Last night we watched a TV show which showed people who tackle forgiveness. In one story, a couple forgave the teenagers that used their son's head as a football and let him die on a miserable and cold Surrey road. They decided not to go after his killers in any non-litigious method, and they moved on and used his memory to try to continue to move on. In another story, the couple who lost their son couldn't forgive a newspaper that besmirched his name. His room remains a sealed family shrine to him, and the family is so torn up with grief and anger that they suffer on a daily basis.

I asked Angus what he would do if I was murdered but he couldn't answer. I thought about it, and although I am a pacifist and someone who upholds the need and nurture of the legal systems, I think I would make an exception in Angus' case. I thought about it and found a surprising little nugget in my soul, a revelation that I hadn't expected to be there.

If Angus were murdered I realized I would spend every waking minute of my life hunting down the bastards that took him from me. In a soul that already is marred by loss and drift, trying to get my eye for an eye is the most plausible route. I've already lost my sight once. I'm not going to do it again.

That said, when I imagine myself drinking coffee in the kitchen in that scenario, it doesn't involve camouflage face paint and deer hunting knives. Maybe it's just big talk from a little person that can't even imagine what it would feel like to lose the most important person in her heart. I just can't imagine losing someone so vital, and not just losing someone but losing someone again.

When you lose someone, is it important to forgive their killers, or forgive yourself?

It's not easy when you're with someone that had an ex die, I think. My ex had a terrible time dealing with the Kim-sized hole in my life, and I think he has caused Angus some occasional early consternation as well. Maybe it's hard knowing that the perfect pork roast with apple stuffing that I make was actually a dish I perfected under Kim's wishes. Perhaps it's difficult to accept that I am marked on my ankle with the black and broad strokes of a tattoo, that he's somehow under my skin in a tangible way. It's hard to compete with a phantom you never had the chance to stare down and assess.

And the bitter irony is that when we were together I was tormented by someone in his past. He had an ex that he loved more than life itself, a haunting and fleeting specter that lived in his heart and put up walls and barbed wire, marking her territory. The only remnants he had of her was a battered surfboard and an 8x10 photograph of her that was taken from the neck down, with little wisps of blond hair hitting her shoulders. She wore jeans and a rainbow belt, a shiny green jacket and an air of nonchalance. Her hands were tucked into the pockets casually, the palms of them hanging out to the camera, ribboned with soft while wrinkles of flesh.

Her name was Crystal, and she died when Kim was in his mid-20's.

He was mad about her, and his friends who knew her and had met her used to talk of how devoted he was to her, how absolutely obsessed. Kim and Crystal ran off to California together to live a Bohemian life, a life marked by learning to surf and sleeping on the beach, a life crashing at various friends' houses, a life that he swore on a daily basis would be spent better learning how to love her. Never one to be bound by social rigors, Kim lived the ultimate hippie lifestyle as they surfed their way through their early 20's, content and secure in his one responsibility of always looking after Crystal.

But then Crystal got sick.

Kim never told me the details of how she fell ill, or what she fell ill with, although it was intimated that she fell ill due to the life they led, and my mind always fell on the possibility of pneumonia, which somehow seems more romantic than anything the ordinary mortal can suffer. All he told me was that her family flew to California and protectively put her in the hospital. They tried to heal her and hold her, and they never told Kim what hospital she was in. They didn't tell him where she was. They didn't tell him how she was coping. They didn't tell him if she asked about him.

But they did tell him where they had buried her once the funeral was over.

Kim wasn't allowed to attend the funeral. He hadn't even known she was dead until they told him what plot she was entombed in, wearing a blanket of sanctimonious soil. He was never able to say goodbye, and he was never able to see her one last time before they took her away.

And Kim went mad from grief.

