Forgive. Love. Live.

My stepfather died last Friday night. I haven’t seen him in 35 years, and I talked to him on the telephone just once in the past 20 years. That awkward and difficult conversation took place a couple of weeks ago when I found out he was very sick and near death. When I heard his days on earth were limited, I knew right away that I would call him. But, this was not an easy call to make.

You see, my stepfather was very cruel to me as a kid – emotionally and physically. He battled alcoholism, and his struggles turned into my (and my family’s) struggles. His pain turned into my pain. I could list many examples of the cruelty, but what’s the point? I don’t think he deserves that and it would serve no purpose. Quite honestly, I don’t think I can bear to even write it here.

I will, however, point out that the pain was absolutely unbearable at times. One of the first emotions I recall having as a very young boy was that of fear. I was afraid of him. Mostly, I was afraid I would never feel a father’s love. It was absolutely unbearable for a very long time.

I didn’t see it back then, but the fear and pain caused me to run away from my emotions. It led to me, many years later as an adult, nearly losing my soul. Love is at the core of the soul. No one should ever lose that. And, I almost did. I was THIS close.

So after more than 40 years I stopped running. I got back to my soul, to the love that was present in my earliest days on this planet. We’re all born with it. I had it. But in a flash it was gone, and I lived with that for a long time. On the surface, things were absolutely fine. Inside, though, my soul cried every night.  And just when I thought I couldn’t take any more, a power greater than all of us grabbed me, held me, and whispered to me, “It’s time to stop running. Get back to your soul.” The attempted escape was finally over.

I don’t have words to describe the power behind that love. But, that love definitely surfaced when with trembling hands I dialed the phone number to my stepfather’s hospital room. That love sparkled when he answered and I was able to talk to him. That love shined when I told him I didn’t hate him. That love glowed when I told him about my three wonderful sons. And for a brief instant, only one instant, I think his love peeked at me when he said he was really happy I called. It was nothing more than a glimpse into his soul, but I know I felt love that I had so desperately wanted as a child. It was love I so badly want and need even as an adult.

We talked a bit more, and I wished him well. I told him I’d pray for him. I told him I hoped he prayed to a higher power, to God. When we ended the call I cried like I was five years old again. And when I first heard he died last Friday, I collapsed to my knees and cried even harder. I felt a powerful wave rush through me. I believe it was God washing away my pain, finally and forever. I believe it was God washing away his pain, finally and forever.

Sting wrote a song entitled, “Why Should I Cry for You?” He wrote it for his father after he passed away. I have listened to that song many times in the days since my stepfather died. I’ve also answered some of the questions that the lyrics pose. It’s helped me come to grips with my past, and my present.

Sometimes I see your face.

The stars seem to lose their place.

Why must I think of you?

Why must I?

Why should I?

Why should I cry for you?

I cry for you because I forgive you. I cry for you because I believe your soul is also full of love. I cry for you because I honestly believe your soul is now free and its love will surface, sparkle, shine and glow.

Underneath it all you were a human being. That’s why I think of you. That’s why I cry for you. That’s why I love you.

Eternal Love Always Finds a Way

I received one of the greatest gifts of my life today at 9:16 a.m. The unexpected half minute of bliss came in the form of a voicemail message. The message was from someone I don't even know. The person who left the message didn't intend to leave it for me.

Or did she?

When my cell phone rang earlier today I looked at the caller ID and didn't recognize the number, so I didn't answer. Shortly afterward, I saw that the caller left a voicemail message, and I listened. What I heard over the next 30 seconds nearly dropped me to my knees. In a grandmotherly voice sweeter than any tea I've ever sipped on a hot summer day, the caller left the following message. I must note that these typed words don't even come close to capturing the joyful tone behind it all.

She said:

"I just had to call you to thank you for the card, the beautiful card. And, I want to repeat what you said to me, because it's my turn to say thank you for being my friend for so many years. It's always meant a lot to me. And, especially the hug I get with it. Alright? I love you, honey. And thank you, and have a good day. Bye bye."

My heart jumped. I felt flushed and physically lightheaded. And I cried.

The voice sounded exactly like that of my late Gram, who will have been gone for three years on June 2. I think of Gram often. Very often. Lately, however, as the anniversary of her death approaches, Gram's smell, smile and voice permeate me. And right there, unexpectedly left on my phone, was a message from a voice strikingly similar to Gram's. It blew me away.

