Then there was the woman your father was sleeping with. Before he died. She’d done it with other men as well. You knew. So young, seven years old, and you knew. You know her name, but you won’t say it, not so many years later, not here, because she probably has her own grandkids now, it was so long ago. She could be like the woman sitting next to you on the bus, for all you know. She could be chatting up a stranger on a bus, trying to talk to anyone who would pay attention. Isn’t that what most of us spend our lives doing anyway? Someone please listen to me? Pay attention. She started like a cold. No big deal. Then all of a sudden, a full blown flu, like a I think I need to leave my wife and kids flu except that isn’t how you and your mom and sister are left. You are left in the he dropped-dead-in-the-middle-of-the-night-by-choking-on-his own-vomit kind of left. You forgave that. At least his death. *A piece I wrote 2 years ago this month in London. I am back there Feb 14 for a workshop. Thanks as always to SimpleReminders. xo Jennifer Pastiloff. ps love to hear below your stories of forgiveness. Either way- towards yourself or towards someone. Or lack thereof.
Posted on: Tue, 02 Dec 2014 23:54:35 +0000
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