“Calling to check on you, Mom,” the adult child said when the woman answered the phone.
The mother smiled. Ordinary conversation ensued–the mundane, the heat, how are the dogs, slim talk of daily activities, progress, and regression. Then the child said the other words.
A tense sliver of silence. “That hurt me. You should have told me about that.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I apologize.” The child told explanatory words that went to the heart of the matter for the child had tried to spare the mother the sorrow of the untold fact.
Again. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
“I know you are. I forgive you.”
“I know you do. I would never hurt you on purpose.”
“I know you wouldn’t.”
Hours later, I think on this scene. It makes me happy. Happy? you ask. Yes, for by now you must know that life is imperfect. People are. People who love each other, with no intent for hurt, do just that thing they would never intend to do.
At that moment, each person has a litany of choices. We can continue with the hurt, or not. We can apologize or refuse to do so. We can gather in the sorrowful words, or reject the apology, We can dredge up prior hurts, or not. We can sulk, feel old, not needed, rejected
My child and I chose the high, logical road. No hurt was intended, indeed quite the opposite, no hurt would be nursed.
Such is the good life. How blessed, truly blessed I am