ask_for_forgiveness epitome of incomprehensibility First, winter turns to spring. Then, a metaphor develops: a hero dies and comes back to life. Next, religious particularities accrue: the hero is part of God and dies in lieu of humans being punished by death, so the other part of God can forgive people's sins. (The split-personality thing is a bit weird: like, if someone slapped me, how would to slapping myself again as a punishment help me forgive them?) But I'm not God. A man I'll call Mr. Sz isn't either, but he's had both a heart attack and a stroke. Recently. Present tense. On_Easter_morning, he's just well enough to walk with a walker. As the Hungarian service makes way for the English one, Mrs_Sz is helping him into the elevator, but he stops to speak to me when I greet him. In a few sentences, he lets me know that his near-death experience made him realize what things are important and he wants to talk to my dad. Why? For years, he blamed Dad for taking away his job and wouldn't talk to him. So he almost died, he came back to life, and he wants to forgive someone. WWJD? Close enough. But when he says something about forgiveness, I look him straight in the eyes and say, "Yes, I'm sure he forgives you" - which is me being angry because he's mentioned forgiving Dad, but not Dad having to forgive him. His irises don't seem to be the same shade of brown all the way through. Darker near the pupil, lighter near the edges. Were his eyes always like that (central heterochromia means never having to say you're sorry), or is this an effect of illness, of medication? Whatever it is, I wish Mrs_Sz, who's behind him, a happy Easter. She seems eager to get going. But it's not until they're gone that it strikes me: I was wrong to get angry. Here I'm accusing people of holding grudges, and what am I doing? Holding a grudge. Sybil preaches and I don't listen. A tear runs down my cheek. "Talk about being convicted of sin," I think. "But it's not some abstract, 'Oh, I'm a sinner,' it's more like, 'Oh, I did this particular thing wrong.'" Ironically, the thing I accused him of. Literary irony. More literary than religious? So I have a theme. But why am I emotional? Maybe I just didn't get enough sleep. ... Earlier today. I'm wondering whether I should email the couple, to express regret at not getting to talk more with Mrs_Sz and then say, "Tell [Mr. Sz] if he's well enough that I'm sorry for getting angry at him. I was blaming others for holding grudges at the same time I held a grudge myself." Then, nice thing at the end, but keep it short. They're dealing with enough right now. But I avoid it. I do other things: put dishes away, for example. ... And then Dad, having phoned him, gives a report. Mr. Sz answered, his voice weak, but his attitude intact: he was willing to forgive Dad, but still wanted to blame him for the whole rupture. To grant forgiveness, not to ask it. Dad's a little exasperated, but then he gets philosophical, saying things like: "I knew he was like that. There are reasons to be stubborn. And suppose he gets worse again? The pope just died, he could die too. I was right to hold my tongue and let him be the good one, let him be the one who was wronged and then forgives." But I'm angry again. Or I was, hearing Dad recount that conversation. Now I'm preoccupied about other things I have to do, but I need to tell myself to let_it_go if the angry feeling comes up again. Maybe I won't email any apologies - glaring, even into weak-seeming eyes, isn't a crime - but, grudgingly, I will let this grudge go. 250421 ... nr i love your slice-of-life writing these days, e_o_i! not JUST these days, that is, but that style is striking me especially lately. picking out details that one might overlook and finding meaning or emotion in them, or even just find them worth telling (which they are), is inspiring. i'm going to try to open myself up to this kind of writing more. 250422 ... oof *just finding 250422 what's it to you? who go blather from