Can you love when you don't like?

I received the following comment on my last post: "I have no idea what the participle "loved" means in this context."  

Good question. Here's my answer:

It's love, rather than loved. I feel love for my Dad currently. He's dead, but I'm not. I put myself first. 

What is love in this context? A deep caring? An ancestral connection?  An ineffable feeling that can't be fully erased? I don't know.  

Before I forgave him I was angry, burning in Hell kind of angry. Consequently, his actions continued to hurt me. I was a victim. That made me more angry. There came a time when I understood that in order stop being a victim, I had to let go of my anger and leave him behind. It seemed like the best thing I could do for myself.  

Forgiveness doesn't mean I think he's a great guy. It doesn't mean I accept his brutality as a good thing. Forgiveness means I stepped away and left his meanness with him. Sometimes forgiveness is the meanest sucker punch of all. You know, "yeah I have some bruises, but you should see the other guy."

It wasn't being hit that messed me up. The real damage was the feeling that I was unimportant, unloved, and somehow at fault or deserving of such treatment. In fact, his actions were never about me. I was an innocent kid in the wrong place at the wrong time.  

Once I detached, I could see that he was a sad, pathetic person. I left him and his problems behind me. I no longer expected to have a good father. There was only ever going to be him. He had his own story, and his own father. 

It's not a happy, feel good kind of love I feel for him. I'm sad for him, but that's not it. I know his story, his own tortured childhood. I know his father once beat him so badly his mother didn't know if he'd live through the night. No hospital, no calling the police, just the resigned maternal vigil.  

Having said all this, I do believe there are some "sins of the father" that are unforgivable. Thankfully, he was no worse than mean and brutal.  

I don't like him, but that's not an absence of love.  

Is all this crap the Wheel of Life?

I get tired of problems, 
politics, 
and people. 
I really do. 
I plod on 
hoping for the best. 
Always hoping 
love will be enough. 

Do you think it is?  The world has gone crazy.

These are my jagged thoughts 
with the sharp points protruding.

When I can remember to open my eyes to see, I see beauty

Father's Day 2019

Father's Day has come and gone. It is always a tough holiday for me. My Dad was complicated, and when I say "complicated" it's a euphemism for "What the Hell was WRONG with that guy!" Still, I don't want to wallow in my conflicted feelings for him. I adored him as a child. I feared him as a teen. I avoided him as an adult.  I was sad when he died. 

He loomed large. Sometimes it is hard to believe he is gone.

Easter 1953

To forgive or not to forgive, is that the question?

• At what point do we forgive people?
  
• What must they do to earn forgiveness?
  
• How does one atone for the wrongs they do?

Forgive?

I know, I know, forgiveness is a difficult concept. When someone has done something bad enough to warrant our forgiveness, we are usually too angry and resentful to even see straight. So the concept of forgiveness seems out of the question. Only weak people forgive, right?

I'm not so sure. I'm tired of hating and resenting certain people in my life. It is like burning in Hell. I think the real heroes might be the victims who refuse to be eternally victimized. The ones who choose to forgive so they can move on, as unblemished as possible. Because when you forgive, you don't say it was okay. Bad things are bad things, and forgiveness doesn't wipe that away.

Forgiveness happens when you say that the problem belongs solely to the one who treated you badly. You still have to deal with the social, physical, and relationship damage inflicted, but you don't have to hate. If you can forgive, you cleanse your psyche of the darkening stain that particular transgression (or injustice) casts. You walk away with a real chance to heal. The sin stays with the sinner, where it belongs. Am I being naive?

Here's a really interesting YouTube video (by Nadia Bolz-Weber) explaining forgiveness in that light. It made me think:

Pulse of Orlando

Today is the one year anniversary of the Orlando Pulse Nightclub shooting.  Since I live nearby, there is a lot in the media to memorialize all the people who were killed or hurt in that terrible event.  This is my favorite memorial, a photo of Angel Colon, who was shot but survived that day.  I love it when people refuse to hate. 

Some flounder, but this isn't fan mail.

