by Isabelle Esteves

Created on: November 11, 2009   Last Updated: April 11, 2010

Forgiveness is one of the hardest gifts to give. I have held onto my hurt and my pain and my anger for so long that it has become almost a part of me. Pulling it out by the roots and throwing it away doesn't come easy.

For the first half of my life I nurtured my anger and my pain. I knew it well, it was something that wasn't always there but every so often would rear its ugly head and make me feel like that hurt and vulnerable child again.

I felt very sorry for myself. I asked all those why questions, why me? Why did these things have to happen to me? Why wasn't I like everyone else? Dragging all the old garbage up to rehash time and again gave me a feeling of control, one I had never had as a child.

When I was 34, my father was diagnosed with leukemia. He had a virulent kind and his time was going to be short. Suddenly he was no longer the man who had terrorized parts of my childhood. The alcoholic who had a loud voice and a quick hand was confined to bed a mere shadow of his former self. Our roles were now reversed, I was the one who had the power, the control and instead of making me feel powerful, it made me very sad.

In those quiet days as I sat by his bedside and brought him his meals and helped him to get out of bed for short walks I came to some sort of a turning point. I wasn't angry anymore; I was just sad and a little frightened. This man who had played such a pivotal role in making me into the woman I was today was going to be leaving and I wasn't sure that was what I wanted at all.

I spent a lot of time looking back over the events of my life, both the good and the bad. I tried in that moment to understand what had happened to him to make him the way he was. I came to appreciate all the things about him that were good, that wonderful Irish smile of his, those twinkling hazel eyes, the voice that had so often yelled at me had also bragged to anyone who would listen about how successful I had become. He was as we all are, a complex person, two people really the charming and smiling jokester and the violent angry drunk.

In those days, before he died I forgave him for the times he had not been the father he should have been and thanked God for the times he was a good man. I forgave my mother for not protecting me when she should have and most of all I forgave myself for the feelings I had so long held inside.

It has been a long time now since I lost my father and the place he held in my heart will always be filled with the good memories and the bad memories don't control me anymore. Forgiveness is a wonderful gift; it blesses the forgiven and the forgiver.

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