Forgiveness

A friend shared a blog post from the New York Times with me today, titled "The Widow's Doctor Visit." I found it thought-provoking, primarily because the doctor who penned it spoke about the need for forgiveness when a cancer patient dies. Spouses and children require forgiveness, and, he says at the end of the piece, perhaps he does, too.

It's refreshing to see the humanity and connection in an oncologist. They're not known for emotional accessibility, presumably due to the nature of their work. Sandy and I found the oncologists we worked with -- both at Group Health and when we met with doctors for second opinions -- to be distant, falsely cheerful sometimes and other times simply disconnected. We noticed it a little bit during her initial cancer treatment in 2006 and 2007, but it was much more obvious after she had metastatic cancer. They know it's a death sentence; they've seen every other patient with metatstatic disease die. I'd probably make an effort not to get too attached, too emotionally involved, as well. And Sandy and I were optimistic in a way that they would certainly have seen as unrealistic and probably unnerving. Nurses, on the other hand, were easy to bond with, perhaps because they aren't the ones who have to deliver the bad news, nor the ones making the treatment decisions or recommendations that will ultimately prove futile.

But the bit that got me thinking was about the idea of forgiveness. I'd already been chewing on it, recognizing regrets about ancient arguments or times I disappointed Sandy. And of course I felt responsible for her illness and her death. (I say "of course," though it hadn't occurred to her. We attended a lecture at Gilda's Club about how to keep a relationship strong while dealing with cancer. One of the things the presenter mentioned was that partners of cancer patients feel responsible, because it's their job to take care of their spouses. Sandy scribbled a note to me: "Do you feel that way?" I wrote back "Of course." She was shocked; I was surprised she hadn't known that. I feel responsible for everything; why wouldn't I feel responsible for her health?)

I knew that I carried guilt about Sandy's illness, but was surprised in her last days and after she died to learn that many others did, too. So many people have confessed to me that they should have done something or other, implying that had they done it, she'd have lived. Or they've shared with me how guilty they felt about not being there for her at some point or not doing more for her or any number of things.

This is one of the photos we took to document her weight loss
each month when she was in the 20/20 program. I'm drawn
to the photo today because this is the shirt I pulled from the
drawer this morning and wore much of the day. It's a cozy, comfy,
well-worn shirt, good for when I need to be gentle with myself.

Life is a balancing act, with relationships in flux. The people we care about compete with all the other people and commitments and stresses in our lives; we accidentally hurt or neglect people we love all the time, and if we're lucky, we're able to make it up to them. Death puts a halt to that process, and I've discovered that even though I had the opportunity to apologize to Sandy and to make things right, even though our relationship was strong and she knew how much I loved her as she died, old wrongs haunt me. Arguments that were once resolved echo in my head and I flinch again at the pain I caused her. When I'm insecure about anything else, times I failed Sandy come knocking on my psyche, reminders that I am deeply flawed and that I can't do a thing about those missteps anymore.

And so I've come to realize that much of the journey of grief is about the path to forgiveness. Forgiving ourselves, forgiving the person who died, forgiving the universe for the injustice of it all. I've never been very good at accepting injustice and I've not had much success forgiving myself. So this journey is a challenging one for me. I want Sandy back for so many reasons and in so many ways, but honestly, the thing I fantasize about the most is being able to make up for every time I hurt her.

Since I read the blog post this morning, the concept of forgiveness has appeared in Facebook entries I read from random friends, bits I heard on the radio, conversations I had with people about completely different things. Forgiveness is apparently the word of the day, the lesson I'm supposed to learn right now. It's going to take some practice, but I've long since forgiven Sandy for every time she hurt me, so maybe it's possible for me to turn that forgiveness around and share a little of it with myself.