A Question of Forgiveness

A Question of Forgiveness

Memories of an angry and indifferent mother
compete with the vision of a great-grandmother
leaning over her great-grandson,
praising his pictures, listening to his stories. 
Her daughter watches and wonders, Is this the same woman?

The old man asks advice of his daughter-in-law
a woman he respects and treats with kindness. 
His son watches on, memories of his father
hitting his mother, and he wonders,
Is this the same man?

A mother goes through pictures of her son, 
bright brown eyes, a soulful smile, arms around his dog,
as she listens to her daughter-in-law recount his rage,
this woman with bruises on her face, and the mother wonders,
Is this really my child?

How can we reconcile that those we love
aren’t the same as they were years ago?
Does one deserve absolution just for getting old
or for being good as a child?
Must we forgive and forget?

How far back in a person’s life must we go
to find the bow from which the arrow sprung,
poisoning generation after generation? 
How far back must we forgive?
How long ago is too long?

Who would you be if you had not suffered?
What kind of parent would you be
if you had not seen, first hand, how not to be one?
Where would victims be if you had not been one first
and offered your wisdom?

Can you lose the memory of the hurt
without losing that which has been forged
from the fire of your difficult journey?
Can you pull others out of the fire
without having been there yourself?

And who is forgiveness really for?  Who benefits
from the giving? Who suffers if it’s withheld?
What are you giving up when you forgive?
If forgiveness is for those who forgive,
then it is you, my friend, who must decide.