FORGIVE
By SANDEFUR
(Occurs during Common Thread.)
A concerned Will Girardi watched as his distraught wife left the hospice room. She trembled slightly as he gave her a comforting embrace.
"I saw the bed was empty. Did he…?"
"A few hours ago. Oh God, Will, what did I do? All the poor man wanted for his dying wish was to hear me say three words, 'I forgive you'. Instead I told him, 'Rot in hell'."
Helen was crying now. Will led her away so the people in the hospice room wouldn't notice.
"Helen, I know you think this is some sort of test of your faith, but try to remember this 'poor man' was the monster who raped you in 1980."
"No Will, that's too easy—label him a monster so we can pretend he wasn't human. I believed him when he said he had never done anything like that before or since. Does one angry, drunken monstrous act make him a monster for all time? I just saw his family, and their love for him was real and moving. To them, a wonderful man has been wrenched from their lives. And I made it worse by denying him just one moment of peace."
Helen dried her eyes and steeled herself so she wouldn't disturb anyone else in the hospice facility. Will kept his arm around his wife as he escorted her from the building. He desperately wished he could offer some effective words of comfort, but knew this was outside his area of expertise. Once again he felt that familiar anger towards a God he didn't believe in. He would watch Helen closely, and if her mood didn't improve soon, he would seek outside help. Not Lily, the flaky ex-nun had made a bad impression on Will. Probably Father Ken, who seemed level headed even if he was a priest.
X X X X X
It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon, cool and breezy, but with plenty of sunshine. The funeral of Edmund Dodd was well attended, with a large group of mourners seated behind the first two rows of chairs that were reserved for the family. Ann Dodd dominated the center of the first row. Her face was a model of public stoicalness, but there wasn't a person there who didn't know that the moment the woman was alone, she would break. Kimberly Dodd, seated beside her mother, was bored and antzy. To a child her age, gone "forever" meant no more than the time it took for Christmas to roll around.
The large family was crowded in together, giving mutual support during this time of loss. Edmund's brothers, the familial resemblance was undeniable, were solicitous of a frail, elderly woman who was undoubtedly their mother. The crowd of friends, neighbors and co-workers were so numerous, it was standing room only, and at the very furthest edge of the crowd stood Helen Girardi.
Father David Payne officiated at the funeral, and being a hospice priest, he handled the event with practiced ease. Beyond the perfunctory rituals, Father Dave spoke movingly of Edmund. You could tell the priest had grown genuinely fond of Edmund, and he proudly reassured the crowd that the departed love one had found the peace and forgiveness of God through Jesus.
"Edmund lived a lifetime regretting his misspent youth, and trying to make up for it through selfless service to others. The guilt he felt for so many years kept him from seeking God's forgiveness, for he considered himself unforgiveable. To those of you who knew Edmund in recent years, that must seem incomprehensible, but few of us know the depths of another man's soul, or how harshly he judges himself. Thank God, in his last days, Edmund listened to the scriptural truth of how through God's unlimited love, none of us are unforgiveable. It brought him immeasureable peace. Now if any of you have a few brief words to say about our departed friend Edmund, you are invited to step forward and share with us all."
As several people began lining up, a nervous Father Dave cast a glance in Helen's direction. She deliberately took a couple of steps back to reassure him. She wasn't there to cause a scene. One person after another spoke of Edmund's kindness and generosity. A boy scout leader, Big Brother and Red Cross volunteer who was always the first to pitch in at clothing drives, building homes for the poor and working at the food bank. Many spoke of personal services performed for those in need. Loans to friends who had hit hard times, helping a neighbor with yardwork after a back injury, helping an elderly friend by going through a snowstorm to pick up prescriptions and groceries, and on and on…
As Helen listened to these glowing accolades, she ironically realized that if she had met Edmund Dodd under different circumstances, she not only would have liked him, she would have admired him. Eventually, it all came to an end. When the people had dispersed, and only Father Dave and a couple of cemetery workers were left, Helen stepped forward.
"Mrs. Girardi, I'm surprised to see you here today."
"I'm surprised I came. I didn't tell anyone I was coming, because I didn't want to be talked out of it. I don't understand why I had to be here, but I just knew I couldn't leave things as they were."
"Mrs. Girardi, I'm sorry for what you were put through. It was unwise of me to accede to Edmund's wish to see you. I should have realized…"
"Realized what? That I'd end up cursing a penitent man on his death bed? No Father, I should apologize to you. When I went to the hospice that day, I wanted to do my 'duty' as a Christian. At the very least I thought I could be kind and pretend to forgive him. But when I saw Edmund, even in that pitiful condition, all the pain, rage and bitterness I've felt for twenty-five years came flooding back. What spewed out of my mouth horrified and disgusted me, but I couldn't stop."
"It's understandable. It was an unfair situation to put you in."
"Maybe, but I decided to be In that situation both times."
"Both times?"
"Something my daughter said reminded me of how we are all connected through the common thread of our humanity. So I went back to try again, but I was too late. Now, I guess I'm here to try one last time, if I may?"
"Of course, Mrs. Girardi, take as long as you need."
Father Dave strolled away and began speaking with the patiently waiting workmen (who were earning double time). When she was sure she was out of earshot, Helen stared down at the sealed casket.
"Hello Edmund, you rotten, raping son-of-a-bitch." Helen suppressed a smile before continuing. "As you can tell, I'm still working through a few issues. You had an impressive funeral. Lots of people thought the world of you, and apparently you did a lot of good in this community. I can't help but wonder, was it due to your true nature, or because you felt so guilty over raping me?"
"Have you noticed that the people who linger until the last at funerals are trying to resolve conflicts that are too late to end?"
Helen turned and saw an old lady with a kind face who was standing right behind her. She didn't seem the least bit shocked.
"How much did you hear?"
"Every word. You may as well continue venting. It's one of the reasons I am here."
"Oh, so you have unresolved issues too? Did he…?"
"A long time ago, he did something evil to someone I love."
"Then maybe you can understand what I'm feeling. I keep thinking, if I had met him a year ago, before his cancer diagnosis, I wouldn't have hesitated to have him arrested and convicted of rape. Instead of being here trying to forgive him, I would have had justice."
"But would you have had peace? For the cancer still would have come, but he would have died alone behind prison walls—unloved, unliked and abandoned by all those who had cared for him. In his bitterness, he never would have turned back to God."
"And it would have spread the pain he and I shared to so many others. Maybe it was best it worked out this way. Can you forgive him for what he did to the person you love?"
"Yes, I can. Have you ever wondered why God retained vengeance for himself, but gave each of us the right to forgive?"
"Probably because we couldn't be trusted with the former, and the latter is as much for our benefit as it is to he who trespasses against us."
"Excellent learning curve, Helen." The old lady said as she reached out and touched the casket. "I forgive you, Edmund."
Without hesitation, Helen duplicated the gesture. "I forgive you too."
A weight seemed to lift from Helen's shoulders. Feeling almost giddy, she walked away. Helen was all the way back to her car before the thought occurred to her—how did that Old Lady know her name?
THE END. PLEASE REVIEW.