our Christmas stockings. The night before, we always went to the Christmas Eve service at church and that too was a happy time. The feelings of love, excited anticipation, fun with our friends, being part of a community, all good times in my opinion. I remember my mother often stroking my hair around my ear while my head lay in her lap, often watching the wonderful world of Disney on Sunday nights, right after Mutual of Omaha’s wild kingdom. I remember my mom driving me to kindergarten when I had all of her attention to myself. Memories of my dad bringing my sister and me to feed the geese at Kenoza lake, or bringing us to Canobie Lake Park, drive in movies, watching the Wizard of Oz around every Thanksgiving time and munching on Jiffy Pop popcorn. Trips to Maine to see relatives, some summers spent in Sebego Maine, in my teen years, my dad would often drive me to Lowell to my friend’s house on his way to work, I cherish those alone times/talks with him. These are just some of the good parts of my childhood that I enjoy remembering.
As a young adult, one of the things I had let go of, that had nothing to do with my parents (in fact, my dad was already deceased) was that one of my siblings told my children some of the things of the past from their perspective. Stories my children did not benefit from and things I didn’t want my children to know. I think it has been hard for my children to understand why or how I still loved my parents after having the knowledge of what may of may not have happened. Especially in the case of my father. My children never got the chance to know him. He died when my oldest child was only 13 months old. It sucks that they were told some of the things they were told because again, there was no benefit to them hearing these things. He was not here to have his own relationship with them, so that they could form their own opinion. There was a lot of good in both of my parents but, it feels like the information and opinions of another that was shared with them, jaded what could have been a positive thought or feeling of their heritage. One sibling mentioned recently that they hope their children don’t discuss certain things they feel about their upbringing in front of their children and I thought “I wonder if this sibling realizes that they had done this to me?” Years ago, I probably would have been glad that this person would experience a taste of their own medicine so to speak, but the truth is, I did forgive and I am actually saddened that this person might experience the pain through others actions like I did when they shared what they did with my children. It also saddens me that this siblings grandchildren may hear things that could damage or taint their relationship with their grandparent or the memory of that grandparent.
The truth is, love doesn’t require perfection. My parents made a lot of mistakes. Some big, some small, but they also loved in the way they knew how. My mother planted the seeds of Christ in me, which leads me to the faith I have today. My father showed me a sense of humor like no other and taught me how to laugh through even the hard times.
Some of my siblings seem to be anchored in those old days, replaying the hurts, reliving the abuse, the disappointments and the anger, it seems they can’t set it down. It’s not that they are wrong to feel the way they do. The past leaves its mark on all of us in different ways. Personally, I think being able to accept what was and to truly forgive, makes it easier to heal. For others, the wounds never seem to close. I’ve learned that forgiveness is choosing not to keep reopening the same old wounds, not to pass our hurt down to the next generation. We can have our own truth without rewriting someone else’s and we can heal without making others carry our pain.
I realize we don’t all process pain in the same way. What one person may call “moving on” another might see as “forgetting.” What feels like healing to one might feel like betrayal to another. We each walk our own path, and some if not all of our paths are very different, even if those paths started from the same address.
We all come from the same story, we just tell it differently. Some chapters are harder to read and some are easier to forgive. I just hope that one day, we all find a way to close the book with peace in our hearts, not because the past doesn’t matter but because we all finally choose to stop letting it define us.
“Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you.” Colossians 3:13
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