Finding Peace in Forgiveness.

Forgiveness Mandala by Wayne Stratz

Forgiveness Mandala by Wayne Stratz (Photo credit: Nutmeg Designs)

This post is longer than is usually the case, but given the subject matter, I am sure that you will understand. Thank you for taking the time to read and experience it.

My father passed away almost two weeks ago. When a parent dies, it seems that most children feel a sense of sadness, longing, grief and in some cases, regret for missed opportunities and all that will never be. However, those thoughts and feelings are often tampered by the gratitude and precious memories that you shared with this man, your father.

A couple of months ago, one of my oldest and dearest friends called to tell me that her father had passed. Upon hearing the news, tears flowed and I was overwhelmed by a sense of grief, sadness and gratitude. The grief was present for obvious reasons; the sadness because a special man was gone from this world; the gratitude, because as fate would have it, I became best friends with his daughter and through her, was able to see and feel all that the word “dad” entailed, and the importance of the role of a father-figure in one’s life. Nevertheless, when I learned of my father’s passing, I felt a sadness, as I would when told of anyone’s death, but more prominently, there was a visceral void.

I suppose that you can say that our relationship was complicated. You see, he turned his back on our family when I was only five years old. When I say that he turned his back, I mean that his leaving was so complete that it was as if he disappeared from the face of the earth, certainly from my world. In fact, he did for about 11 years. At the time he left, I was the oldest of three girls and my Mom was left to raise us by herself, with no contact or support from my father. As a young child, I didn’t have the tools necessary to comprehend my father’s actions, so for the most part, I was confused, and even guilty, thinking that his actions were my fault. As I grew older those feelings transformed into resentment and anger, feelings that failed to change even after he began making the occasional appearance in our lives. He came bearing gifts, but none that I wanted or needed.

The truth is that I didn’t know this man and I knew no more about him than the passing stranger. What I did know was that he wasn’t there to give us food, shelter, clothing or love. He wasn’t there when I had measles or chicken pox, to pick me up when I fell or to soothe my tears over some perceived devastation that all children endure. Complicating the matter is the immutable fact that he is the man who gave me life, and my rational and logical mind knows that were it not for him, I would not be writing this post.

As is expected, people continue to express his or her sympathy at my loss. I’ve noticed that people use the words “father,” and “dad” interchangeably, and when the word “dad” is chosen, I feel very uncomfortable.  I find it impossible to apply that word to our relationship. In fact, I feel wrong even trying to do so. My mind keeps returning to the same question: what is the difference between a “father” and a “dad?” Why have I always been unable to refer to this man as anything but my father? In fact, more often than not, I instinctively referred to him by his first name, John. Yet, this is a topic for another place and time.

In reality, I’ve been pulled between the angry, confused and sad child that my father deserted, and the older wiser me that realizes that his actions were about him, not me, and that the anger and resentment has harmed me much more than it hurt him. I don’t know how to feel about a man who is a virtual stranger to me, but is a primary cause of my presence in this world. The icing on the cake is that as one of his next of kin, I am the one who has to make post-death arrangements, as well as pay for them. My inner child is stumping and screaming that life is not fair.

Yet, as often happens with life, a sense of closure occurs in the most unexpected ways. In my case, I was standing in line at the pharmacy after having had an amazing experience with my yoga therapist, which I will write about in a later post. I was next in line and I casually noticed that someone had gotten in line behind me. It is a dapper elderly man whom I later learned was a young 82 years, and  a transplanted Californian who moved to Austin five years ago. He said, in a friendly and sincere voice, “How are you today?” The question moved me because so often these days, people don’t take the time to concern themselves with others. This man was different. I turned toward him as I answered and politely asked, “And how are you?” His response took me by surprise. He said, “I am better than great. I couldn’t possibly be better!” I suppose that his answer intrigued me because I can’t recall feeling that way in some time.

As we continued our conversation, I learned that he and his wife had grown children, with lives of their own. Five years ago, they decided that with their children gone and they had no reason to tie themselves to California. They decided to set out to discover a new place to live. Serendipity brought them to Austin, Texas and he is, by all accounts an amiable and happy man. For reasons that I didn’t understand at first, I felt an undeniable bond with this stranger, this man who I’d never laid eyes upon. Before long, it was my turn in line, so I started toward the counter. All of a sudden, I experienced one of those proverbial ‘light bulb’ moments, and in my heart, I knew both why I’d met this man and why he’d affected me so much.