He became the epitome of self-destruction, falling into alcohol, drugs, hopelessness, and in the end, something much worse. He sold his soul to the devil and sold his heart to a cause. He went away for a little while and when he finally came back, he was a changed man-a new name, a hardened heart, a desire for an education. He had lost something pivotal in those missing years, some part of him got chopped off and left on a sideboard to rot in absentia. Emotionally he was a tabula rasa, and physically he was also a scarred man-he returned from Purgatory with a large rubbery scar down his back, complete with a thick tangled patch of black hair, a result of a skin graft.

He rarely talked about what happened in those years he recovered from her death. The little I know of it is so unimaginable I had a hard time believing it could be true, yet he never gave me reason to doubt him. The ensuing years after that were spent quietly rebuilding the shattered pieces of his life. When we met he was calm and collected and nearly finished with his degree.

He called me his redemption and his savior, and I never dug in to find out why he thought that way.

And he still had a surfboard and a picture. A picture that drove me to distraction, a picture I tried to understand. If only I could see her face! I used to think. If only I could see this face that he sees in his mind, I might understand more! Who was this woman, this person I could never meet and could never even see what her cheekbones, her eyes, the plane of her forehead looked like? Who was this woman that owned a part of his heart so completely, a part that I could never have? Would they still have been together, would he still value her love above all else, or would mediocrity have stepped in and robbed him of it, a denigration of time and familiarity?

And above all, how could I compete with a ghost?

I kept Crystal in my back pocket and tried to never talk about her. I never asked him to move the picture he had of her, although I did manage to get the surfboard smuggled into the closet (mostly since I kept running into the damn thing in the middle of the night during one of my usual toilet runs). Between us was nothing but love, but in his heart I wondered how I stacked up, if I stacked up. I wondered about her, even as I loved a man who forgave her for dying, even if he didn't forgive himself.

Her headless picture doesn't haunt me-I have enough of my own pictures to haunt myself with.

And now the circle continues. Now it is Kim that died and I am the one that went a little bit mad. Now Kim is gone and I am the one who went hell-bent on destruction.

I wonder if this means I will die and leave someone in torment, if the cycle continues-should I pass away, years from now will Angus find a wonderful woman that feels she's in competition with my spirit? Will I be a photo that rips her heart up, a rock in which she can bash herself against? Will she see something of his that he shared with me and torment herself about it, even while she is saving him from the darkness of the shadows?

If Angus were to die he wouldn't leave an Angus-shaped hole in my life. He wouldn't have a discernible space where we was, the next man that came along wouldn't be able to tell where Angus once was. He wouldn't leave a mark simply because there wouldn't be a hole-I would become one enormous black hole, sucked dry of light, and everyone knows you need light to see a shadow. I may have had my heart broken by Kim, but I would be donating it to science if Angus died.

And, like Kim, I would never forgive myself for Angus dying while he was on my watch.

And if Angus were taken from me? I want to say that I would spend every waking moment of my life punishing those that took him from me. I want to say that I would make their misery more poignant and horrific that any second they inflicted on him. I want to say that I would rip them apart and stare in their eyes until the last drop of life ebbed from them. The truth is, I would likely just crawl into bed and never get back out again, as there simply wouldn't be a reason to.

To forgive and forget? On some things, like that guy on the train stepping on my toe this morning, or the horrible Christmas present I got from a relative ten years ago? Sure.

For losing someone that bubbles my world?

Never.

-H.

PS-The Rooster absolutely fucked my manager over on a conference call last night and luckily I had proof that I and my project were not implicit in this event.

Revenge is a dish best served...immediately.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 11:36 AM | Comments (10) | Add Comment
Post contains 1756 words, total size 9 kb.

1 I feel much the same as you do on this. In the spectrum of right and wrong, to take a life is just about s wrong as you can get. I fear that should someone threaten one of mine I would be pushed, could be pushed to commit this ultimate wrong. Here is to hoping we never ever get tested. On your PS, Wooowhooo! serves him right, jerk. Those who do unto others tend to be too stupid to keep from getting done unto themselves, heh

Posted by: Dane at February 15, 2005 12:31 PM (ncyv4)

2 Hey Helen..!! I had a good post that went a bit.. off (to be all English about it This was the start.. I'll send you the rest and let you decide what to do with it... Some of it was me letting out some well steam is to tame. Always remember.. All you have to is Believe. Odd question.. is being an actor(actress) a form of purgatory where you have to either raise up or sink down based on your roles and how you play them?

