I can’t count how many useless things I have done or said in my life, as there are far too many to even imagine. The most useless thing I do though, is bottle my emotions. Holding grudges for months, I am notorious for staying mad at a person or thing for years after the fact. I would like to consider myself a forgiving person, but I know I hold onto things for too long. My mind consumes any positive notion, leaving me angry and depressed. I am an emotion hoarder.
When I was in high school, I held a lot of anger for certain people who had hurt me. These people most likely did nothing that an ordinary person wouldn’t be able to forgive, but I stayed angry or upset. I was mad at one guy in my freshman year because he spilled water on my final project in art class. I stayed mad for nearly two years. I still don’t like even mentioning his name because it brings up bad memories of him never keeping quiet and always making a mess. It wasn’t until my senior year that I had gotten over it and was able to have a conversation with him. I harbor bad things inside my head like a kid hiding Halloween candy around the house. Every once in awhile, I will come across a person and remember a specific moment in time where I was so mad and hurt, that I am left feeling terrible for a week after. It’s an incredibly unhealthy habit and I have striven to get over this.
When I graduated high school, I tried to convince myself that I needed to be a more forgiving person and stop pushing people away. Most people I was mad at had no idea what they even did wrong. It wasn’t fair to them or myself. I spent so many hours thinking of all the silly things I was mad about and started to make amends to fix the damage my own thoughts had done. By February of 2016, most of the people who cut me in line at the grocery store or customers who had yelled at me for their own mistakes had been forgotten. I was making great progress and I was starting to realize how happy I could be. In March, things took a turn for the worst.
My dad was driving home on a Friday night, the day before I was going to judge at an Odyssey of the Mind competition. He ended up going off the road and getting into a massive car accident. My stepmom, Amy, got a call as soon as someone found him, but the hospital wasn’t telling her anything. She talked to my mom the morning of the competition and my head judge told me my mom’s phone died and she needed to use mine for the day. I was fine with it, because I wasn’t using it anyways. I still had no idea what had happened. My younger sister, Mia, didn’t know either. After the day was over, my mom pulled us aside and told us our dad was in the hospital. Mia started crying immediately. Mom said that he had crashed and instead of just being sad, I was angry too. I was so mad that my dad would do that to us, that he would dare lose control of the car and nearly die. I was mad at him for something that was completely out of his control, just because I hadn’t found out about it sooner. I was livid that no one let me know and I spent the entire day having fun while my father lay in the hospital. No one knew what condition he was in, so there was no telling if he would even live. I assumed the worst, like I always do. We eventually saw him in the hospital and found that his hip was shattered and he sustained countless other injuries. Amy kept quiet for the visit while my baby sisters ridiculed him for not taking them out for ice cream the next day like he had said. I smiled and acted like everything was fine, but I was mad at him. He could have died and Amy wasn’t talking to him. I knew something more was going on because Amy never acted like this. She was upset and it seemed to be directed at both herself and my dad. This is when I put it together.
Having watched a divorce happen before, I knew that certain actions meant that my parents weren’t happy. Over the next 3 months, I watched as my dad and Amy seemed to go down that same road my parents had so many years before. Amy was never home when my dad was. My dad didn’t talk to Amy when she was home. They both ignored each other like they never met. It drove me absolutely mad because I was watching what I believed to be the downfall of the strongest relationship I have seen in my life. I was upset that I was about to lose a large part of my family, but more importantly, I was furious at my dad. I didn’t know what happened, but I for some reason felt like it was all his fault. I thought that the accident was partially to blame and he was fighting with Amy prior to that. I had no idea what actually happened, but I could only assume. Amy seemed to be more visually hurt than my dad and I had to assume that it wasn’t her fault. I started thinking about all the things I felt like my dad ever did wrong. I thought a lot about how he moved away when I was young, how I felt like he wanted to abandon my sister and I. Things like how he never seemed to be around for my plays or Mia’s science fairs. He hadn’t missed everything, but I was mad at what he did miss. He lived more than an hour away, in a different state, so he couldn't always make it to things I felt were important. I kept thinking to myself that if he and Amy separated, he would be to blame and entirely responsible for me losing Amy and my siblings. I would never see my sisters or brothers again and it would all be his fault. Resentfully, I would come to his house for the weekend and sit quietly to watch my family fall apart.
One day, I had finally had enough of thinking all these horrible things about my dad. I was at the point where I was ready to completely abandon my relationship with him and never see him again. If he was taking my perfect family away, I wouldn't ever see him again. He would be dead to me. If I lost my stepmother and family, I figured I might as well lose my father too. I knew this was not a good way to think. It should never have to cross a child's mind to abandon their parent. I had to change something. When I was at my mom’s house, I called Amy to ask how things were going. I told her that I was worried about losing her and the kids. I said I was upset that I didn’t know what had happened and I didn’t know if dad was to blame. She comforted me and told me that he would talk to me about the specifics when I came over that weekend. She assured me it wasn’t a divorce and that things would make sense soon. I trusted her and when I went over, my dad and I went out to pick up dinner for the family.
After we talked, the car ride home from the restaurant was silent. My dad had told me everything that happened and I finally had my answers. I almost lost my dad and I was so mad at him to see what was actually happening. Everything made sense now and I could finally figure out if I was going to forgive him. We drove home and the rest of the weekend was a normal one. Things started to get better from there. I started the process of letting go of everything bad that had happened. I had to forgive my dad for what happened. It wasn’t his fault and he didn’t even know I was ever mad at him. It wasn’t fair to either of us. I was almost to the point of never wanting to see him again and had I not finally sucked it up and called, I might not have ever gotten to see him again.
After I talked to my dad, I thought about all the silly things I was angry about again. Not a single thing mattered as much to me anymore. I realized that keeping all these thoughts to myself, horrible and terrible thoughts, didn't help anything. Nothing could compare, in my life, to almost losing a parent. I nearly let my anger tear me away from my family. Since then, I have tried to much more forgiving in general. I don’t hold on to as many negative feelings as I did and I actually try to talk them out with my family. I still get frustrated at certain things or people, but I am working on cleansing the negative from my life. With my work schedule, I am able to start seeing my dad and family more often and things are going to be okay. Amy is back to being her usual awesome self. Things are looking up for all of us. Luckily, my dad bought a virtually indestructible jeep this time.
