the irrefutable consequence of choice.
my biological father died on a Saturday. it was a warm sunny day. i received the call at work that he was passing and i needed to come if i wanted to see him alive. i asked the nurse to hand the phone to a family member - she chose my brother. i would like to say hearing his voice was comforting - like coming home for the Holidays. it wasn't. the space between conversations had grown quite large. years pass so quickly it seems as you age. the call was short. i asked for facts. no need to fill any more time with needless chit-chat. i remember the walk to my car. surreal. i don't remember anyone else passing by. as i sat in silence and pondered the gravity of the situation, i struggled with decisions. after an eighteen year absence, how could i walk back into the arena of hurt i had fought so hard to overcome? so many words of advice from the "well-wishers" - "you need to be there for your mother", "if you don't go, you will regret it", "you need to forgive him to find your peace". as i drove to the hospital i imagined the inevitable tension. nearly two decades of distance to travel in mere minutes. my sons were there. i had to go. it was more about showing strength and doing what was right by their standards than fulfilling an obligation - son to dying father. as expected, the reunion was septic - much like the atmosphere of the room. family members with surprised looks - the prodigal had returned. oh so far from the truth. this was surely not a return. as i looked into the eyes of the man that had caused so much hurt i felt sorrow - not so much in the statement of his condition, but in the absence of my own compassion. somehow i thought i would feel the confidence of victory seeing him finally beaten. this man that lived his entire life wearing armour of self-serving indifference - barely able to whisper. no more antagonism. option of choosing discord over accommodation removed. memories of indiscretion - lessons learned too soon - became muted with flashbacks of mental manipulation. so this was the last page of Edwards book. our journey - father and son. no sequel. no epilogue. and while there was an addendum filled with the names of those affected from the spill-over, this was my opportunity to provide the closing line. the ending punctuation. perhaps the years had served to smooth the edges of hurt. i found myself standing in the doorway - the exit i had anticipated - but instead of releasing a lifetime of anguish - rehearsed barbs of defamation - i chose the opposite of expectation - released him from the prison of my anger - sent him into the forever of my was peacefully spoken - i love you.
i've heard it said that time heals all wounds. and while it definitely serves to soften the sharp edges, healing is not always a parallel running process. it's easy to listen to another person's story. offer commiseration for their pain. we can imagine how it must have felt - the agony of illicit intrusion. but suppose is not equal barter for is. and if, by chance, we choose to dishonor the sanctity of trust, how can we assume our behaviour any less heinous? life is filled with choices. and while you most surely hold ownership to the intention, you fall victim to the arrogance of ignorance to assume no responsibility for the affect of your choice...
because you do not ask, you do not know. and simply because you do not give, you can never receive. all along our journey we are given opportunity to extend open hands of compassion, yet more often than not they remain clinched behind our backs - anticipation of need for resistance.
and sometimes,
while we travel, situations allow capacity for camaraderie. why is it, instead of forming allegiance, we feel compelled to stand alone - bastions of implied sovereignty?
how sad, to realize too late our blessings. to find ourselves standing in front of the gate - access denied. and all because we chose the long way home - ended up late for the pageantry - planned oh so long ago for our arrival...
disenchanted and disillusioned,
we grasp at strands of compassion as the very footing of humanity crumbles beneath us.
fearing the absolute worst,
we run away from the scene of the crime rather than face the source of the fear -
fight the wrong.
and as we stumble in our haste to escape,
we find ourselves even further from the sanctuary of hope than when we began...
i pray for you -
i pray for me -
i pray;
one day soon -
though our eyes have been closed by choice -
we will see the path that leads to our salvation.
i seem to have an extra shovel -
lend a hand?
a grave for animosity -
another for indifference.
don't we owe it to ourselves?
freedom?
no longer slaves to fear.
redemption -
recompense -
you do not have,
simply because you do not ask...
i've heard it said that time heals all wounds. and while it definitely serves to soften the sharp edges, healing is not always a parallel running process. it's easy to listen to another person's story. offer commiseration for their pain. we can imagine how it must have felt - the agony of illicit intrusion. but suppose is not equal barter for is. and if, by chance, we choose to dishonor the sanctity of trust, how can we assume our behaviour any less heinous? life is filled with choices. and while you most surely hold ownership to the intention, you fall victim to the arrogance of ignorance to assume no responsibility for the affect of your choice...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Friday, October 20, 2017
because you do not ask, you do not know. and simply because you do not give, you can never receive. all along our journey we are given opportunity to extend open hands of compassion, yet more often than not they remain clinched behind our backs - anticipation of need for resistance.
and sometimes,
while we travel, situations allow capacity for camaraderie. why is it, instead of forming allegiance, we feel compelled to stand alone - bastions of implied sovereignty?
how sad, to realize too late our blessings. to find ourselves standing in front of the gate - access denied. and all because we chose the long way home - ended up late for the pageantry - planned oh so long ago for our arrival...
of prayer...
disenchanted and disillusioned,
we grasp at strands of compassion as the very footing of humanity crumbles beneath us.
fearing the absolute worst,
we run away from the scene of the crime rather than face the source of the fear -
fight the wrong.
and as we stumble in our haste to escape,
we find ourselves even further from the sanctuary of hope than when we began...
i pray for you -
i pray for me -
i pray;
one day soon -
though our eyes have been closed by choice -
we will see the path that leads to our salvation.
i seem to have an extra shovel -
lend a hand?
a grave for animosity -
another for indifference.
don't we owe it to ourselves?
freedom?
no longer slaves to fear.
redemption -
recompense -
you do not have,
simply because you do not ask...