I turned back to him with intense curiosity. Although I hadn’t realized it before, there were definite similarities between him and my father. He was the same height and build with a similar hair cut and the same quick smile for strangers. When I was a kid, this was the type of man who I’d always imagined my father to be. I believe that there is a reason for everyone that we meet and that they arrive at the exact moment when we most need them. Even in his passing, my heart yearned for a compassionate, loving and attentive father who loved and hugged me liberally. I longed for a father just like this man, and I believe that this man represented all that I did not have in a father, and that, if for only a short while, he was God’s blessing to me.

Unconsciously, I reached out to him, grabbed his hand, and thanked him for his kindness. For reasons that I still cannot explain, I felt compelled to explain to him that my estranged father had just died and that meeting him was the balm to my soul that I’d desperately needed. He expressed sympathy and thanked me for bestowing such an honor on him. He hugged me in a fatherly way. I turned back toward the counter, picked up my scripts, waved goodbye and continued on my way.

I was aisles away from the pharmacy picking up a few items when I heard someone call out to me. It was my new “friend.” He’d searched the store for me because he wanted to properly introduce himself and learn my name. He told me that “When he thought about our meeting, he wanted to know my name,” and believed that every experience was a gift to treasure. We exchanged introductions, shook hands and turned to go on our ways.

As I walked away, I felt a weight lifting from my shoulders and an overwhelming sense of peace filled that hollow in my heart. I experienced a letting go, and a sense of forgiveness that eluded me during my father’s life, but now was possible at his death. It is true, forgiveness is more for you than the other. I do not claim to have let go of years of anger, resentment, disappointment and longing in a matter of 15 minutes. Yet, I’ve begun the process and to me, that is profound. As I attend to my father’s post-death arrangements, I intend to extend him the peace and respect that I never received from him. Doing so, brings me peace. It seems to be coming together, as it should be.

Blessings, Lydia

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What I Will Miss When I Die

One of my granddaughters

One of my granddaughters

I have to tell you upfront, that this post arises from this post on the website Wonderings & Wanderings. The question posed in the blog was a line from a Natalie Rosenberg book., “Tell me what you will miss when you die.”  This post answers that question..

It seems right to post this on what would have been my brother’s 46th birthday. I am in my 50’s and the inevitability of my death crosses my mind quite regularly. My kids think it morbid, but it think it reality. I mean, there comes a time when we all die. Although there is much that I would miss, there is nothing more than my children and grandchildren, especially, those firsts in their lives that appear suddenly, pass too quickly  and are forever etched in my heart. Of course, the list depends on when death occurs, so I chose to there are many more pleasures that we enjoy in this life, that are worth noting. My list, although not exhaustive, follows:

  • The sound of wind chimes on a breezy day.
  • The sound of boiling hot water as it pours into a cup for hot tea.
  •  Watching the sun rise from my bed in the morning.
  • The birds chirping at the feeder outside of my bedroom window.
  • The way that freshly washed and starched cotton sheets feel on your skin.
  • The smell of lavender.
  • The smell of tuberoses.
  • A long, hot bubble bath.
  • Singing to the oldies.
  • Dancing to the oldies.
  • The sound of water running in a stream.
  • Watching the deer as they walk through our yard.
  • The dark, inky infinite night-time sky, filled with stars and unmarred by lights.
  • The color purple.
  • The taste of a sweet, juicy watermelon.
  • A deep blue sky.
  • The unexpected rainbow.
  •  The sound of rain on a tin roof.
  • Nerja, Spain
  • A full moon.
  • A meadow filled with wild flowers.
  • The laugh of a child.
  • The excitement brought by a thunder-storm.
  • The pealing of church bells.
  • The birth of a grandchild.
  • The faces of my loved ones and friends.
  • The twinkle in D.’s eyes.
  • Talking to my daughters about anything and everything.
  • The steadfastness of my husband.
  • B. calling me Mee-Mom.
  • All of the “firsts” that come with grandchildren.
  • Lobster.
  • My potato salad.
  • A home cooked meal that I didn’t cook.
  • A genuine smile.
  • The way a smile lights up a face.
  • A full moon.
  • The smell of night-blooming jasmine.
  • The laughter of children playing in the near distance.
  • Driving a convertible with the wind blowing through your hair.
  • Walking along a beach.
  • An apple jolly rancher candy.
  • A banana Now or Later.
  • A Grape Kool-Aid Jammer.
  • The comfort of knowing that my mother is nearby.
  • Baby kittens.
  • A purple, orange and pink sunset.
  • I love yous.
  • The touch of a loved.
  • Books.
  • The smell of Red Flower Lavender candles.
  • Child perfume.
  • My iPhone.
  • Skype.
  • My computers.
  • Playing airplane with your hand outside the car window.
  • Hugging.
  • Kissing.
  • Making love.
  • The smell of freshly baked bread.
  • Family dinner.
  • Mexican food.
  • Chinese food.
  • New Orleans.
  • The sturdiness of a tree.
  • Friendship.
  • A family dinner.
  • A birthday celebration.
  • Candle light.
  • A room lit by moon light.
  • The present moment.
  • Moments of inner peace.
  • A good book.
  • The wonder of music.
  • Singing.
  • Dancing to anything.
  • The joy of giving the perfect present.
  • The joy and appreciation of receiving the perfect present.
  • The ability to change.
  • The ability to forgive.
  • To love.
  • To be loved.
  • The act of forgiveness.
  • To be forgiven.
  • The sounds of ocean waves breaking on land.
  • The desert.
  • The perfect pen.
  • My journals.
  • Purple pens.
  • My brother’s blue, pea coat that came to me after his death.
  • My brother’s watch that came to me after his death.
  • Being a Mom.
  • Being a g’mom.
  • Church.
  • The flutter of curtains as a breeze moves through the window.
  • Watching my children move through life.
  • Watching my grandchildren’s importance life moments.

