Death and forgiveness

Warning: Long post ahead

I am a firm believer that everything that happens in your life is meant to teach you something. It may be a major event, the worst or best day of your life, or something that does not make sense until decades later.

This last week was very emotionally trying for a lot of people. Death is difficult for anyone to deal with -- the ultimate unknown and finale in a life that you want to keep forever. When it happens suddenly and seemingly without reason to a person who seemed so happy, so talented, so fun -- it seems impossible to rationalize. You begin to hear that person's voice in your head, remember the last time you spoke, become tempted to call him just on the slight chance he'll answer, wonder what you could have done to stop him from making his final decision.

This last week I spoke with and hugged people I had not seen in 17 years, Death brings people together, reminds you to tell people you care about them, It makes you question your own mortality and reminds you to never take anything for granted.

Everyone has a mortal enemy, someone whom they'd wish would just fall off the face of the planet. Mine happens to be, ironically, the best friend of the person whose death brought everyone together. This person, who shall remain nameless here, was obnoxious, arrogant, spoiled and just all around mean. He made his dislike for me very well known. Whoever made up the phrase "sticks and stones . . " was never publicly degraded nearly everyday for four years.

He never really did give me a good reason for hating me, though I know that a large part of it was the fact that I was a little different, I wore Marilyn Manson shirts and put blue streaks in my hair (back then putting color in your hair was not cool), and he, being very, very LDS, thought that meant I was a devil worshipper and should be made to feel as inferior as possible. I don't think he knew that I am actually, technically  LDS, it's just not something that I bring up in typical conversation.




Less than two weeks ago I hated him with more passion than can be put into words. You don't exactly befriend the person that physically pushed you across the hall and slammed you into the wall without warning. I hated him, I hated the idea of him, I cringed to even say his name in my head.

And then our friend, our classmate, someone who affected both our lives decided to leave this world. He had his reasons, which we'll never know but none the less must eventually accept.

I thought about all the people who were hurting because of his death. His brothers, his cousins, his parents, especially his mother, and his friends. As much as it hurt me I can't imagine their pain. I thought about this person who'd made my life hell, this person whom I once believed to have no compassion for anybody, and how devastated he must be.

It sounds dramatic, but at that moment I felt the hate soften. An idea came into my head that I had sworn never would: "Forgive him."

Two weeks ago if you would have told me that the day would come when I'd forgive him I would have called you insane and maybe worse.

But then, here I was with this unshakable feeling that I need to finally let go of the weight of it, the absolute disdain and utter hatred I'd been carrying around for 15 years had become too heavy. It had to go. Life's too short, really, it is.

I decided that I'd talk to him. I had not seen him for years and probably never would again, so this would be my only chance.

The celebration of life for our friend was truly beautiful. His art was displayed all around the church gym. There were videos he'd made playing on two TVs across the room from each other.  . . my favorite is the one of him sledding off the roof of his house. That was him. His drums were set up, his art studio was set up, complete with his hat on his chair. It was like he was there.

This guy, this person I'd hated was there, chatting with fellow classmates. I walked up to him and nudged his shoulder, and he turned around and gave me a big hug (turns out he originally thought I was someone else) and we chatted for a moment then continued mingling.

Later I decided it was about time to leave, so I went up to him again and asked to be introduced to his wife, and he gladly obliged, though he called me by a different name. I politely corrected him, and when he realized who I was  . . . well, he was a bit shocked.

I offered my condolences, first and foremost and told his wife that it was nice to meet her. Then I told him that I know we'd never been too fond of each other, but that I'd like to offer an olive branch. I told him that I felt like I should forgive and let it go. It was seriously one of the hardest things I have ever done. I don't really remember what he said, but he hugged me and very sincerely apologized. Of course, already being emotional because of the recent loss of a friend, the tears started flowing.

He told me that he remembered being a jackass, but that he could not remember any specifics. I did not bring any up, though I could have. He told me that he had thought about the way he treated people and that he was just a stupid teenager at the time.

At this point I apologized to his wife, who was still standing there, for making things "weird," and she replied "No, no, this is great, this is therapeutic!" She really was a sweet gal. I told her not to put him in the doghouse. :) I told him that our friend would not want us to carry a grudge and he agreed.

He teared up, and hugged me again, saying "please accept my apology." I said "I forgive you," to which he replied, quietly, "thank you, thank you."

The whole thing lasted about five minutes, but was life changing. I did not want to drag it out, I wanted it to be short and to the point. I did not want to take away from the reason we were both there. But, in a way it was the only time it could have happened.

Now this is where it gets -- well, you decide.

The funeral was the next day, a Saturday I'll never forget. The funeral program had the text of a letter he'd written while on his Mission. He'd written that his companion disliked him very much for seemingly no reason at all. He tried to find out why with no luck. Instead of getting angry and bitter he decided to do nice things for this person in hopes of winning him over. He wrote that he'd thought of ways he could see past the hatred. He decided to write the words "Love One Another" on a rubber band and put it around his wrist. When his companion would say something mean he'd snap the rubber band to remind him to not get upset and instead to forgive. The night before they were giving out those rubber bracelet things with the words "Love One Another" stamped on them. No it made sense, in more ways than one.

I did not talk to this person at the funeral. That day was for our friend, to honor and remember him.

The funeral was very fitting for him. We were reminded of his shenanigans, his talent, his love for his family. But his brothers did not skirt around the fact that their sibling had chosen to end his life. He said that his family, being of the LDS faith, were really struggling with it, but they believe that he is no longer in pain and that they will see him again. His brother talked about the fact that his sibling had been in a lot of pain the last few years and that he could no longer do the things he had once loved.

The line I'll never forget was when his brother said "I want everyone in this room to know that we tried like hell to save him."

At the end there was a sense of closure and peace. And, though I'll miss him, I've also forgiven him for what he choose. Ours is not to judge.

We can all sleep now.