Sunday, October 3, 2010

"Sincere forgiveness isn't colored with expectations that the other person apologize or change. Don't worry whether or not they finally understand you. Love them and release them. Life feeds back truth to people in its own way and time.” - Sara Paddison

Beets.  Plain old garden variety beets.  Who knew the beets were going to be the insight that made the biggest change in my life since the birth of my daughter?

Yesterday I went to visit my aunt who is dying of cancer.  I was pretty matter-of-fact about the visit and wasn't even remotely nervous about seeing my aunt until I actually got to the hospice - that was when the nerves set in.  I had no idea what to expect and what I expected was not at all what I encountered.

My aunt, who two weeks ago had been given 2 - 4 weeks to live, looked nothing like someone I would expect was going to die in the next few days - weeks.  She was bright, cheerful, she didn't look sick, gaunt, or deathly in any way.  Except for thinned hair (which was growing back since they had stopped chemo treatments months ago), you could have swore this was any regular visit in the living room of her house - if her bed was in her living room and if we were in her her house instead of the hospice.

My uncle was there and my oldest cousin and they were never far from her and were very aware of every movement or twinge of pain that she was experiencing.  Apparently the tumors have given her acid reflux something awful and several edemas in various locations in her body.  They very quickly glossed over every tube hanging from her body and what drugs were inserted into each tube - the medications were nothing short of an alphabetized list designed to bring my aunt comfort since the doctors had stopped trying to test or treat her cancer, she simply is after all, going to die and they may as well make her comfortable in her final days.

After the medical synopsis, it was as if there was no illness between us and my reason for a visit was simply because I was in the neighbourhood.  Death was merely the white elephant in the room.  We talked about the last year (since it had been over a year since they had seen me) and my aunt asked many questions about my life and what I was doing.

At one point we spoke of my grandmother and her ability to make the best pickled beans ever.  My aunt recalled how much I liked pickles and my cousin asked if I even liked pickled beets.  (which, of course I do).  My cousin and my uncle don't like beets, and my aunt wondered about the beets she had at home and how they might go to waste. 

How surreal this seemed to me.  Here you are, lying in a bed, dying of cancer, not knowing which day would be your last and you're worried about beets? 

It was in that moment, that a strange realization crept over me.  That if I was going to die, this is how I would want to go.  To be so at peace with the inevitability of my life that I could be concerned about beets.  My aunt, surrounded with her family, knowing she is loved and that everyone had the opportunity to see her and make their peace.  That she too had time to receive absolution where/if required. 

After a very awkward goodbye.  (I mean, what do you say "good bye, see you later, get well soon?")  I gave an awkward hug and a kiss good bye, hugged my uncle and cousin and walked out of the room. 

As I walked out of the building with the knowledge that I would not see my aunt until her funeral, I realized just how much extra weight I had been carrying, not just the physical weight, but the emotional weight that I have carried with me for far too long and I know that I don't want to carry it anymore.

So I picked up the phone, called my mom and dad.  I drove the extra 45 minutes to where they live and we met for a late dinner.  We didn't talk about the past and why we hadn't spoke in the last 17 months, it was just nice, easy conversation in a neutral location and even though I didn't say it out loud to them, in that moment, I forgave them.  I acknowledged in my heart that they did they best they could for me and that even if they were blind to my pain and their ability to take some of it away for me, I could only simply forgive them to remove the pain myself and move forward.

Maybe now I can start forgiving myself.