Here are some end of the year musings if you can stand me yammering on:

We all know that kind of person, the one who means well but falls short. No doubt we all ARE that kind of person, imperfect and floundering as we are. I thought more highly of myself before I retired. Now I have time to think, remember, and analyze my actions in depth. There are many things I regret having said or done. Some things I did because I fell short of kindness. Other things I did because I just did not realize, did not consider, how my actions would affect another. Sometimes I was just plain foolish.

I can forgive myself for those things fairly easily because I know I was not trying to be mean. I am imperfect. I will try harder. I just wish I could apologize to the zillions of people who suffered because of my imperfection. Interestingly, as I begin to forgive myself for being less than perfect, I find I can begin the process of forgiving others who fell short with me. Except for the occasional psychopath, we all live and learn.

Still, the ego-driven transgressions are the worst, and the hardest for me to come to terms with. How could I have been so self-centered? All these years I thought I was trying to be good. Instead, I look back and realize all too often I was trying to make myself "look" good. There are casual things I have said or done because I thought I was better, smarter, or was just trying to dominate the conversation with me, me, me.

I am NOT referring to blog posts, by the way.  Blogging is the absolute right forum for talking about oneself. It is a place for self-exploration, expression, humor, sharing, and grief. I'm good with my blog being about me. My real-life actions are what I feel a bit oppressed by.

A twisted tree still grows, just not straight

The Blame Game

Why is it that when a tragedy occurs the haters circle around the unlucky like vultures, ripping the carcass apart to ascertain blame?  What is wrong with us that we behave in such an unkind way?

Sometimes a tragedy is just a tragedy.  Perhaps we should mind our own business and leave it at that.

Walking the Dogs

OK, I am pulling myself together. I am going to stop flirting with confessional and/or bereavement writing! 

It was fun while it lasted, exploring my fears and anxiety (which are legion) in a public way. But that stuff takes on a dangerous life of its own. If I kept it up I would have probably jumped off a cliff, assuming I could find a cliff in Central Florida. I do have a fully realized fantasy of dealing with neurosis, anxiety and fear that I will share with you, though. 

We all have psychological baggage. Some worse than others, it is true – and always for good reason. I am not trying to be disrespectful. Deal with your issues in the way that seems best for you. They are absolutely real, and don't let anyone tell you any different.

I like to anthropomorphize my neuroses. I like to think of them as my personal demons. In my mind they are the Hounds of Hell – in this case three large and vicious canines growling deeply, dripping venomous crud from sharp and oversized teeth, and relentlessly chasing me through life, nipping at my heels. I figure I can deal with my personal demons in one of three ways.

1.  I can try to pretend that they do not exist and keep running from them until I drop dead. I think of this way as the time honored “Way Of The Neurotic.” In this scenario I attempt to keep these unresolved emotional themes bundled up inside me, letting the hounds drive me in all sorts of weird and wacky ways. This is the easiest way.

2.  Conversely, I could do battle with and seek to destroy these demons via "The Way of the Warrior.” In this scenario I battle those suckers endlessly, seeing plenty of action but never quite emerging triumphant. Instead I become battle scarred and bitter. You have to get really, really angry to go the Way of the Warrior. It involves lots of killing and plenty of blood lust. It can be dangerous to walk this path because Anger is a potent demon himself and he may actually try to usurp the rightful place and power of your other demons. You simply cannot trust Anger. Be careful if you choose the Warrior’s path.

3.  Or I could choose the last scenario, "The Way of the Dog Walker." Ha! In this scenario I stop running, turn around, and face my hounds.  Maybe they just want a little attention, you know? It's pretty scary at first, so the Dog Walker path requires as much bravery and bravado as the Way of the Warrior. But those big old hounds eventually stop growling and start to lick my hands instead. We get comfortable with each other, and I attempt to tame them so I can introduce them to polite society. When I am able to put collars on my demon hounds and hook those collars up to a leash, I take those bad boys out for a walk. I proudly parade them around in front of me. In essence I say to the world, “These are my demons, these are what drive me and make me unique. THIS is who I am.” Those dogs are always with me on this path, but I try to keep them on a short leash. The Way of the Dog Walker is the most fun because it requires an inordinate amount of humor.

Today I'm gonna walk the damn dogs.

