Monday, June 27, 2011


Forgiveness. For-give-ness: the act of excusing a mistake or offense.

Otherwise known as the hardest thing in the history of ever.

Forgiveness is big in my family. Mostly because we are all so completely fucked up, and we have all fucked each other up/over at some point and in some way over the years, and some of us have done it to the point that forgiveness may never be possible for them. And the messed up thing is, we all think we're right. Yeah, I know. Dysfunctional.
This is probably something I should talk to a shrink or a doctor or guru or what the fuck ever about, but therapy is expensive and if I am going to lay on a couch and talk about my feelings, I shouldn't have to pay anyone to listen. That's what boyfriends are for. So I bring my latest emotional struggle to you, dear Internets, in hopes of finding some clarity.
Excusing a mistake or offense....or, giving up hope that the past could have been any different.
I struggle with forgiveness sometimes. I really do. Several years ago, I committed myself to the idea, no, the ideal of always loving someone for who they were. I vowed that if I was going to go through all the fucking trouble of loving someone, I was going to do it right. No saying "I love you, but you talk too loud" or "I love you, but you're disorganized" it was only "I love you. I love you loud talking, disorganized, amazing hot mess. I love you." Loving the whole person. This meant a lot of acceptance. A LOT. I had to prepare myself to accept the people closes to me, warts and all. The flowers and the weeds, with no hope of ever changing them, or them changing on their own.
That's harder than it sounds. Trust me.
So, flash forward about 6 years, and here I am with a small circle of close friends who I love completely, and forgive infinitely and am loyal to until the end of time. Dragon, The Roomie, Batman, Zombie Justin and Camdon (he doesn't have a code name yet. He needs one, no?) And I think as of now we can count my preceptor too....shit now she needs a code name....
I digress...
With all this love and acceptance and forgiveness flying around like pot smoke and bodily fluids at Woodstock, I am living a contradiction, and the contradiction is this: I don't talk to or have a relationship with either of my two older sisters. I haven't for going on two years. My relationship with the middle sister who we will call Joe (I have a thing for code names....don't ask) has been strained since I learned how to talk, according to our parents. She never really seemed to like me, and for the most part that was ok, until she committed what in my mind was the ultimate betrayal: she interfered and came between me and my children, to the point of doing some probably irreversible psychological damage to all of us, and leaving Tiny seriously emotionally scarred with some heavy trust issues. I don't know if forgiveness is ever in the cards for her and I, which is fine, she's never asked for it, and she seems perfectly happy not having any relationship with me at all.
And then there is my oldest sister. When we were little we called her Eurika, so I guess that's what she can be here in Blogland. Eurika and I used to be close. She was like a mother to me growing up. She took care of me after Anita left, she taught me how to read and write, and how to cook. She was the first person I called after every major event in my life and she saved me from my Dad when he was at his sickest, more times than I can count. But two years ago, things between us fell apart too. Really, they had been falling apart for a long time prior to that. I won't go into the details here, because it's too sad and too hard to talk about, but I lost my sister. Who pushed who away first, who hurt who more, who said what gets harder to remember every day, but I know that I am hurt. I know that my trust was violated and I feel betrayed once again. I know that I have never felt completely relaxed or comfortable around her, and most of what I have come up against from her is judgment and criticism.
So for the last two years, we haven't spoken.
And then, thank you Facebook, I got a friend request from her. All day I stared at that request, waiting for it to say something. To reveal it's true intentions, to tell me what she wanted, to show me the future and what might happen should I accept, or should I deny her request to be "friends". Friends. Ha. We were sisters, and for the last two years we haven't even been acquaintances.
Finally I accepted her request, and in return, I got a message. A message that said she was sorry, and she missed me, and that she never meant to hurt me. A message that also seemed to blame a lot of what went wrong between us on our dad, which isn't really the case.

At this point I am faced with the choice to either forgive, and try my best to formulate a relationship if I can, or remain where I am: no longer angry with her, and not harboring any ill will or bad thoughts against her, but unwilling to have her in my life, and unwilling to try again.

Forgiveness comes naturally for me in so many ways, so why is my own sister the hardest person in the world to forgive?

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