Lately I was thrown into a hurtful situation, on top of an already stressful time in my life.
My parents are 84 & 88. They are on their way out. They are dying. My days are filled with potty buckets, hospital visits, dementia, frustrations, and tears. But there's also deep love, some much needed laughter, and an honor so intense it cuts into my heart, reshaping it forever into something wiser and kinder.
In the middle of all this, I faced three deaths. A long-time family friend and two schoolmates left us. Then, like salt in a wound someone took offense at me for having the nerve to attend one of the funerals. They said I came in a "rattletrap car" and tried to cut in front of them in the funeral procession.
My first reaction, upon hearing this, was anger. The "me" from years ago would have openly confronted the whispers and found their source. I often fought before I thought. I'm of heavy Scottish ancestry, and the cells in my body still scream the Scottish motto, "No one harasses me with impunity!" That is my core, my knee jerk reaction, but I've grown; I've learned to hold off on my response. To think first and act later.
People change.
My second reaction was pain. I cried when I found myself alone. I cried in the shower. I cried in my car. I cried while watching my mother sleep. I guess life already had me raw, but rejection hurts! It hurts even more than nature doing her job and transitioning your parents to the next plane. It hurts even more than the young, untimely death of a classmate whom I admired but didn't speak with often. Probably because both of those are nothing personal. Life is just that way. But the pain of unprovoked and unnecessary insults, the pain of rejection is so personal and cut me to my core. We could all uplift each other and help each other when things are rough. But some of us choose instead to kick our fellows when they are down, to pour salt in wounds, to try to make ourselves taller by standing on the people we have beaten down. And that wholly unnecessary pain cuts deeper to me than the pain we all must face together.
But...
I must admit...
People change.
My third response was logic. Everyone I turned to for advice seemed to sing the same sad song, "Just ignore it." "It will die down." And, saddest of all, "People never change." My life and my logic reject this well-meaning advice. I see the fallacy in it. I have found from taking such advice in the past that if you "just ignore it" the pain still lingers. It may "die down" for a while, but it will raise its ugly head, in the same form or another one, later. And, most of all, I know that people DO change because I have changed so much. I used to be a racist. I used to be a homophobic. I used to be a completely different person than the "me" I am today. Maybe not many people change, but some people change and a few change drastically, and everyone has the potential for that change. To me, that's one of the most beautiful things about Humanity- how adaptable we are, how much we can grow and learn. You never know when others are ready to change (and people certainly change at their own pace and in their own time) but in order to help your fellows grow and learn, you have to look at each one of them with hope. You have to see their potential and carry on as though they, like you, are working to be a better person.
So, it is in the spirit of human potential that I do not, "Just ignore it." Instead, I choose to shed light on this pain. I'll start with an offer of heartfelt apology to anyone I offended by attending Brent's funeral. I never expected that my attendance would in any way add to your pain. I apologize if it seemed that I tried to usurp their place in the procession. Maybe I shifted out of park early and my car moved just a bit, maybe I saw a gap and thought it was the end of the procession when it was not, but I assure you, I did not try to jump in front of anyone in rank or in line. My intent at every second, was to be the last car in that procession, because I knew I might choose to leave the graveside first. I wanted to park in one of the last spots so that I would be guaranteed to get out early if I decided to. I wasn't going there to socialize, I was going to say goodbye, and that is what I did. I said goodbye to a man who didn't exclude me. I said goodbye to a man who would have been 100% okay with me attending his funeral.
But I think he'd also be okay with this apology.
There are those that will rage at me for apologizing. They will say, "This is not who you are!" To them I say, "It is not who I was, but it is indeed who I am now."
Brent understands. I could have gone to the empty lot where the high school is and said goodbye. I could have gone to the playground at our elementary school, which was the first place I ever saw him, and said goodbye. I could've said, "See you later, Brent," from the chair where I watch my aging parents, and I feel he would've got the message. He would've heard me. He is now everywhere. I did not need to go to a funeral, and I truly wish I had not.
As for my "rattletrap car". Sorry, but I won't apologize for her. I am sorry if her presence (or mine) disturbed anyone, but I won't apologize for the car, exactly, because I like my car. Her name is Bridget Wendy Ninja. My grandson and I named her and we've made a lot memories in that car. We sing and tell stories in there. We go cool places. She gets us, or sometimes just me, from point A to point B, rather dependably. She's got a sweet sound system, and the a.c. works great! And, as an added bonus, she lets me know which people look down on me for deciding that the riches I wanted in life were experiences and relationships rather than money and nice cars. She's like a "watch your back" alert. She's pretty awesome that way.
Maybe one day the person I offended will also decide that life experiences and relationships are the ideal riches. Maybe someday that person will accept my apology and not pour salt in the next person's wounds. That is my hope and my prayer; that is my reason for writing this.
People do change.
