I am so honored to have this guest entry by someone I admire for her raw honesty and for this both inspiring and heart breaking story that teaches us it's never too late to help others and to apologize to those we have harmed, even if it means we can only forgive ourselves for those we have harmed.We must dig deep into the heart wounds in order to grow and this expresses this beautifully.
Warning: Have a tissue ready.....
I helped a little old lady at the grocery store today. I pulled up 2 spaces away from her (Front Row Joe!) and as I walked past her car, I saw her getting her cane ready. But, there was something in her hesitant manner. So I asked if I could offer her a hand. She accepted and told me that she’d hurt her knee again this morning. Her hesitation was bracing for the pain that was about to come exploding out of her knee when she stepped up on the sidewalk.
I hooked my arm under and around hers; giving her another moment to psyche herself up, then we both stepped up on the curb. The weight I bore was next to nothing. She was a tiny little white haired thing. I touched her hand and left her to walk into the store alone.
I was immediately reminded of the day I beat my dog. Yes, the day I beat my (elderly) dog for shitting all over the floor and not getting her ass over the papers. There were eight square feet of papers available for her to shit on, and she still managed to get her diarrhea all over the floor. I was livid. And I beat her. Five times, hard, on her ass. I didn’t care that she was arthritic. I didn’t know that she was cancer-ridden at the time and just didn’t make it. In fact, she was probably humiliated by the fact she couldn’t control her bowels…and I beat her for it.
I wanted to cry. For the dog, long dead from cancer, for the rage-filled woman that I once was. For my own mother, who will never be assisted by a stranger because her body is so large, no one would want to bear that weight to help her up onto a sidewalk.
Why was I so angry? I have no answer. I can justify, sure. We all have “things” in our past that totally mind-fuck us. But…why was I so angry? How did I allow myself to become that awful, mean, vicious person? I still want to cry. Oh hell, I am crying. I’m unsuccessfully trying to choke back the tears because I work in a cubicle in an office. My nose is dripping. I wonder who will be the one to beat me. When I’m old and alone and cancer-ridden and unable to make it to the bathroom in time.
I do the yoga. I’ve done the therapy. I read the books. I do the meditation. I’m still working on it. I’m really sorry, Erin.