"Forgiveness is the fragrance the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it." ~~Mark Twain
Rarely am I given the opportunity to truly atone for my own sins of the past (lo there are many to choose from), or witness as someone close to me does so, much as I would like to be there. But in the last two weeks that's exactly what's happened. A person who means a great deal to me and who has been a source of my lowest lows and privy to my loudest belly laughs seems to be coming out of a very dark place.
As I grieved for my dad, so did I grieve for this fellow. It seemed that he was always on the shaded side of the street, head down and dragging his feet. He'd lost faith in the world and in himself, which was a true shame because that's the only person he felt he could be around for any length of time. I wanted nothing more than to hug him and help him smile like he did before, but knew nothing could be more wrong than to follow that instinct. I knew I couldn't make him feel happiness or force him to engage. He had to want it. He needed help. And the help couldn't come from me or any of my kind. For us I thought there would be no chance of healing. Where I longed for kind encouragement or playful banter, there were only awkward stutters and angry exchanges. In place of smiling eyes and wide grins, I was met head on with gazes of pure despair and unfettered, wild grief.
Years passed. Years.
I grew hard.
I moved on.
I left him to fight his demons alone. I never expected him to win. But he is. He is winning.
He's found a great worth inside himself that has triggered him to see what most everyone around him has seen. He's had tools and help, and I wouldn't have it any other way. No one should be expected to deal with that kind of crushing sadness alone. I admire the tremendous amount of work he's done, and continues to do, to open up the branches a little for the light. Even if it's just a little, by God it's something.
