"On Healing" January 2007

Posted on Mon, Jan. 22, 2007
Forgiveness is hard but it lets you heal
By Dan Gottlieb

Joyce was abused by her father when she was 12 years old. She'd hated him ever since. When I met her last year, she was 50 years old and had a long history of difficult relationships with men, depression and overall inability to enjoy life. She blamed most of her problems on her father.

Her father was clearly the cause of the problem, but what has kept her in the victim position for 38 years? Her festering resentment is preventing her from moving from victim to survivor and beyond. Her father was wrong for what he did, and Joyce's reaction was natural.

Anger has been called a judicial emotion - a reaction to injustice. So when we experience any form of injustice, most of us react with a clenched fist, a closed heart and a sense of resentment. These reactions are a natural effort to defend ourselves emotionally against further injury. And it works, in the short run. Like a scab, it protects the tender wound from infection, but if the scab stays too long, the wound never heals.

So what can be done?

Forgiveness is the process of giving up resentment toward another. It has nothing to do with reconciliation or even holding a perpetrator harmless.

But forgiveness is one of those things that sound great on paper, but feel almost impossible to do.

Forgiveness takes courage. The first step is to understand that today's suffering is about holding onto resentment and not about what happened yesterday. That shifts both power and responsibility. The second step is to find the humanity in the person we need to forgive, even if his or her behavior was inhumane.

In time, Joyce was able to see her father as a frail 80-year-old man, as opposed to a powerful middle-aged man who abused her. When he joined her in a session, she learned about the turmoil of his life back then and his many regrets. She chose not to have a close relationship with him, but she didn't need to hate him anymore.

Few understand the process of forgiveness better than Jim LaRue. His daughter Molly and her fiance, Geoffrey Hood, were murdered by Paul David Crews while hiking the Appalachian Trail in 1990. Although Crews was originally sentenced to death, he was resentenced last month in Perry County, Pa., to life imprisonment without parole. At the trial, LaRue faced Crews and read a letter saying the following:

"Paul, early in the morning of Sept. 13, l990, you tortured, raped and murdered my daughter Molly. The hole in my heart from her loss remains.

"But I am here today to offer you forgiveness for what you have done.

"I hope that you and I can now find peace...

"Molly had decided to devote her life to working with troubled children, like you certainly were. She believed that if these children could be helped when they were young, they wouldn't become violent. She would have wanted that for you. If you pick up where Molly left off, I can assure you that she will be with you along the way. She cares that much.

"Peace be with you."

When I contacted LaRue, he told me that he has long believed that undiscovered pain is at the root of violent behavior. I doubt he could have written this letter 15 years ago, and he may not have been able to write it five years ago. Although he will always feel the pain of this loss, he believes that forgiveness is the only way he can find peace. And what impact did it have on Crews? LaRue told me that although Crews said nothing while he was reading, he was visibly moved.

Posted on Mon, Jan. 8, 2007
A seriously ill son, and an agonizing father
By Dan Gottlieb

Dear Dr. Gottlieb,

I am writing to you because I am in so much pain. I was a student in Philadelphia in 1998, and now I am living back in my native Egypt with my wife and two wonderful boys, Sileem and Mostafa. Sileem is 14 and Mostafa is 9.

Five months ago, Mostafa became very ill. He had many tests, but none of the doctors we saw could diagnose it; the only thing they agreed on was that he had an obstruction in his bile duct and needed a stent.

It felt like my precious son was dying.

Finally another surgeon said his gallbladder and bile duct had to be removed. Despite all these problems, we had hope for his improved health. But then an ultrasound showed that his liver and spleen were enlarged.

It looks like our son has to live his life with a most horrible disease. We are not mentally ready for this and we do not know how to deal with him or what to say. I cannot work, sleep or eat. Our lives have totally changed. The boy was always healthy and active. He loved school and was an excellent student. He loved life. Now, all of this is gone.

Throughout this nightmare, he has been most cooperative. He never resented anything about his illness. I am very angry at what is happening and sad for my son. How can I give him the power and patience to face his illness? How can my wife and I face what seems to be a lifelong crisis? How do we live?

-Amr

Dear Amr,

Your story is heartbreaking. What to do? Whenever we are traumatized or terrified or face unfathomable loss, first you cry. So my first advice is to allow yourselves to cry. Cry as long and as deeply as you need to.

In a trauma like yours, emotions that feel contradictory live right next to one another - emotions like outrage and helplessness, great strength and weakness, deep love and great loneliness. Ideally one should just take time and let the emotions diminish in their intensity so you can see the path you must take. But in crisis, it feels as though time is racing and we must keep moving.

Amr, you suffer because you love your precious son. And of course you are angry; anyone who has experienced a theft would be angry. And you had your vision of your son's life stolen. Your anger and fear can drive you to find better doctors, research his illness, and move mountains if you have to. But your anger can also keep you disconnected from the great gentle love you feel for Mostafa.

I wouldn't worry too much about giving your son patience and power to face his illness. I would imagine everyone in your family feels pretty alone right now. So your son probably needs the same thing you do; understanding, love and companionship.

Hold his hand, look into his beautiful face, and ask him what it's like to be going through this. Then listen. Listen with sadness and helplessness, listen with grief and listen with great love.

I wish you and your family peace.

*

A week later, I received the following e-mail from Amr:

In contradiction to the report of the ultrasound, the blood test he did last Thursday came out OK. This came as great news for all of us. We were supposed to repeat the ultrasound yesterday, but my wife and I decided to wait. We wanted to enjoy the good news.

The illness of my son has taught me that adversity can bring out the best in us. We live in a world of mass distraction that deprives us from inner peace and sometimes our humanity. This horror has helped me reclaim those things.

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