Posted by: LarryConley at February 15, 2005 12:52 PM (hJJHG)

3 I think that all of us have those holes in our soul to some extent. Some are larger than others, and some of them never seem to quite heal. A couple of people have made the error of threatening me or my family, and every one has lived to regret their actions. I have absolutely no qualms about it. I prefer to act within the confines of our judicial system, but there are times when 'street justice' is all you can get. Loved the PS. Sounds like Instant Karma snuffed the Rooster.

Posted by: Easy at February 15, 2005 01:21 PM (QSfuY)

4 It always comes around.

Posted by: pylorns at February 15, 2005 02:21 PM (FTYER)

5 i have no doubts that if anything happened to me, my husband would seek revenge. next-of-kin style. i wouldn't want to be around to see it (if i were only incapacitated, not gone). helen, you broke my heart with this story.

Posted by: becky at February 15, 2005 03:29 PM (/VG77)

6 My sister was run over on the road when she was 8 yrs old.I was 19.It took me yrs to get over it.But once I forgave the girl who had taken her life,I began to heal. The rage and the grief had begun to comsume me and I could not move on. When I forgave the girl(who was a 16yr old driver) I finally found peace.Now I know that one day I will see my beloved sister again and I dont have all that hate in my heart...forgiveness is the key to happiness.

Posted by: butterflies at February 15, 2005 05:06 PM (+dsv9)

7 I've felt that there are demons in all of us, in various states of containment. There are times that one or more will get loose, and we strive to be strong enough to not let them control you. An ex of mine moved on after we broke up, married and had a child. But she also had a medical problem that was (she believed) going to force her to give up her child for adoption. Her demons were always close to the surface on the medical issue, and in the end, the demons won when she jumped off the side of a bridge into a river, to be found by a fisherman two days later. In my occupation (news), death is a constant conversation, so I've run through various scenarios in my head. If something were to happen to my wife (or child-to-be)due to accident or negligence, I would probably find a way to forgive because _she_ would want me to. But, if someone deliberately took her from me, my demons would have free reign. And I can safely say that I'd do my best to make the person(s) responsible endure the most horrific pain I can devise. But I wouldn't kill them. I'd make them live with the permanent pain I'd inflict.

Posted by: Z. Hendirez at February 15, 2005 06:25 PM (djkkI)

8 I like to think of myself as a soft-hearted, forgiving person. In an extreme example like you provided, Helen, I'd probably forgive the person. After I ripped his lungs out and set them on fire. His screams of agony would probably make me feel sorry for him, though. Seriously, though, forgiveness is an issue that I find myself dealing with quite a bit. Currently I'm working on forgiving my oldest child for totally breaking my heart. As well as myself for not (as a parent) preventing the circumstances resulting in said heartbreak. That said, I've also decided that life is too short to remain bitter and angry. For better or worse, life goes on. If forgiveness is what I need to do to move on, so much the better. So, did they finally come to snuff the Rooster? (sorry, that was bad)

Posted by: diamond dave at February 16, 2005 01:52 AM (xFAua)

9 Forgive & Forget Somewhat prolix but interesting insights. Thanks to the transitional sentences I was able to get through. By the way, it sounds as if you need to pluck 'The Rooster'. I like your writing. Kirk - from Texas

Posted by: Kirk at February 16, 2005 01:53 AM (fEgaD)

10 My son died of cancer last August. Now all I have left is my wonderful daughter and my lovely grandson. If anyone would ever hurt them, I would track them down to the ends of the earth and personally end their life. If I didn't, I would not be able to go on living myself. Wow, such deep and dark thoughts about how deep love runs.

Posted by: irene at February 16, 2005 07:22 AM (NFaeA)

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