Forgiveness
At 87 years old, my grandmother is not about to change a whole lot about herself. To say that she is somewhat set in her ways and firm in her beliefs is an understatement on par with observing that the ocean is damp. She has worked hard her entire life, fiercely guarded her loved ones and, as a nurse, devoted herself to helping the sick and hurt. Now, a series of strokes and falls have left her weakened and reliant on the aid of others, a reversal of fortune most cruel for a woman whose public persona has been built around the appearance of independence and assisting others. She wants nothing more than to be able to take care of herself, attend to her home, and never rely on the charity of others.
This independent streak has, perhaps predictably, led to conflict. Amongst her children a variety of opinions have flourished about how best to take care of her during her final years. From medical concerns to financial considerations, as well as personal preference, convenience and over it all, love for this matriarch of our family, they all have their individual reasons for their varied points of view. My grandmother’s desires are simple: to be in her home, with her cats and to see as much of her family as possible. She knows she doesn’t have a lot of time left. She isn’t the sort to bemoan this, and after months of denial, she seems to have finally accepted that her remaining months or years will be spent confined to a wheelchair or her bed. Her speech slurs sometimes and this frustrates her, as does her shaky hand which limits her ability to write. Her pleasures come from looking through the mountains of stuff which surround her in her home and enjoying the company of her cats, neither of which was possible for her in the nursing home.
For months though the conflict went on causing stress and ill will amongst the family. For my mother, a nurse as well, the decision was apparently a simple one. The assisted living facility where she had recovered from her latest stroke was able to provide the necessary medical care and was a modern and comfortable place. To her mind the medical requirements of keeping her mother safe and as healthy as possible should trump all other concerns. To one of my aunts the cost was a concern though, as well as a desire to see her mother home where she was happiest. To my uncle, the youngest sibling, it was simply a matter of making a decision and following through on it. Ever practical and desiring to avoid conflict he found himself playing referee between his older sisters and his mother as the opinions flew and the decision waffled from one suggestion to another.
Eventually, of course, my grandmother’s wishes trumped all else and she moved home. The resentments though that came up during the process seem to still linger. Feelings were hurt. Accusations were made. As the eldest of the grandchildren I even found myself straddling some of these political family fences torn between wanting my grandmother to be happy and recognizing the wisdom of some of the contrary opinions put forth. For sure this could have all gone much worse and been much more dramatic. But as the dust still settles months afterwards, I can’t help but feel that rifts have been created in the fabric of my family, and I wonder sometimes, if now is not the time for forgiveness when will that time come?
My grandmother can be a hard woman. She is not overly affectionate, as a general rule, and she can carry a grudge like it was her job. She has strong opinions, a chip on her shoulder and high – sometimes unrealistically so – expectations of other people. This is who she is. But it doesn’t change the fact that she loves her family. She wants to see her children, her grandchildren and her great grandchildren and, though she would likely never say it aloud, she wants to see them happy. It isn’t easy to feel love from this woman. She isn’t demonstrative the way some grandmothers are. We all know this works though…. It is easy to take umbrage at complaints that no one visits when you know damned well that you were there just a few days before. It is easy to avoid the conflict you know will come when you visit that cantankerous elderly aunt or grandfather or friend. It’s also easy to assume that the love you feel for your family, underneath any simmering resentments is understood. It’s not so easy to just let it all go.
But there comes a time. We will each find these times at various points in our lives. With the illness and decline of a loved one. In the aftermath of a tragedy. A time when holding on to the “I wish it was” is getting in the way of the “I am thankful for what is.” There comes a time to overlook the ugliness and focus on the goodness. To forgive the past and rejoice in the present. To stop turning away from the difficult and turn into the support of family in getting through the difficult times.