Fitting the Crime

It is hard being surrounded by the pain, hardship and hatred that is rampant in this old world.  I notice the wrongness of it even more since my life has slowed down.  I am often crippled by despair when faced with cruelty and injustice.  The recent murders in Charleston have been a struggle to process.  I must say, the young man who committed those atrocities seems less than human to me. There is something sadly rotten about his inner core. Not only do I grieve for those innocent people who were murdered, I grieve for the death of the murderer's humanity.  That he sat through that peaceful time with those good people, found it hard to perform his evil deeds because the people "were so nice to him," and then to have still killed them for the sake of ideological hatred and divisiveness, that is pure evil.  There is no getting around it. 

His crimes are extreme.  He wants to incite a race war.  He wants to turn humanity upside down and in his bizarre notion of reality he wants us all to behave like sick, rabid animals. 

His are crimes against humanity. All crimes are, actually, because we are a community.  When crimes are committed within our community all of our humanity is diminished.  We all suffer. Crimes have that ripple effect.  Some crimes are worse and more far-reaching than others.  And that is why it is important that the punishment fits the crime.  

I wonder what the best and most effective punishment for this particular young man might be?  What might best benefit the community - the entire country?  Let us assume that he is neither mentally ill nor of subhuman intelligence.  If he is simply an evil man who committed a heinous atrocity, what is the best way for him to atone for his sins?  Is it even possible? 

It is easy to fantasize in anger and imagine him being executed in pain, or to have him spend his entire life in solitary confinement.  But what is appropriate punishment for someone like him, someone who wanted to plunge an entire country into "race war?"  Remember, he is someone who wants evil to triumph over good, for ignorance to be valued over intellect. This is heady stuff!  

Punishment is supposed to provide a means for a criminal to atone for a crime so s/he can be forgiven and reintegrated into the community.  Sometimes we lose sight of the rehabilitation aspect of imprisonment.  But what would it take to rehabilitate a man like this?  Could something clear this murderer's mind of hatred, jealousy, and fear? What would enable him to think instead of just feel? How could he begin to understand exactly what he has done? If only he could begin to comprehend the vast and terrifying repercussions of his crime, victim by victim.  He would experience the overwhelming sadness and loss his actions engendered in each family member and friend. He would see clearly how his actions fanned the flames of hatred and distrust in both the bad people and in the good people throughout this troubled country. Let's face it, making bad people more hateful is like taking a day off; but doing something so terrible that it makes good people begin to hate is a sincerely horrifying transgression.

Is there any possible way for him to atone for his actions beyond understanding what he did and then suffering endless regret?  And if understanding and regret are not possible, is there really any reason for this young man to continue to live?  I hate asking that question.  I do not have an answer. 

However, I do know this.  Those family members who stood up and forgave him the very day after the murders are the heroes of humanity.  They stand as an example for every person who ever wanted to be more fully human.  Why?  Because they are good people who refused to hate.  In doing so, they triumphed over evil and their actions are our hope for the future.

Just Plain Mean

When I was a little girl I liked to hide just out of sight on the breezeway steps so I could hear my mother and Bernie (the next door neighbor who also happened to be my adored and adoring godmother) gossip at the kitchen table.  They had a coffee klatch every morning while the men were at work, and I loved to hear those women talk.  I learned a lot that way. Most of what I learned while surreptitiously listening to The Women was about human nature, about people and what motivated their actions.  It was fascinating and my interest in analyzing people's motives and desires has never waned. 

I am fairly certain Mom never realized I was there, listening.  She probably never knew what a treasure trove of illicit information she was for me.  Talk about a liberal education in the humanities!  Those two women were pretty insightful.  Not only did they do a close reading of most people, they deconstructed them to the bare bone.  I think that is one of the reasons I did not want to go to kindergarten.  Good stuff was happening at home in the kitchen.  That and I did not want to miss watching Captain Kangaroo.  I loved Bunny Rabbit. Not as much as Mighty Mouse, but almost.

One thing I suspected back then, and have since learned to be true, is that some people are just plain mean.

If you do not believe me, move someplace new or start a different job where you do not know anyone and they do not know you.  The Big Meanies will step up to bat and reveal themselves to be players, quick as shit.

