PART 15 – Gaylene Asked Whether I Would Ever Forgive My Son Completely, and I Discovered I Was Still Working Out What Forgiveness Meant

Tuesday arrived.

I put on my coat and drove to the bakery.

Gaylene was waiting at our usual table.

She had already ordered coffee.

When she saw me, she raised one hand.

I sat down.

"How's life with the landlord?"

I laughed.

"He's learning."

She smiled.

We ordered something to eat.

Then I told her about the children asking why their parents were sleeping on the couch.

Gaylene listened.

She agreed that I had handled it carefully.

I didn't want the children hearing adult arguments.

They deserved better than that.

We talked about ordinary things.

Then Gaylene became thoughtful.

She looked at me over her coffee cup.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"Do you think you'll ever completely forgive Seth?"

I looked down at my cup.

It was a simple question.

But I didn't have a simple answer.

I had forgiven him in some ways.

I had accepted his apology.

I had welcomed him into my house.

I had continued cooking for him.

But there were moments when I remembered that first night in Aurora.

The little receipt.

The check.

The television turned up too loudly.

Those memories hadn't disappeared.

I told Gaylene that I didn't know.

She nodded.

"I understand."

I stirred my coffee.

"I don't want to spend the rest of my life being angry with my son."

"Of course not."

"But I also don't want to pretend that what happened didn't matter."

Gaylene reached across the table.

"You don't have to."

I looked at her.

She reminded me that forgiveness didn't require me to forget.

It didn't require me to pretend that the treatment had been fair.

And it didn't mean I had to give up every boundary I had finally learned to set.

I sat quietly.

That made sense.

After all, I had spent much of my life believing that being a good mother meant making things easier for my children.

Even when it made things harder for me.

I had cooked.

I had sewn.

I had given money when I could.

I had helped whenever somebody asked.

I never regretted loving my family.

But I was beginning to regret how often I had mistaken silence for kindness.

When I returned home, Seth was in the living room.

He was sorting through some papers.

He looked up.

"How was coffee?"

"Good."

"Did you see Gaylene?"

I smiled.

"Of course."

He nodded.

Then he asked whether she was still upset with him.

I considered the question.

"Gaylene cares about people being treated fairly."

He sighed.

"I know."

I sat down.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then I told him that Gaylene had asked me about forgiveness.

He looked uncomfortable.

"What did you say?"

I told him the truth.

"That I'm still working on it."

He nodded.

I could see disappointment in his expression.

Perhaps he had hoped the apology would settle everything.

Perhaps he thought that once he said he was sorry, the hurt would disappear.

I didn't want him to misunderstand.

"I appreciate your apology, Seth."

He looked at me.

"But I can't promise that I'll never remember what happened."

He nodded slowly.

"That's fair."

I wasn't sure whether he completely understood.

But he didn't argue.

That evening, I worked on a small repair for one of the children.

A button had come loose.

I sat at the kitchen table and fixed it.

The child thanked me.

I smiled.

Then I put the needle away.

The sewing box was beside me.

I opened it to return the thread.

The four old receipts were still inside.

I touched them briefly.

Then I closed the lid.

I didn't need to look at them every day.

I knew what they said.

I knew what they represented.

And I knew that I could love my son without pretending that he had never hurt me.

That was enough for that evening.

Click here to continue reading: PART 16: The News About the Closing Finally Came, and I Realized That Letting Someone Stay Was Different From Giving Up My Home