Forgiveness

When I think about my sons and the mistakes I made raising them I often have to fight against suicidal ideation or wanting to hurt myself. The degree to which depends on the memory that percolated to the surface in that moment.

Forgiveness is not a concept I am able to grasp entirely, other than it involves a decision based on some kind of logic and is a process separate from our feelings. One thing is apparent, even to me: If I don't find a way to understand what it means to forgive myself, I will never be happy; and probably will continue to negatively affect my kids. As adults they know I am sad, but not yet parents themselves they don't believe me when I tell them it's not anything they do that makes me sad. I do that all by myself.

Wikipedia says:
Forgiveness is typically defined as the process of concluding resentment, indignation or anger as a result of a perceived offense, difference or mistake, or ceasing to demand punishment or restitution. The Oxford English Dictionary defines forgiveness as 'to grant free pardon and give up all claim on account of an offense or debt.'

Good ol' English dictionary circular definitions...use one word to define another and presume prior knowledge of both words. What does 'to grant' feel like? What does it mean? How does it sound, look like, where do I find it inside me? But the debt part I get.

And I love the sound of that word "concluding". All pain ends, it's what keeps suicidal-me going.

I think forgiveness means I understand I can't change the past. I was one person then, I'm a different person now. Forgiveness means I get it now and I've learned from my mistakes. I would not now even dream or think of doing (or allowing) any of the crap I put us all through. The "social" drinking (yeah right), the screaming, the poverty, the excuses, the passive-aggressive abuse from me: a frustrated, controlling, terrified enabler. Not all the time, but enough to make my kids think adults can't be trusted. That Moms are nice until they explode and Dads are well--that's his story to tell, I suppose.

There's no way I can ever expect forgiveness from my sons on my stuff without minimizing their take on it with what would only be lame-sounding excuses. Genuine? Irrelevant. If there's an "I'm sorry but..." there's no change in the behaviour coming so the apology is empty. My kids have well-developed bullshit detectors; If I want to be in their lives I won't get away with not growing as a person.

I can hope for their understanding of my mistakes to help minimize their pain. I'm so proud of them, watching how all on their own they are figuring how to get things a little bit better with their own lives.

I am learning how to cut myself some slack instead of some skin. As the moments of happiness creep back through parting, misted veils of depression I have hope. I don't have to stay stuck, defeated by only dulling the pain but instead I can conclude it. I begin to believe someday I will understand how to forgive myself.