Five years of forgiveness
I am walking fast behind him as he casually strides across Freedom Park.
I am walking as fast as my short legs will take me but,
I am having trouble catching him.
I can see his head and back as he strides through crowds of people.
Even when I start to lose sight of him,
I can hear his laughter, his voice and smell his after shave.
I start to run because he is going so fast and
I really want to catch up to him.
My heart beat quickens as I realize I am losing him.
I start to get so angry because, how could he leave me?
Tears begin to cloud my vision and just as I stop running, He scoops me off the ground in loving embrace.
“Why you so mad Kelley, baby?”
As He sets me down again, he starts to laugh.
My father throws his head back laughing.
His laughter teeters on the verge of uncontrollable
Suddenly he stops to lean in and say:
“I’m dead you know”
——————————————————————————————————————
I wake up from this dream and instantly realize how ridiculous it is to hold grudges against dead people.
POP + KNP (1985ish)
This sharing mentions death, grief, intimate partner violence and themes related to sadness, loss, + change.
Shared understandings
kintsukuroi: the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. As a philosophy, it treats breakage and repair as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise.
grief: intense sorrow, especially caused by someone's death.
forgiveness:a conscious, deliberate decision to release feelings of resentment or vengeance towards a person who has harmed you, regardless of whether they actually deserve your forgiveness.
Post separation spousal abuse: the ongoing, willful pattern of intimidation of a former intimate partner including legal abuse, economic abuse, threats and endangerment to children, isolation, discrediting, harassment and stalking.
Spark
Interdependence, Abundance and Forgiveness [episode of the Emergent Strategy Podcast]
Happy Birthday Daughter [a short voicemail from my dad]
How to Honor The Anniversary of Your Loved One’s Death [ a blog post by Jamila Reddy]
A Tribute to the life of Paul O. Palmer II [08/13/1953- 08/01/2021]
Where were you on 8/1/2021?
I was quietly moving into a new apartment outside of NYC, only telling three of my closest friends. A vacation gave me the opportunity to feel a sense of peace and safety that had evaded me for nearly 3 years. No one really warned me about post separation spousal abuse. Even with a house I had expected to return to, I took the leap with the person I love + our children to make a life somewhere we could all feel safe.
In the midst of boxes, I missed a flurry of calls from my mother and brother. He was gone. I wasn’t surprised. I had been waiting. All summer really. I sighed a bit of relief. A few days earlier, my dad and I closed out this iteration of our life together with a phone call. He said he was ready. He gave me the apology I had secretly been wanting my entire life. I told him for the first time, all was forgiven. Over the last five years, this experience of losing a parent has been a portal to explore what it means to forgive + remember + release it. Much like the japanese practice of kintsukuroi, I am mending the cracks and breaks that our life together held through forgiveness, compassion and honoring.
When an Ancestor Emerges
When my dad died I was so lovingly supported by my then therapist, Dr. Faith Troupe. For a long time, it often felt like I just hadn’t spoken to my dad in a long time. Because I did not see him dying, I would suddenly remember and be thrown into a spiral of grief for a person I had a complex history with. We spent a lot of time in conflict. Dr. Faith encouraged me to take some time to deeply grieve not just my father’s passing, but also the unspoken hope that our lives together would hold forgiveness + reconciliation + repair. He was gone and much was unresolved and tender. He also deserved rest and reverence for all he added to my life, even when my feelings felt so complex. I appreciate her for helping me to honor his transition and what it meant for our new relationship. She is also now an ancestor and her reminders about all the possibilities of forgiveness live in my heart and mind. May she also rest in peace.
I have spent time writing about my dad, crying, laughing, dreaming, remembering. I sing Tracey Chapman to him. I tell him how much I love him when I see a hawk. I blow a kiss whenever I drive past a Ford Mustang.
Sometimes it is hard to forgive people when they are alive because they won’t choose new patterns and those patterns keeping hurting, disconnecting, and harming. My dad and I had many difficulties moments in our life together. I struggled to feel like he enjoyed being my dad. In our last conversation, my dad said he never knew if he could be the father I deserved. But there were many moments, lost between hurt feelings and broken promises that Paul really showed up for me. Moments when I think he may not have known the impact or remembered. So I remember for us both. Five years has given me time to start saving moments that come up when I am grateful for the father I had and the love he showed in the ways he could.
Things I feel so grateful for
Thank you for surprising me with my first car. I was being such a terrible teenager that day. Moody and insolent. Thank you for helping me find reliable transportation for my whole life and teaching me how to look for a reliable vehicle.
Thank you for leaving your job in the middle of the work day to come trade cars after I got stalled out in my first manual. Too overwhelmed by the honking cars in a busy intersection you drove like only you can to reach me in record time.
Palmer had been admitted to the NICU. I was inconsolable. Thank you for sitting with me as I loudly wept. You said nothing, just sat beside me with your hand on my shoulder, tv volume too loud and pretended to look for something to watch.
Custody swaps were getting volatile. I told you I didn’t feel safe. Thank you for driving across town, parking in a hidden spot, staying on speaker phone, following me home, coming back later with pancakes and watching netflix (too loudly) long enough to make sure I ate.
Thank you for being the first person to tell me I didn’t deserve what was happening at the time. Until that moment I think a part of me did think I deserved it and your words were a life raft in unsteady waters.
Thank you for teaching me to drive. I don’t drive fast like you but you definitely made sure I know how. I have driven a 40 ft bus from SC to NY, even through the Bronx. I had to remember all the advice you gave me in our first lessons on Nightingale Lane and Tuckahoe Rd. I couldn’t have done it without you Duke.
You received a group text, outing me as a lesbian. A 30+ year secret now revealed. Thank you for calling me and keeping it brief: “Baby, you know I don’t care. I still love you. I’m sorry this is happening.”
I was a new mom, feeling isolated on weekends. Thank you for our mostly quiet walks on Friday mornings, and baby holding after that reminded me I wasn’t alone and gave me a chance for some cat naps.
Thank you for coming to my book signings, every time.
Thank you for quitting cigarettes when I asked you. It was the first time I ever felt like you chose our family over yourself and it gave me so many funny memories of you as a grandfather.
I told you that I kept getting texts that my van was going to be taken in the night leaving me stranded with two kids under 5. Thank you for texting me a few days later to say: “ Give him that van. We found you a car.” Thank you for delivering it with new carseats and a reminder that “one monkey don’t stop the show, Kelley.”
Thank you for driving to Walmart in the middle of the night to find a new Paci for Palmer when his original was left at a seafood restaurant during a beach vacation.
Thank you for calling me every year on my birthday, even when I wasn't speaking to you.
I am certain as time passes, my list will also grow.
Slowly a loving, constant and supportive ancestor emerged.
Since 8/1/2021, Paul Oneill Palmer II (aka Duke) has sent me mechanics, working vehicles, emergency roadside providers and activated long stored knowledge in moments when I would have called him. I thought I heard him call my name in the forest one morning when I was crying because I missed home so much. I see him in my kids faces, their humor and dance moves. I am remembering that he hasn’t left me at all.
