Thinking about my parents...

When you are going through hard stuff in life and your parents are gone, their absence becomes that much more profound. Would that you had that strong shoulder to lean on, that voice speaking up on your behalf and assuring you that "this too shall pass." Chances are they have been exactly where you are and would have a wealth of wisdom from the experience to share.  The older you get, the more you appreciate that truth - I'm glad that my journey to appreciation of my parents happened before they were gone.  Although I will always wish that it had happened sooner.

“Children begin by loving their parents; as they grow older they judge them; sometimes they forgive them.” -Oscar Wilde

I was not unlike other children and young adults. Growing up from starry-eyed child to the judgmental teen and 20-something,  I had my list of wrongs that I perceived my parents had committed against me that I would occasionally throw back at them, as did my siblings. Like Shylock, I wanted my pound of flesh...to be in the form of an admission of guilt and the acknowledgement that my perception of the situation/memory/event was the correct one. I didn't want to hear a defense - none of us did. My late sister used to rail on about their failings, so seemingly we agreed on this or that and that seemed to shore up our point of view. Siblings have these conversations, compare notes, and build their cases. It fuels the fire, adds to the bitterness, and makes one feel very, very justified. We would occasionally blow off steam and let our parents have it in one way or another and feel very self-righteous about it.

I'll never forget my mother's shock and anger over something one of my sisters swears that she did. She had no memory of it whatsoever and that made the sister even angrier  that something so deeply painful to her had not registered to my mother. My mother, on the other hand, felt so unjustly condemned and misjudged that her reaction was more like, "If I did do something like that, no doubt you deserved it."  This reaction did not make matters any better. My mother was not one to apologize for something she did not recall doing.  She would never apologize in a more general way either.

My father was a different story. If you confronted him with some failure or misdeed you perceived he had committed, he would want to defend himself. He would try to get a word in, yelling if he must, about why or his side of things -- this was never well-received, because when you come embittered as a wounded, injured child you do not want to accept defense.  What exactly do you want?

That is a good question.  You might easily say "an apology" but chances are it will be deemed insincere or without "enough" admission of guilt. If the parent were to come crawling to your doorstep begging forgiveness?  Eh, maybe - but it only would last until the next time something cropped up. They could likely plead for forgiveness in a letter written in their own blood, but at some point or another it wouldn't be enough. One of us would always demand more - even though more was some intangible, undefinable something that could never be truly satisfied.

I remember my mother distinctly telling me (and overhearing her tell my sisters) that she hoped one day we had children who did the same thing to us.  My father was a different story - I may not have fully realized it then, but I discovered over time that it deeply wounded him and that he would spend sleepless nights and hours with the priest worrying and fretting over mistakes he made, wondering if it was all true and he was really a monster, and if he was a monster, could he be redeemed?  As in so many other things - I am my father's daughter and even if I don't know for sure what I've done, I can guilt myself like a master.

A fantastic thing happened after I got saved -- I wish I could say that it happened all at once. It didn't.  But that thing was that I first began to forgive my parents for whatever I had believed they had done. Secondly, I began to grasp the concept that they were not perfect nor ever professed to be. And thirdly, I began to understand them as human beings.

When I was at that first stage where I began to forgive my parents for whatever I had believed they had done to hurt me, I was at a point where I had discovered the forgiveness of Christ for my own sins. Like the Apostle Paul said, "Christ died to save sinners of whom I am chief."  Man, I had a laundry list of faults, shortcomings, wilful and ignorant sins that I could never pay for. Jesus paid it all, so who was I to not forgive my parents?  This changed our relationship drastically.  I wish I could say I was perfect in my forgiveness and stopped bringing up real or perceived ills in arguments and in moments of anger.  As time went on those things came up less and less.  My relationship with my parents kept improving.

They started growing older, lots of things changed.  I began spending more time with them as adults. My mom and I would go for frequent long walks together or she would drive me to appointments.  I got to know so much about her life, the things that she cared about  and the things that had hurt her over the course of her life - and she would listen to me. Were we always perfect in listening to each other? No, sometimes we had other things on our minds or were distracted but I remember that I was just happy to have this time together.  I was finding out the person behind the parent - the person who had a whole heckuva lot going on, struggles, fears, etc, that were unrelated to me and definitely played a role in how she parented.

