Ten Years Ago - No Words, Only Forgiveness

Ten years ago tomorrow, my 9-month-old granddaughter, Kitty, was buried.  

Ten years.  

On this anniversary, as I've reflected on her short life and on her tragic death, I have no words.  What can I say? What message do I have to lift others, to provide a smidgen of hope?  As I opened my blog page this morning, I found this draft, started some time ago, and it gave me the words I need today - for myself and to share with you.
                                                          
Recently, at a weekend church service, our deacon did the preaching.  Once every four weeks, he is present at all of the weekend Masses to deliver the homily.  It provides a well-deserved break for our popular - and therefore, extremely busy - pastor.  I look forward to these weekends.  The gospel message comes through our deacon in ways I seem to be able to grasp, cling to and actually remember!  This weekend's sermon did not disappoint.

Forgiveness was the theme.  He spoke on the parable of Peter and Jesus interacting about forgiveness in Matthew 18:21-22:
"Then Peter came to Jesus and said, 'Lord, how often shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him?  Up to seven times?  'Jesus said to him, 'I do not say to you "up to seven times" but up to seventy times seven.' "
 
It was not so much the words, but rather this exercise that gave me pause.  Our deacon asked us to think of a small object that we treasure dearly, close our eyes, imagine the object in our hand and grasp it in as tight a fist as possible ... hold it tight ... clutch it ... until he told us to slowly open our fingers.  This part was easy.  I was wearing my locket with Kitty inside, so I was fortunate to actually be holding my chosen object.  While everyone sat in the pews with fists closed tight, our deacon continued talking for a few minutes before asking us to slowly open our fingers.

How did it feel?  Numb?  Painful?  Achy?  Was your hand discolored?  Could you open it immediately?  He likened the physical feelings of our hands to the inner pain of not being able to forgive.  I compared it to how I felt after Kitty died ... numb, in pain, not being to open up, emotionally bruised.  I ached.  I hurt.  Fortunately, I never struggled to forgive.

By the grace of God, being able to forgive was never an issue at the time of Kitty's death.  Yes, I was devastated and still am to this day.  On occasion, I feel sadness or am emotional for no apparent reason.  But, I have been able to forgive - from day one.  I imagine walking in my son-in-law's shoes and cannot fathom his numbness, pain, aching, the discoloration of his heart.  To this day, he has not completely opened up.

This homily delivered several years ago, and the blog I discovered today in my drafts offer the most meaningful message I can share on the 10th anniversary of Kitty's death.  

To move forward on your grief path, to find your way towards hope and healing, you must first and foremost forgive.  When we are able to forgive someone else who may be responsible for our grandchild's - or another loved one's - death, when we are able to forgive ourselves for anything we may be struggling with, when we can forgive God for allowing our loss to happen, then we are helping ourselves.  It is then that we can begin to heal and to find hope.

​Forgiveness has been my strength for the last ten years - I pray it sustain me for ten more!

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