We are all fellow travelers

I was reminded how forgiveness changed me. I had two friends contact me after reading my blog post The Gentle Dance of Nature. In this post I described the quiet, gentle nature of my dad. One of my friends I have known since we were in the crib room at church, and the other since high school. They both said when they read this piece about my father's gentle spirit, they did not know who I was talking about. " Judy, I knew your dad, and he scared me." They echoed each other.

I know exactly what they meant. He scared me too. The man we all remember was not in control of himself, and that is scary to small children and teens alike. My mother, though not an alcoholic, was not always in control of herself, or her children. When the adults in the home create a situation where the children need to be the adults, that does not make for a safe environment. I carried an enormous amount of anger towards this man, that felt like a cement wall inside of me. The anger was justified, but it was also toxic.

Over decades, I have learned who we think we are overshadows who we really are. Living in the distractions in life, the excitement of vacation, a new car, working, parenting, the Black Tie Gala, it's easy to do this. We hardly have any time nor desire to really understand what circumstances went into creating the world that made me, me, and you, you. And what made my dad, my dad?

Years after both he and I were sober, I went to the mausoleum to see where my two brothers Ricky and Tommy were buried. Having given birth to twins, I was feeling the need for family connection and they were family. We were not one of those families that visited cemeteries so I had no idea where I was going. I was a bit nervous, as I pulled into the circle drive, the White Chapel Mausoleum looming large to the left. Ricky had died as a toddler after drinking weed killer. 22 years later my 14 year old little brother fell from the roof of our three story home. He died three days later from his injuries. I felt vulnerable as I went into the marble building, wondering what this was going to be like. I ended up learning three things.

First I did not even know my older brother's real name. I just knew him as Ricky. So I assumed his name was Richard Ryckman. As I sat in the office at the mausoleum, the elderly gentlemen who was helping me locate my brothers said there was no Richard Ryckman in the baby section, but there was a Robert George Ryckman. Of course. Named after my grandfather, Robert and my dad George. That made sense. So my older brother was Robert George Ryckman, not Richard Ryckman. Later my mom told me he was called Ricky because there were so many Roberts in the family, by the time he came around, the family nicknamed him Ricky, inspired from the last name. I did not know that.

The second thing I learned after a long loud walk through the mausoleum. The sound of our shoes echoed throughout the marble halls as a gentlemen guided me up the stairs and around to the back of the mausoleum. The enormous marble halls, and soaring ceilings lay still and silent, prior to my arrival. It was not lost on me it would be quiet now with the exception of the scuffing sounds we were making with each step. The sound reverberated across the vast space, echoing throughout the place announcing our presence. I quickly modified my walk, trying to walk lightly, pretending that pulling my feet up out of my shoes will make my shoes quieter. It did not work. This kind of place just makes me so aware of my very presence. I silently apologized to the souls for disturbing their peace. I was grateful for the large area rugs so my movements through the sacred spaces weren't so obvious. Finally we turned the corner and stood together facing the baby area of the mausoleum. Before us was a wall of both marked and unmarked spots in the wall. All of them only large enough for the coffin of a three year old or younger. Stuffed animals and flowers in every state of being were lovingly placed around the area. He counted down three and over four and both of us just looked at it. I was stunned. " Are you sure this is it?" We both looked ahead with a blank stare. He was sure. "Then why doesn't he have his name and dates on here?" The silence fell heavy. My spirit sank. "Some parents just cannot bring themselves to put the lettering on the grave. It just makes it too final." This revealed to me probably only in part the depth of my parents grief after losing Ricky at 2 1/2 years old. This is the second thing I learned, and it broke my heart.

The third thing I learned after another journey through the marble halls, I found my younger brother, Tommy, in a corner opposite the area we were in for Ricky. I was curious why they did not have them together.

I went home that day and later I asked my dad why they never marked Ricky's grave? His response was as it predicted. It was too much. It made it too final. They just could not do it. But he could do it now, and this conversation and emotional support resulted in a visit to the mausoleum to finally mark his grave.

We were sitting in the sales office of the cemetery waiting for letter sampling. It was a cold winter afternoon but the sunlight streaming into the office was warm and kind. I wondered if the two boys could be brought together at some point. Still curious, I asked my dad why didn't they bury them together? I mean why have them in different areas of the mausoleum? I never expected his answer.

"Because when we lost the first one, we never thought we would lose another." Tears well up in his eyes, and the grief finally let go. Oh my gosh, my poor dad. My heart broke. My third lesson was we never know what another human being carries in their heart.

Over time, as I spoke with him, and my aunt I came to understand my dad grew up in a very strict quaker household. He never touched alcohol even after losing his first wife. The symbolism of burying her in her wedding dress leaves no room for wondering how much he loved her. She died unexpectedly of a heart condition, cardiomyopathy, they thought was controlled. But he stayed strong in spirit. My aunt, his sister, gave me much insight into the man who was my dad. The unresolved grief of losing his first wife, combined with the loss of his first son after marrying again was too much. Alcohol provided a reprieve from the heart break. Having grown up in a home with no alcohol, he would have not known through life experience about the effects of alcoholism on a family. So when my friends knew him he was a lost soul. He was lost in the temporary levity and false grace handed to us by addiction. But addiction never remains a loyal friend. This fine fellow of many forms will always come calling for his due. And it is always more in payment than the loss we originally were trying to escape. He did get sober for a period of time. He was sober about a year before Tommy died, however this loss of now his second son proved too much for his new sobriety. Six months to the day after Tommy died, would have been his 15th birthday, and my dad succumbed to the call of alcohol to numb the pain.

He thankfully found true sobriety 5 years later. He became sober by choice. He saw what he was doing to the family that was alive. His eyes were opened during an intervention in which he chose life. He saw the destruction he was causing, and no matter how far down the scale you have gone, God will catch you.

With time I came to see my dad in a different way. I came to see him as a human being who was also born into this life, life happens, we may get lost, but we all can make a choice to get found again. This is ultimately what he did. And this choice is enough. He could not undo the past. He could ask for forgiveness which he did. He regretted his drinking and all the pain it had caused. Me too. We were one and the same, he and I. Just a generation apart. I could not judge him. He did hurt me. He did scare me. But, God knows I most likely did the same to my own children too. I pray they can see the humanity in all of us, because we all are on the same journey. We are just in different parts of the same journey.

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So forgiveness gives us new eyes. When we can see each other as fellow travelers engaged in different states of awareness, learning and progress, then there is freedom to put down judgement and fear. With these barriers removed we can see another in a soulful way and lend a helping hand. What's your soul story and where are you going? Along your way, who could you help today? These are the questions I want to ask of myself daily. I pray these stories help someone out there find a new set of eyes. I was blind, but now I see. Please God, continue to open my eyes, my heart, and my soul to divine purpose. Thank you for giving me the heart and opportunity to forgive.