Teachable Moments

“It’s Hard to Forgive.”

Thomas Wolfe, the American novelist, and a passionate person, died young. But in his journal, he wrote these words, “The deepest search of life, it seems, the thing that is in one way or another central to all living, in one’s search for a father. Not merely the father of his flesh, not merely the father of his lost youth, but the image of strength and wisdom, external to his need and superior to his hunger to which the belief and power of his own life could be united.” *

Expectations. I don’t know how many fathers I have heard them say to their children in my office, “Until you have my full approval of what you are doing with your life, I will not embrace you.” Not much chance there of hugging them and throwing a party.
Where is the hope? It comes when we stop playing the “If I Were God” game. It comes when we stop with the expectations. It comes when we can seek forgiveness or when we give forgiveness.
But the truth is in this story.
Randy Johnson was brought into the hospice one day before his 58th birthday. When Randy was admitted, he was angry, hostile, abrupt, and restless. When he was asleep, he would moan as if something wrong had happened.
When asked if everything was okay, he wouldn't answer. The staff knew that he had some unfinished business that he had to deal with if he was to have a "good death."
His physical signs were rapidly deteriorating, but he wouldn't die. He wouldn't let go. It was as if something deep within him would not permit death.
I talked to his son to see if he knew what it was. From the expression on his face, I knew that a family secret was about to be revealed. He said, "I'm not his only child. He has a daughter in Boston. My dad disowned her nine years ago because she married someone of another race. From his point of view, she had committed an unpardonable sin. He said he would never forgive her.”
I then knew what his unfinished business was all about. I contacted his daughter and urged her to get to the hospice as fast as possible. Several hours later, she arrived.
For the first time in nine years, he saw his daughter. He said nothing. He just stared at her.
Then, he opened his arms to his daughter, and with all the strength he had left in his life, he hugged her. She brushed away his tears as well as her own. She sat on his bed, and neither said anything for the longest time.
Finally, he looked into her eyes and said the words that freed him forever, "I'm sorry. Please forgive me."
There were many more tears. They held one another and talked about old times. He learned that he was now a grandfather, and there were pictures to see, and there was much laughter.
That night, his vital signs were stable and strong. But then, an amazing thing began to happen. Around 11:30, he said he was tired but didn't want his children to leave. Each child held one of his hands, and he let go.
The bitterness was gone from his face. All of his unfinished business had been put to rest. It was a good death. I looked at my watch, and a new day had begun. It was Sunday. It was Father’s Day.
• The Story of a Novel by Thomas Wolfe, Simon & Shuster, 1936, p. 39.