Forgiveness

Forgiveness is a tricky beast. We all want to forgive things and people in our lives, but I think most people secretly harbor things inside them that they've resolved to forgive. A friend, co-worker, confidant, significant other, parent, whomever.

I got an email from my former client last night asking for forgiveness. It was an emotional email--clearly written with emotion, but also evoking emotion from me. She asked for forgiveness, thanked us, told us she would never forget us, that we were always going to be part of her family. She said that she didn't understand, before this, the impact keeping a detail like the one she kept from us would have on her and her life and her relationship with us. She asked for forgiveness again, at the end of the email.

This is something my partner and I have been struggling with. It's like the demise of any relationship, people naturally seek closure. It can be said that we had closure in our final meeting with them, when we withdrew from further representation--and that's true. We had professional closure. But we did not find the personal closure that I think is necessary for my partner and me being the kind of people we are.

There's this great song by one of my favorites called "The Mercy of the Fallen", and I can't help but listen to it repeatedly while thinking of the concept of forgiveness applied to my client. I think what's keeping me from an instantaneous reply to the email I was sent is an unclear sense of how I want to forgive. This is a different situation than I've ever been in, and I think this circumstance calls for something other than a mere "I forgive you".

The truth is, I DO forgive her. I actually wonder if there is anything to forgive. Can I blame a young woman for her desperation? Can I blame her for making a mistake? Can I blame her for a choice she made that turned out to be the wrong one? I think I can be angry and hurt, I can feel a sense of betrayal, but if I were in her position, I have to wonder if I would have done the same.

I was raised by my wise and forgiving and wonderful parents in the Episcopalian church. I went to Sunday school every Sunday, I attended church afterwards with my family, we participated in the seasonal events in our church. But then the most remarkable thing happened: I left for high school at a boarding school just across from our state. And I discovered other religions, and I began to question the one I was raised in. My parents did not balk at this, they did not chastise me, or show disappointment. Instead, they encouraged me. They encouraged me to learn, study, believe in what I found truth, light, solace and comfort in, even if it was not found in the church in which I was raised.

And what I found was the common thread of forgiveness and truth. I found the same kind of peace that any religion provides. And I made the independent choice to believe in something more informal than any one religion or any one book. I began to believe in humanity and individuals. I began to believe in my own power as an individual to make good and conscious decisions. And I always believed in the power of forgiveness.

I remember the first time I really lied to my father. I was 8 or 9. I told a lie, I don't remember what it was, but it caused me to be filled with guilt. I remember lying in my bed in my yellow and white striped bedroom and crying. I went downstairs to the kitchen where my parents sat discussing the kinds of things they discussed, and I, tearily and dramatically, told my father my lie. He did not chastise, he did not yell. He did not remain angry. He did not walk away from me. He forgave me, easily and honestly, and gave me a hug only fathers can give, and he continued to love me.

Certainly, the current situation in which I find myself is not the same as the lie I told my father as a child. But shouldn't the response be the same? If we cannot embrace individuals, humans, friends, after a lie, won't we end up somewhat lonely and suspicious? Isn't truth and comfort found in our ability to forgive?

I think I will continue to contemplate this. I might contemplate this in the most serene place I can think of in Washington DC this Sunday--the most gorgeous cathedral that overlooks this fair town. I have not made peace yet with the events of the last 5 days, but I need to. I think inside I forgive my former client, my former friend. And I know I need to forgive on the outside, and I need to tell her that.

Our lives remarkably complex. There are things in my life that I hold onto, that no one can see, that dictate choices I make. Some of those choices are noble and good, sometimes they're self serving and greedy. I cannot force blame, or anger, or ill will on this young woman, who was trying to find something better. I don't believe she came into this actively wanting to decieve us, to hurt us, to make us question the very beliefs we hold. I think she was desperate, and sad, and looking for something, searching for something better. And in the end, I not only can understand that, but I can forgive her for that.

I just need to discover how, and I am confident I will.