Wind Storms

My friend Michael's estrangement from his family, now in its 3^rd month, has brought back memories of my own, now in it's 30^th something year. Forgiveness, so people like to say, brings peace of mind and allows you to move on. It's funny that my peace of mind took root the very moment I cut those family ties and fully blossomed with my mother's death. Forgiveness never got a foot in the door.

Traditionally speaking, this should have troubled me, I suppose, but like the azaleas outside my window, the seasons came and passed and came and passed again while I was tending other flower beds. I didn't suffer or lose sleep over it. My conscience didn't stir with regret or guilt, not even with might-have-beens and eventually, it faded and became unimportant. Though there were still traces of poison,  to paraphrase Anne Lamont, the urge to hit back gradually drifted away. Maybe that's what forgiveness really is, not so much an active act as a passive giving in to forgetting and allowing time to do what it does best.

Michael, never one to take the I'm sorry you feel that way approach, has wounds that are newer. They are sharp edged and raw with anger, still bleeding with what he sees as betrayal and selfishness. He swallowed his pride and asked for help, fully expecting his family to unite behind him but prepared to shame them if they refused. Today he would rather reign fire than forgive but tomorrow, who knows.  We all blow with the wind now and then but The wind, as the old fishermen used to tell each other, she blows in all directions.