I am beginning to understand meanness.  I think it is a strategy insecure people use to maintain the status quo and to ensure that others will not be mean to them.  Big Meanies are cruel to newcomers as a means to establish their authority and mark their territory.  We really are just base human animals when we do not take the time to think or feel. 

Newcomers suffer accordingly; eventually the Big Meanies throw them a bone of kindness to test the waters and see if they will bite.  By then the newcomers are so traumatized by isolation and loneliness they will do anything to make the BM like them, including agreeing with everything the aggressive BM says or does for the rest of their natural born lives. Ick. It is all so disturbingly stupid.  I am determined to forgive people when they hurt me, because I know they often cannot help themselves.  However, I would have to be an idiot to then want to be around someone like that, or to forget what they are capable of.  Cruelty is a social game I prefer not to play.

Try not to take it personal if it happens to you.  It is almost always about them (the BM), and rarely about you.  You could be anyone and the mean person would respond in the same exact way.  They do not realize their insecurities are showing.  BMs mistake meanness of spirit for strength.  And they want to feel strong.  We all want to feel strong, and it is much easier to be mean than to be kind.  It just is.

I hate to say it... but exposing yourself to a Big Meanie from time to time might just be good for what my Father used to refer to as "your immortal soul."  Allowing yourself to be vulnerable is brave.  Only when you are vulnerable will you notice the scarcity of good intentions that exist in this old world.  This is information you need to know and can definitely use!  Understanding meanness just might tip the scales as to whether you become a Big Meanie yourself or not.  We all have that meanness in us.  I try to control mine each and every day.  Mean is one of those things you have to actually try hard not to be.  Making that noble effort is part of our humanity.  When we think and feel and empathize, we become more fully human.

You really notice meanness when you become a stranger.  Middle class culture did not invent the Welcome Wagon to make newcomers feel welcome, they invented it as a marketing tool to get newbies to spend their money at local businesses and to introduce them to local norms.  If your neighbor brings you a cake as a "welcome to the neighborhood present" for no other reason than s/he wants to make you feel welcome, then by all means glom on to her/him.  S/he is a kind person - a rare find.

What I really hate are cliques.  I hated them a million years ago when I was in high school and I hate them now.  Is there anything more distasteful than adults  circling the wagons for no better reason than to exclude others so as to maintain the status quo? 

I guess I understand how cliques happen and why they exist.  Belonging to one is the easy way out.  We work hard to build relationships with people who are like us, who share our values.  I am not saying values are good or bad, I am just saying all too often what is most important in cliques is that the values are shared.

I know, I know, it feels good when everyone is just like you. But a personality can molder if life is too straight and narrow. All too often "easy" just turns out to mean dumb, and "safe" turns out to mean lazy.  Most of us will not put in the effort required to think about an issue unless we are challenged.

So why am I bringing this up?  Someone was mean to me, and it got me thinking.  See what I mean?

Wait a Minute!

Hey, wait a minute!  Do you remember last time when I said there were no further incidents at the nursing home?  I forgot something.

This post is a bit macabre.  Please note I am a fallen away, pre-Vatican II Roman Catholic, so I can quite literally go medieval on your ass.  I stopped going to church in the late 1960s when the Catholic Church instituted reforms to modernize the mass.  Because I stopped being a Catholic at that point in time my religiosity has never been altered or modernized.  I take my spirituality straight up and I yearn for dead languages, strong incense, and Gregorian chants.  It is a religion that no longer exists in reality, but it is still and always a part of who I am.  I am culturally Catholic in the same way that non-religious Jews are culturally Jewish.  There is nothing I can do about it.  If you do not want to see this side of me then please do not read the following.  Wait for my next post where I promise I will leave death and dying aside.  I may even write about the beautiful weather we are having.

