Forgiveness: Trying to let go of grief

Grief is a daily struggle. It's different for everyone and each moment processes differently than the last. No words, apologies, regret, time passed changes the feelings or emotional roller coaster, instead you learn to live with it. You try your best to remember and relive the positive. For me, losing my mother in 2012 was a very difficult thing.

I hadn't seen her in person for six years, the last words spoken between us were not positive and I had just given birth two weeks before her passing. We shared a lot of trauma together and my mother was never really a 'mom' to me, more of a glorified babysitter. It might pain family to hear me describe her in this way, but by the time I was in school, she was already living with Mike (her killer). She had cheated on my dad the entirety of my childhood, she abused the family whenever she was home, her finally divorcing and 'going off the deep end' was a great new chapter for me in many ways.

A lot of pain, scars, uncovered and unexplained truths were meant to be had before she passed that I've replayed in my mind a thousand times. Why she took his side? Why she couldn't find the strength to get sober and leave. Why she was so stubborn and unforgiving. So many things were left stagnate and hurting.

So, for National Forgiveness Day, I will do my best to channel that pain when I work out today. When I don't think I can lift my headstand any higher, or hold a pose any longer, I'll cry out and LET GO of the pain inside of me. My mother is still very much a part of who I am, despite our differences.

Written in 2012:

Forgiveness 

By Sarah Soderlund

Forgiveness used to be a white flag, a weakness, a sacrifice. If someone had hurt me, I was pronouncing it ‘okay’; in other words, I rarely forgave anyone in my life. My harsh outer skin and callous ways of stubborn attitudes and quick wit under my breath probably began from the obstacles with my own mother.  She was a fireball, a strong woman and the type of person that always had the upper hand. She was also an addict. When she was sober, she was cooking meals and singing songs and the kind of woman you wanted to be around. When she was drinking or using however, she was a terrible person that could reach into your very being and find a weakness, clenching it with her bare hands and waving it proudly for all to see as you cowered in the corner; she was never sorry and I never forgave. Every time she stood me up for a movie date or showed up drunk to a public performance of mine, I grew more and more callous because she was a horrible person. I never understood how a mother could treat their own child with such hatred and animosity. As I grew older I confronted her many times on her ridiculous behavior but she always had a reason, an excuse, an innocent bystander to blame and a guilt trip to serve you.

I finally decided I didn’t want to support her addiction and took it upon myself, as hard as it was, to not speak with her until she could clean up her act. I told her that I was not her daughter so long as she chose her addiction, and I meant it. Disappointed, but not surprised, months turned to years and I had not heard from my mother; she almost became a distant memory that I could distort into a happy and fond mother. It wasn’t until I became pregnant with my own son that I began to feel emotion about the lack of a mother in my life. As everyone celebrated the new baby and congratulated my new title, I began to see the responsibility of being a parent in a whole new light.  I wanted to deal with my mother and ask some much needed questions, to perhaps forgive her for her actions and let go of my anger. I grew impatient, hateful and frustrated as the pregnancy progressed and I finally sent her a letter that simply let her know she would soon become a grandparent for the first time.  As usual, I waited.

Just a few weeks before I gave birth I received a letter. I had dreamt it would have a long list of her wrong doings and next to them would be the reason why, her apology and some sort of reconciliation so we could forgive and forget. I had hoped there would be something to alleviate my resentment to the word ‘mother’ and all it stood for and wanted something profound to heal all the years of pain. Instead, the letter only had a few sentences, one of them reading:

“Maybe now you’ll realize that a mother does what she feels is best for her child, despite how hard that might be.”

I was frustrated yet again and couldn’t find forgiveness for this simple and almost condescending letter. I tucked it away and focused on my pregnancy. When the day came that I gave birth and embraced a new family of my own, a warm loving sensation moved over me like I had never before imagined. Being a mother was complicated, frustrating, hard and yet easy to fulfill the responsibilities with complete love and understanding. You have hopes and dreams and you still make mistakes. I began to learn in just a few days what motherhood was compared to what I had thought it would be. I finally decided to talk with my mother in person. Sadly, she had gone from the lucid and cognizant person just months before to a woman that was now lying in a hospital and fighting for her life; her body was giving into her years of addiction. Since our letter, she had been found in bed having not eaten for days and was rushed to the hospital with multiple issues, most severe was her hemorrhaging lower body and liver damage. I was unable to see her in person but called the hospital and she didn’t even know who I was. She was lost between ailments and fading fast. My father called me a few days later and let me know that despite their sour divorce, he went to visit her and delivered a photo of their first grandchild, my son, Stellan. He also told me that while in transit to another facility she passed away and the only possession she had was that photo.

I didn’t get to forgive my mother or get the reasons behind all those opportunities she spoiled for me. I didn’t get to talk about why she had buried herself in addiction rather than heal and move forward with being a mother. I look back on her sentence within that short letter and I feel as though she was fighting the same battle I was; both alone in the world and looking to heal. Perhaps she had struggled to forgive herself for her wrong doing and believed her actions were what was best.

 I have learned through all this that forgiveness is not a white flag or a weakness, but instead a strength one must find to meet someone half way. Forgiveness is outstretching a hand to support someone so that you can move forward without anger and resentment. I have learned that forgiveness is more about your own healing than letting someone know their hurtful actions are ‘okay’.  Forgiveness is not about permission or silence or a cold shoulder to someone with a cold heart. I have forgiven my mother and I hope she knows that, but there are days where I’m still struggling to forgive myself for not letting go of the anger sooner and letting her into my life as she was.