My father and I had so much in common and as our relationship changed with that forgiveness he shared his fears, his worries, the way he beat himself up about not being able to rescue the world.  One of the things about my dad that often got everyone so angry was his trying to guide and direct.  I learned that this wasn't out of "narcissism" or whatever stupid thing we children had decided in our profound wisdom was motivating him -- no, it was his desire that we be safe, that we be "on the right path," protected, the best we could be.  He wasn't trying to manipulate or control our lives - he just genuinely cared and was acting on his love in the only way he knew how.

When I began to understand them as human beings, hallelujah! That brought my memories of the past into perspective.  I was able to let go of crap that clogged up my own soul and was able to remember all the great, awesome things about them that I did enjoy and love so much.  Instead of fixating on how they had failed me (or how I felt they had failed me) when I was a child, instead of ruminating over every harsh world or action, I found that I was seeing clearly the thousand more days, times, situations that were not part of our unhappy childhood narrative.

My mother's answer to being accused and judged was to retire back "home" to Florida, away from children and grandchildren. Her thoughts were "if they want me, they can come to me." I do not blame my mother for that. She reacted in a way that was consistent with her personality type. My father was different - he was the initiator of phone calls, always, always trying to maintain a connection.  When they did ask me to move to Florida after the birth of my first baby, my mother was happy that "I came to her."  Were things always perfect? Things happen -  relationships get tangled with a mess of actions and reactions. Did we get under each others' skin from time to time? Yes. Perfect relationships never will exist when you are dealing with imperfect humans.  Iron sharpens iron.

Getting to know my parents, accepting them as individuals, not pigeon-holing them in the role of "my parents" was a continual awakening.  When I go back to some of the times in my life that show up on my list of traumas, I can now in my maturity see the stages my parents were going through at various times.  When I was a mouthy tween and teenager,  my parents were struggling with the weighty cares of mid-life. Mortgages, debts, job stressors, passed-over-promotions, marital problems, health issues, vehicles, craziness in other siblings' lives, a myriad of troubles that had an effect on whatever else went on in their lives, including parenting.  To think that I felt perfectly comfortable judging them for this or that reaction that upset me saddens me.... did I expect them to be super-human perfect beings immune to sin? Ridiculously, yes. Did they ever react in anger? Did they say things too quickly that came out wrong? Sure - but didn't I? Heck, yes. Did they have a right to defend themselves if they chose or make excuses,explain themselves in some way?  What court of law does not let the accused provide a defense or an alibi? They had their own anxieties, battled with depression -- and once I got old enough and wise enough to "get" the whole picture, it became an awful lot easier to develop a completely different perspective and give up my childish "right" to feel embittered.  Hebrews 12:15 says, "See to it that no one falls short of the grace of God and that no bitter root grows up to cause trouble and defile many." 

My friend's husband said, "Everybody wants mercy but they don't want to give it."  We enjoy amazing love shown to us in that while we were yet sinners Christ died for us.  He chose to forgive us, we who do not deserve it at all -- we love that mercy. How can we be stingy about extending it to others?

When it all boils down to it the things in my life that were good, the things in my life that hurt like hell, the good times and the bad, they shaped me and molded me into who God wanted.  He chose those parents for me. He chose my siblings and I to be their children. He allowed them to make mistakes for reasons that are His.  I am so grateful that I realized this while my parents were still alive so they could know that I was sorry for judging them, sorry for condemning them, blaming them, and sorry for not appreciating them.  Instead of fixating on fleeting failures - because in the grand scheme of things the good outweighs the bad - I choose to focus on the happy, the funny, the uplifting.  Books my dad read, nature hikes, singing in the car, listening to the radio and having girl talk with my mom, learning about family history and foreign languages, dreams that were fulfilled and dreams that were never realized.

My parents have been gone now - Mom since 2001, Dad since 2011. I miss them more than I can say.  Funny thing - irregardless of what sort of ungrateful children any of us were, they were our staunchest defenders and advocates. I could use that belief and that unconditional love right now when I spend sleepless nights worrying, ruminating, second-guessing or condemning myself.  How good it would be to go for a walk with Mom right now or take my Dad for a long drive. Having walked the other side of this road, I'm sure they would have good advice to give -- after all, they were flesh and blood people who have experience being on the receiving end.

Mom and Dad - I love you. I miss you.  One hour with you would be amazing - I could really use a pep talk and some of your Mama-Papa Bear fierce devotion. Thank God that I know I'll see you in glory.