So much was stolen from my mother's room at the nursing home, at the assisted living place she lived in before she was moved to the nursing home, and at a rehabilitation center she was in for a short time a few years ago after surgery.  I am not sure if the wretched thieves were aides, nurses, roommates, or other wandering residents - but multiple people stole things from her rooms in each place.  It is a sad fact of life at nursing homes.  We learned to move anything of value to my sister ERB's house.  What innocents we were at first.  I still have a hard time imagining how someone could feel they are entitled to steal an old woman's belongings when she is at her weakest and most vulnerable.  The assisted living home where she lived for about 5 years before being moved to the nursing home last year was the worst.  Drugs and candy were always disappearing.  Before we figured it out someone stole her diamond engagement ring out of her dresser drawer.  It was supposed to have gone to my baby sister, ERB, as a reward for spending all those years being her principal caregiver.  You might ask, "Why did you let her take her jewelry to a place like that?"  I might answer, "Try telling an older woman who is still in her right mind that she can no longer keep her engagement ring with her when she moves into a private, one-bedroom apartment in an assisted living home."  

The coup de grâce came when she was dying.  Someone stole both of her favorite rosaries from her home-room (let us call it the "living-room") while she lay dying in a different room (let us call that room the "dying-room") in another wing of the nursing home.  She was moved from her "living-room" right after she had the stroke, and for the following week she was in the "dying-room," a large private room where the family could maintain a private vigil.  Her two rosaries were always draped over a picture frame next to her bed in the "living-room" so she could reach them if needed.  One was her special rosary; the one she specifically stated, in writing, was to be buried with her.  It was given to her by one of her sisters, and it had been blessed by Pope John Paul II; a man who was also a victim of Parkinson's Disease.  He died, has been proposed for sainthood, and will eventually be canonized.  He was an absolute rockstar to my Mom. 

We should have retrieved those two rosaries and put them by her death bed, I know, I know.  If only I could turn back the hands of time.  We were all a mess, though.  I must confess no one thought of it.  We were overwhelmed.  We rarely went down to her "living-room." I could probably come up with a few more excuses.  However, in retrospect I must say: "mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa," which roughly translates from the Latin as "It's my fault, it's my fault, it is REALLY my fault." 

I know theft is a crime, but please humor me for a few minutes while I consider the act as a sin.  This rosary theft is a sin not only against my sweet mother and her family, it is a transgression against the nursing home community.  The wretched thief exists, but since we do not know who it is we begin to suspect everyone.  I really hate that, because the vast majority of the staff and residents there are kind and good.  Putting her/his co-workers under the cloud of suspicion is a whopper of a sin, way bigger than a mere venial sin, it is a mortal sin for sure.  This sin impacts on many innocent people in many ways.  The injustice almost takes my breath away considering the complex repercussions of one casual, selfish, voluntary act.

I like to assume the wretched thief was a twisted Catholic AND a moron who thought she/he was entitled to a memento of my mother.  Why else would someone take two rosaries?  Because I am a sinner myself, I choose not to forgive the wretched thief.  Not now.  Hopefully someday, but not quite yet.  It is too soon.  Instead,  I hope this sin haunts the wretched thief in the dark, disturbing her/his sleep continuously until the wretched thief returns the rosaries to the social worker.  Then I might forgive her/him.  Okay, we all know that's not gonna happen.  It is an idle fantasy of a grieving child.  It is only in the irrationality of my grief that this fantasy makes me feel better.  I hope for justice and, okay - make me say it: revenge.  But even if the rosaries were returned, what would we do with them?   We will not dig up the casket to put the rosary in her hands if it suddenly appears.  She is holding a different rosary now, anyway.  It is just not the one she wanted. The time has passed to make this right for my mother.  Still, I wish I could let this go.  

I have not been a practicing Catholic since the late 1960's; however, it is all coming back to me now.  My better self would pray for a miracle,  hoping the wretched thief would come to her/his senses, return the rosary, and do penance for her/his sin.  Unfortunately, my better self seems to be missing in action along with the rosaries, diamond ring, other jewelry, knicknacks, pills, candy, and cookies that have disappeared over the years.  For now, I look for justice.  Still, what is justice in this instance?

Hopefully I will eventually realize that if I am still angry about this then I am foolishly allowing the wretched thief to continue to hurt me.  My anger merely keeps the sin alive.  True forgiveness involves freeing oneself from anger and allowing the sin to rest only with the sinner.   Perhaps that is justice?  I don't know.