SEPTEMBER 3
So I was long ago forgiven. I listened to my mother on her
deathbed tell the doctor her son was “always a good boy,”
having forgiven me so deeply I thought it undercut her
memory. It was more, it was profounder.
—WILLIAM GIBSONWhat are we to do with those nagging “if only” feelings that
linger—If only I had (or hadn’t) said that. If only I had gone
to visit more often, or been less of a burden.
Have they forgiven us, those who have gone on before?
We have only our conjectures. But if death is an experience
of consciousness, then surely it is of enlarged consciousness,
of more inclusive vision than we know here. “To know all
is to forgive all,” the saying goes.
Perhaps it is in anticipation of that enlarged consciousness,
already drawing to itself those who are near death, that our
loved ones forgive us with grace and compassion. And if
they don’t, if the occasion just doesn’t present itself, we can
forgive ourselves on their behalf, confident that they would
have if they could.
All is forgiven. All is forgiven. All is forgiven.