I realize that I can go on forever, but I’ll stop now. What I know for sure is that when I press “publish,” there will be  numerous things that I wish that I’d added to the list, but it was time to end.

Tell me what you’ll miss when you die. I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Blessings, Lydia

What Would I Be Doing Today If I Had Only 37 Days to Live?

One of the many books that I am reading right now is “Creative is a Verb” by Patti Digh. In it, she poses the question “What would I be doing if I had only 37 days to live. The question arises out of circumstances involving her beloved step-father.  He was diagnosed with lung cancer and died exactly 37 days later.  She writes: ‘The time frame of thirty-seven days made an impression on me. We often live as if we have all the time in the world, but the definite-ness of thirty-seven days was striking. So short a time, as if all the regrets and joys of a life would barely have time to register before it was up.”

If you are anything like me, you, too, live life as if you had all the time in the world. The word “procrastination” is our motto. We make lists of all the things we’d like to do before we die, as if we are promised any time beyond this moment. We put off living the life that we are meant to live because we believe that there is always tomorrow. We have that beautiful red dress that fits us perfectly, hanging in the closet waiting for the right time to wear it. We have heavenly perfumes and treasured china that we save for “special” occasions, as if we are not  precious enough to use them.   I could go on and on, but you get the picture.

Anyway, the question got me thinking, what would I do if I had only 37 days to live? How would I spend that time? What things that I now hold dear would lose their importance in light of the “definite-ness” of thirty-seven days? How would I prepare for the thirty-eighth day? With whom would I spend my last days?

Such weighty questions, but the answers to which provide us  guidance about how we are truly living our lives, and how we can live our lives more fully and authentically. I mean, how much time do we spend doing things that don’t nourish us– that don’t feed our passion? In between the cleaning house, grocery shopping, driving the kids to and from school, and all the other tasks that fill our day, how do we satisfy our passions, yearnings and desires?

So, with that said, how would I spend my 37 days? I considered travelling to some of the places that are on my to-do list, and other doings. When it comes right down to it, however, I’d prefer to spend my time “being.” By “being” I mean, those instances stir our deepest emotions, such as, love, contentment, compassion and peace of mind. I am speaking of the feelings that arise when we are in the moment, not concerning ourselves with the past or the future– just in the here and now.

In my case, when I consider how I would spend my time, all that I can I think of is sharing it with my family and friends. Nothing that I can think of is more precious than those relationships, and I can’t imagine anything that I would rather be doing than talking, laughing, and singing–just being–with those whom I called loves. What you won’t find me doing is running errands, cleaning, or any of the monotonous tasks that usually take of most of my days. I also would not spend my days bemoaning the “what ifs” and the “should’ves.” No, thirty-seven days would not nearly be enough, but under the circumstance, it would have to do.

Ask yourself, how would you do if you had thirty-seven days to live? How would you spent your thirty-seven days? Don’t wait. Begin today.