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What’s something you’ve forgiven but haven’t forgotten?

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  Daily WordPress Writing Prompt: What’s something you’ve forgiven but haven’t forgotten?

There are some things in life that you learn to forgive, not necessarily because someone apologized or made things right, but because carrying that hurt around becomes exhausting.

For me, one of those things involves my family and what happened after my mom passed away.

Losing my mom in September 2020 was one of the most devastating experiences of my life. When you lose someone who has always been a part of your world, everything changes. The holidays feel different. Family gatherings feel different. Even the places that once felt like home don’t quite feel the same anymore.

But what I wasn’t prepared for was how much more would change after she was gone.

Not long after my mom passed, my dad moved a female “friend” into the family home.

At the time, he explained that she was there to help care for my sister, who has cerebral palsy, and her daughter. They were living with my parents, and since my dad was still working, having someone around to help apparently made sense.

Except that this friend quickly became his girlfriend.

And a few years later, his wife.

Now, I understand that everyone grieves differently. Some people need solitude. Some people throw themselves into work. Some people need companionship because the silence of losing someone they’ve spent their lives with is simply too much to bear.

And maybe that’s what my dad needed.

My sisters and I were grieving the loss of our mother, while my dad was finding happiness in a new relationship.

I don’t think there’s necessarily anything wrong with finding love again after loss. Life doesn’t stop just because someone we love is gone.

But that doesn’t mean the way everything unfolded didn’t hurt.

Because it wasn’t just about my dad moving on. It was about everything that happened afterward.

My sister, who had been living in that home with her daughter, was eventually told she needed to move out and figure things out for herself.

The reasoning?

“Her dad won’t always be there to help her.“

And while I understand the importance of independence, it’s a complicated thing when you’re talking about someone who lives with a disability and has relied on family support.

Especially when the person who had always been there to help was suddenly no longer there.

Then came the house.

After my mom passed, my dad had promised that the family home would eventually go to my sister.

That promise meant something.

It represented stability. Security. A piece of the life our family had built together.

But that promise didn’t last.

The house was sold.

My dad moved with his wife and retired.

And just like that, another piece of the life we knew was gone.

I think that’s the part people sometimes overlook about grief.

You don’t always lose just one thing when someone dies.

Sometimes you lose the traditions.

Sometimes you lose the family dynamics.

Sometimes you lose the place you called home.

And sometimes you lose the version of people you thought you knew.

I’ve had a lot of time to process everything. I’ve had time to be angry, hurt, confused, and disappointed.

And I’ve also had time to recognize that my dad is his own person. He deserves happiness. 

He deserves companionship. He deserves to live his life.

But my sister deserved stability, too.

And my sisters and I deserved some understanding while we were trying to navigate a world without our mom.

I can accept that my dad made decisions he felt were right for his life without agreeing with those decisions.

I can wish him happiness while still acknowledging the pain those choices caused.

And I can forgive him without rewriting the story to make it easier to swallow.

That’s the thing about forgiveness.

It doesn’t erase the memories.

It doesn’t undo the disappointment.

It doesn’t mean you suddenly understand every decision someone made.

And it certainly doesn’t mean you have to pretend it didn’t change the way you see them.

For me, forgiveness means accepting that I cannot change what happened.

I cannot bring my mom back.

I cannot bring back the family home.

I cannot change the promises that were broken or the choices that were made.

But I can choose what I carry forward.

I can build my own home, create my own traditions, and cherish the family and memories I have today.

And maybe that’s one of the hardest lessons adulthood teaches us.

Sometimes the people we love disappoint us.

Sometimes family doesn’t look the way we imagined it would.

And sometimes forgiveness isn’t about fixing a relationship.

Sometimes it’s simply about finding peace with a chapter of your life that you wish had been written differently.

I’ve forgiven. But I haven’t forgotten.

And I don’t think I have to.

Because remembering doesn’t mean I’m holding on to anger.

Sometimes it just means that what happened mattered.

And so did the people who were hurt along the way.

With love,
Lex 

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