Something you have to forgive yourself for.
When I was young, I mean really young, my older brother and I were best friends.
Once, as we waited for the school bus together beside the playground fence, I told him that I hated one of the kids in my class.
Why? he asked. Because she said she hates me, I told him. My logic seemed infallible. He old me that wasn’t a good reason to hate someone, at all.
He has struggled in his life. With the risk of saying too much that isn’t mine to say, I’ll stop there. But oh, how I love him.
Once we were both in junior high and my raging hormones turned me into a raging bitch, I took the worst of it out on him. I was horrible. I was mean.
We were best friends, and then we were enemies. Later in life, we moved in together, and that is what healed our relationship (aside: he was the best roomate I’ve had). We watched movies and got high together.
But he’s tormented, hopefully moreso back then than he is now. I always felt that my horrible teenaged behaviour somehow sabotaged us from being closer than we are now. I’ve wondered if he’s felt different than the rest of us because of the spiteful words I yelled at him, only to turn around and be kind to my younger brother. I’ve wondered if I was part of the reason…
I don’t know what he’d say if I said all this to him. I suppose I fear that he would agree with me. If I could go back, if I could re-do my entire life, that’s the only thing I would change.
I got drunk at one of my parents’ parties this summer and bombarded him with hugs. I told him how much I loved him. But I’ve never, ever apologized for the past.
Maybe you would say that family doesn’t need to, maybe it’s all forgiven with the passage of time. But hell, I’ve sure hung onto it for all these years.
(This was a hard one.)