about forgiveness

So the general discussion was "that keeping the anger inside after someone kills a family member or someone close" will ultimately cripple you. This was one man's response. Absolutely incredible.

"I know exactly what you mean.

My father was killed on his motorcycle by a reckless, speeding redneck asshole who was also half-stoned on vicoden. I bumped into him walking into the courthouse during some civil testimony lawyer circle jerk crap. He just looked at me and said, "You probably want to kill me, huh? Wish I was dead?"

Now, this is the first time I ever saw his face in real life. On the news, I'd only ever seen this picture of him from a few years before the accident. Young hillbilly in military fatigues standing in front of some barracks in Iraq or whatever.

But at that moment... Jesus. He was only in his early 30's, but the guy looked like a cracked out 65. His eyes were so swollen and so bloodshot... They looked beyond exhausted. This guy I had felt nothing but contempt for, who had caused so much sadness and pain in my life. I had imagined a thousand different scenarios involving my hands and this worthless fucking mongrel's insides. This fucking guy took my father from me. I was only 6 months from being able to sit in a bar with the guy. We were just about to hit that point where I was ready to learn from him, where he could teach me how to be a proper man. Months of this grief and hate and inconsolable rage.

But fuck me. In that moment, seeing him so fucking broken, after all the shit my brother and I talked about doing to this guy, after all the hate and fury we conjured in our deepest moments of suffering and grief... And I looked at this man who was barely hanging onto life, and I knew. I could see it so clearly. The mental anguish from PTSD. The physical pain from the shrapnel or bullets or whatever buried in his shoulder. The soul crushing loneliness of having no one left willing to love him...

I said the only thing I could think to say, "Looks like you're wishing it hard enough for both of us." He grunt-laughed and smirked. And then, noticing that the rest of my family was watching our interaction, immediately ashamed and aware of himself, he stammered to try and apologize. I could hear my aunt, sister, and brother start to rise up in fury. I could see him start to pull in, to let the hate and anger just tear him open. And I started to cry. And I hugged him. And I pulled him so close to me. He smelled so awful. I pulled him in and I said some things I don't remember and he cried and I pushed brother away and we just held each other and wept.

He wrote to me every so often from the hospital he spent the following few years in. He told me about everything he lost. About how he wasted his entire life and never did anything worth a damn. About how he wanted to kill himself the day he hit my father. About how the only thing keeping him from eating a bullet now was his obligation to my dad and me to live as long as he could. No matter what. To either make himself better or suffer until the universe decided to take him.

He drowned in 2010 while ice fishing. A stranger's dog fell through the ice, and he jumped in to save it. Neither of them made it out. There were 6 people at his funeral including the pastor, myself, and my GF at the time. My family and I aren't as close as we once were. I am kind of estranged and ostracized, not for staying in contact with the man who killed my father, but for seeing him and thinking of him as more than just that. I tried to get them to see through that hate, to see what really matters. But they can't let it go. And so I'm stuck missing my father, my family, and the man who took all of it away from me. But it isn't all bad. Not once I realized that missing them is just another way of loving them - And it's the only way I have left"

I often feel as if I'm living in a world with no compassion. But things like this, well that just make me stop and question wether or not my beliefs hold water.