While I knew immediately that the stranger's voicemail message wasn't really intended for me, I knew immediately that it really was. I know it was. I just know it.

I dialed the number from which the message came, and an answering machine greeted me. I tried another time or two throughout the day and also connected with the answering machine. Still later, I tried again. I had to speak to this woman. Finally, she did answer, and the next five minutes were even more blissful for me than the 30 seconds during which I first listened to the voicemail message.

I told the woman I received a message from her that I'm quite certain wasn't meant for me, and I wanted to let her know so she could call the person for whom it was. She laughed and apologized for bothering me, but I stopped her before she could finish her sentence. I thanked her for bothering me! I thanked her for leaving a message much like those my Gram used to leave for me. I thanked her for making me think of my beautiful Gram more vividly than I have in the three years since she's been gone.

Helen proceeded to tell me how kind I was. She then asked, "Do you know how old I am?" I told her I had no idea, and she replied, "I'm 104." Wow! This gentle soul then explained to me how she has outlived most of her friends, so she has to make new ones. Did I mention yet how blissful this conversation was? I was humbled to be her new friend, if only for a few minutes.

Helen and I spoke a bit longer and bid each other a very fond farewell. I told her I will never erase her voicemail message, and if she ever wanted to call me again she is most welcome to. I'd love to talk to her anytime she wants.

As I prepare to head off to bed tonight I am left feeling grateful for a sweet living soul who found a way to connect me to my Gram's sweet eternal soul. One of the last things I told Gram before she passed away was, "We'll always be connected, Gram." And she replied, "I know we will."

Yes, Gram, we are connected. We all are. Now I have proof.

To Sons From Fathers

To my boys ...

I've been thinking a lot the past few months about how quickly you're growing up. Sure, you still have so far to go and grow, but I see you changing, pushing, maturing, becoming independent, making good decisions (as well as some terrible ones) and trying to figure out who you really are and how you fit in.

I love you so much and want to protect you so badly. I want to shelter you from this oh-so-harsh existence. Yes, it can be a cruel world--a world full of bullies with inferiority complexes; egotistical coaches who doubt; girls who will break your heart; and certain and serious consequences that accompany alcohol and drug use.

But I can't do it. I cannot protect you from these things. I cannot shelter you from life. From the bullies, from the coaches, from the girls, and from the pressure you will feel from others to use alcohol and drugs. Your experiences, especially those of the painful variety, will shape you as much as my own actions and words will shape you. You need it all. That's just the way it works. It's a plan designed by someone much greater than all of us. Everything--and I place great emphasis on everything--shapes you into the person you are meant to become.

Those painful things that shape you often also require action on your part. That's where the growth really kicks in. That's how you build spiritual muscle. It's how you mold character. The rewards await.

When you see someone bullying, do what you can to stop it. 

Is it fine for a coach's doubt to break you just because it hurts? No! You work harder, and you prove him wrong because you are good enough. You are better than enough. 

Should you not date for fear of a painful break-up? Don't be silly. Reach out and offer love with all the passion you can muster, because the right love will reach back when it's time. 

And for God's sake when you get pressured about alcohol and drugs, use the moment to find courage in your soul. As I noted above, think of the certain and serious consequences. I felt those pressures. I know the difficulties associated with saying yes and with saying no. Trust me on this one. Walk away. It's a softer path. You won't be alone. Someone will follow. They won't all follow, but someone will.

Throughout life you have to stand up, show up, face every situation head-on, pray for strength and acceptance, take action when necessary, and walk through it. Process it. Feel it. Really feel it. Even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts. Go through it all. Grow through it all.

And guess what? I will be with you the entire way. No, I can't protect you from everything. But, know that I will hold your hand. I will feel your heart. I will keep you as close as you will let me. I will offer my experience. And when you don't need that, I will simply offer my strength, and I will listen.

In most blogs I seem to find my way back to Gram. As I've told you many times she was always there for me when I needed her. Always! Gram used to keep a broom on a hook outside near the back door of her house. Behind the broom was another small hook, on which she kept the key to the back door of the house. I recall many times going to Gram's house late at night, many times unexpected and just needing someone. I always found that key, and inside I always found Gram. My safe haven.

I don't have a key hidden behind a broom hanging on our house. But the door will always be open. I will never let you down. My hand will always be warm. My heart will always be in tune with yours. And my love will never waver. 

Go. And grow!