The Catholic Writers Guild

Deception makes fools of us all. Yet sometimes the truth hurts so much that we hold back for mercy’s sake. Our human journey can be a treacherous one to be sure.

It’s snowing now, very cold, and more snow and lower temperatures are on the way. Our woodstove pipe slipped a couple of weeks ago, sending the carbon monoxide monitors into hyper mode. Thank God, they worked! But since then, we’ve been trying to get the pipe replaced and, of course, it has been a challenge since the 8-inch pipe we need hasn’t been available in the usual places.

I thought I was clever and wrapped the thing in tinfoil, only to find out that burning tinfoil is about as dangerous as carbon monoxide. Sheesh, but there are a lot of ways to mess up in this world.

Even when I try my darndest to do the right thing, there are multitudes of conflicting realities to consider.

A case in point is whether or not to tell my dad that his youngest son, my brother, died recently. The obvious answer is yes. He has every right to know the truth. But, when I consider the fact that at ninety-two, my dad has lost much of his mental facilities, including his memory, then I have to wonder, what I am doing? Am I simply fulfilling the letter of the law, reasonable as it sounds, but sending my father into grief he won’t understand? He’ll comprehend the fact that Tom, his youngest son, died. He will “get” that fact. He just won’t remember five minutes later, though the grief inside will linger. He won’t understand why he’s so sad.

When my older brother died a few years ago, I told him the truth. I figured he had a right to know and could handle the facts. He was very grieved. But shortly after, he didn’t remember that Dave had died. He grew very sad, but he couldn’t understand why. No healing or mutual support possible.

Since he doesn’t believe in God, perse, he hasn’t been open to the hope of Eternal Life—perfect justice joined with perfect mercy. Since Dave died from an overdose, likely in part done to self-medicate from an infection related to his diabetes, there was no easy platitude to offer. It was complicated, no mistake.

My father wasn’t a good father. He failed in many ways. Though I have forgiven him repeatedly through the years, I know too much truth about his failures as a husband and father to simply whitewash the reality with “It’s over now, forget it.” Forgiveness isn’t blind. It’s honest and often extremely painful, a death of sorts. Real forgiveness involves wanting the best for another person despite the fact that it is not truly earned or deserved.

Is there a statute of limitations on the pain and suffering we cause others? Especially considering the generational suffering that compounds injuries from parents to kids?

In reviewing Church-related failures, I have to ask myself what right I have to forget? Forgive, certainly. I wish no ill will to anyone. Even those who have hurt me personally. But the sins of the past have repercussions and feed into a cycle of abuse today and tomorrow.

So, should I, in a spirit of honesty, let my father know that his son died? Would his grief be part of the price he must pay as a father? Or is mercy, letting him live is last years (months maybe) in sedate ignorance, the higher road to take?

So far, I have chosen mercy and kindness. I choke over our weekly conversation not mentioning the realities that plague my quiet moments and wakeful nights—Fr. Tom’s unaccountable death. I chatter on about the weather and school instead. Lame? Yes. Weak? Perhaps.

I know only a part of my own failings. It’s hard to face them all and impossible to realize the long-range repercussions of sins of commission and those of omission. Things I did—things I should have done.

That’s what Lent and our human journey are all about. We’re not in heaven. Not yet. We’re striving for a veiled glory, a perfect reality beyond our sight.

In the meantime, I’ll go fix the stove pipe.

A. K. Frailey

As a teacher with a degree in Elementary Education who has taught in big cities and small towns, Ann Frailey homeschooled all of her children. She manages her rural homestead with her kids and their numerous critters, authors books, and writes a Friday blog alternating between short stories and her My Road Goes Ever On series. Put Your Mind in a Better Place—Entertainment for Life