Have you ever noticed how it's much easier to forgive others of things they have done or said to you, but when your actions or words have caused yourself a world of hurt ... it takes much longer and is a much harder process?
In general I try to give myself a break, I mean, half the time I couldn't have any idea of the repercussions of doing various random retarded things or saying things that I couldn't take back. So then, it's easy to not only forgive myself for being a moron but forget the incident ever took place. I mean, ridiculously easy. To the point that I can honestly not even remember the incident if someone reminds me. It's a gift I say. Being able to block out bad things. Maybe it's a defense mechanism because I have done so many fool hearty things, that if I remembered and kept the memories around I'd constantly be brow beating myself.
There are certain things in my life that I have never been able to forgive myself for though. One thing tears at my heart and mind. Something that I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive me for ... and something I know I'll never forget. I don't know if I hold onto the guilt and pain so that I'll remember to never be so prideful again or if I just hold onto it because I think I deserve the punishment. To feel bad about it for the next 50 years. The heart ache that rips through my chest, making me catch my breath and hold back tears is my payment for not listening to that voice telling me what I already knew.
Painful pictures tear through my mind at random moments. Holding her in my arms as I pry her head out of his mouth ... terror ripping through me when I realize she's not crying ... looking down at my shirt, saturated with my daughters blood ... the neurologist telling us that her situation was 110% worse than they had initially diagnosed ... kneeling in the prayer circle with the Bishopric and Relief Society presidency ... seeing her head swollen twice it's normal size ... her terrified screams in the night, laying beside her sobbing ...
I don't know what it is inside me that needs to hold onto this pain. People no longer notice her scars. The largest ones have long ago been covered by hair. The only remaining side effect is her speech impediment, which is slowly being dealt with. She doesn't fear dogs... proudly tells those that ask about her scars how she received them. Everything points to a situation that should long ago been put to bed.
But I cannot. I cannot let it go. Everything in me rebels against forgiving myself for letting this happen to my daughter. For not taking the necessary precautions to ensuring my child's safety, no mater what the consequences would have been. I guess when it boils down to the bones, I'm most angry about not doing what I knew I should because I was too afraid. What kind of mother doesn't do what's right for her child because she's too scared? Because of my fear of doing what I knew I should, I let my weak spirit decide ... and have lived with the consequences since.