The Long Awaited Return-THE CHAIR

Hello. This is a portion of the book that deals with me forgiving my mother. It's pretty long, and I didn't feel like spending 20 minutes trying to make it look nice in blogger either. But, I suppose you take what you can get, eh?

I ambled through the halls of my dormitory with a specific mission in mind. Jonathan had lent me twenty dollars to take a girl out on a date, and I was returning it to him. When I reached his room, the door was open, and he beckoned me inside.

“Hey, man,” I said, plopping down on his bed. He swiveled his computer chair to face me. “What’s up, Donkey Kong?” he said, using one of the many nicknames he had bestowed upon me.
“I was just returning the money you let me borrow the other day.”
“Oh, right. I’d forgotten about that. Well?” he smiled. “How’d it go?”
I smiled ruefully. “It went all right, until we reached the topics of families. That’s when I started talking about my mom, and had to fight back tears like an overgrown man-child.”
“Ah.”

“I just don’t know what the problem is, man. She died three years ago, you know? And every time I start to talk about her, I burst in to tears. I wish I could just—” I trailed away, tears already threatening my voice. I forced them down. “I wish I could just forget about it, and move on.”

He nodded slowly, got up from his chair, and walked across the room. He shut the door, and locked it. He sat down across from me on the weight bench he used for working out. ‘You know, there is a way, Dan. Something I could try with you.”
I was willing to do anything. My nightmares were increasing, and I awoke several nights a week with tears on my face screaming, “Mom! NO!”
“What is it?” I asked.

“Something Professor Welch did with us today in my Minister as Counselor class. It’s called the ‘Empty Chair Technique.’ It’s used in Gestalt therapy. You basically visualize the thing you are angry with in an empty chair, and work through your problems. In your case,” he replied gravely, “it would be your mother.”

“Why do you think I need to do this?” I had my own reasons, but I needed to hear my suspicions confirmed from a friend as well.
“I think you have a lot of unresolved bitterness towards your mom, that you won’t be able to get through unless you face it head on.”
It was all I needed to hear. Apparently, my friends were observing the inner turmoil I was experiencing as well. I quietly braced myself for the confrontation, and whispered, “All right. I’ll do it.”

“Yeah?” Jonathan sounded surprised. He smiled sheepishly, grabbed a chair with his calloused hands, and set it in front of me. He rubbed his hands together. “Okay, this might be a little weird at first,” he chuckled, “but bear with me. I really think you need to do this.”

I laughed nervously. “All right.”

“Okay, I want you to imagine your mom in this chair. Picture the way she looked in your mind.” He paused a moment, while I tried to summon the image from my memory. “And now,” he continued, “I want you to tell her how you felt when she makes you feel.”

I ran my hands through dense curls and laughed. “Okay…Mom, I—What do you want me to tell it—the chair? Tell ‘her.’ My mother. What do you want me to say to my mom!”
He chuckled. “I told you this might be a little silly at first, but hang in there. All right, just tell your mom how you feel about her.”
“I’m mad at her because—”
“Don’t tell me. Tell her.” Jonathan indicated the empty chair once more.
“Uh…um...I’m mad at you—mom. Satisfied?” I blushed, and looked at Jonathan. This was humiliating.
“Tell her why you’re mad at her.”
I smiled. “I want you to know that I’m never borrowing money from you again.”
Jonathan threw his head back and laughed.
I cast the chair an uneven look. “I’m mad at you because you cheated on dad and abandoned your children.” I turned my attention back to Jonathan.
“Why else?”

The surrounding noise in Snowbarger’s hallways seemed to fade; absorbed by the protective barrier of the thick, cement walls. The exercise was losing its novelty. It was intrusive and embarrassing. “Do I have to do this?”

He hesitated, “Yes. I think that you have to get through some of your bitterness you have towards your mom. You have all of these feelings pent up, and it’s tearing you apart. I honestly think this is the best way to work through those.”

The world was waiting for my response. My mother was on trial. To my right, I saw Jonathan standing by his bedside, coaxing me onward, drawing me out, and forcing me deeper in to my pain. The shoddy, wooden chair wasn’t empty anymore. My mother was sitting in it. She looked the way she did before she was diagnosed with cancer. Her head and shoulders sagged under an invisible weight. She looked at me, but said nothing. She never had any answers. Her whole life seemed to be a question mark, and I was the dot that punctuated her life. I dove in.

“You robbed me of an adolescence, mom. You were too busy watching of for yourself to even think about your children. You didn’t seem to have any problems discarding us, for—what? Your occasional, afternoon visits? You kept coming and going. I wish Dad never took you back. You should have been lonely. You should have suffered!” I leaned forward in my chair; my voice wavered. Every hateful thing I had longed to say for years, fell from my lips like toxic bile. Still more came.

“And that doesn’t explain why you left! Was it dad? Wasn’t he good enough for you? Didn’t you love him? I’ve been trying to figure things out and I keep coming up with nothing! Did you even love me?” Tears swam in my eyes and fell down my cheeks. “I don’t understand it. I don’t understand you. You had everything and you threw it all away.” I jabbed a finger towards her and wept, “You could have tried, but you dumped everything on us, and you left! And now you’re dead and I don’t have anything!

She was crying as well. She was beyond redemption and she knew it.
Several minutes passed in silence as I let her absorb the weight of my accusations, while Jonathan stood by his bed, presiding over her trial.

He cleared his throat. “This next part is going to be hard.”
“Why?” I croaked.
“I want you to forgive her now.”
“What?”
“You can’t hold on to this anymore, Dan. You have to realize that your mom was human. She was vulnerable and had weaknesses like you do. I know what she did was pretty bad, but you have to forgive her.”
“I don’t know if I—”
“Do you love your mom?”
Unwillingly, I remembered the camping trips, the Christmas cookies, her laugh, and her boxy glasses. “Yes,” I muttered.
“Then you have to let this go and accept that she made mistakes. They were pretty big mistakes, but you can’t blame her anymore. It’s killing you.”
A stray memory came to mind, and my sister in law’s voice echoed in my ears. “Your dad found $14,000 worth of credit card bills.”
“I don’t know if I can do this, Jonathan.”
“If you can’t, there’s no use going on with this exercise. You have to be able to accept your mom’s humanity.”

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. My mom sat opposite me, shame faced, with her face wet with tears. Despite my hatred, I wanted to hold her. I wanted to go back to the basement when I was nine years old, with the faint chords of Stand by Me drifting from the television. If I could have stopped her from leaving, if I could have just made her stay, things would have turned out so differently. And in realizing that childish dream, I felt a weight lift from my shoulders, and I saw my mother for who she really was. Not as a malicious villain who intentionally ruined my life, but as a person who made mistakes. I still hated those choices, but I was finally able to separate them from mother. I lifted my tear-stained face, and met her eyes. “I love you. I forgive you, mom.”

“You may not feel like you meant those words,” Jonathan encouraged, “but it’s a huge step you were able to say them. Yeah. I’m really proud of you, Dan.”

“Thanks.”
“Now comes the hardest part, Dan.”
“What could possibly be harder?” I thought. I had finally come to terms with my mother.
“Now, I want you to say goodbye to her”
“What? Why?” This had been unexpected. How could I let her go now?

“You can’t stay chained to your mother’s ghost. You’ve told her what you needed to say. Now you need to let her go, so that you can finally move on.” He moved in and patted me on the shoulder. “I’m going to leave while you say goodbye. Take as long as you need. But when you’re done, leave your mother here, and move on with your life.” As he made his way to the door, he turned again. “I’m really proud of you, Dan.” The door opened, and I heard laughter pour in from the hallway. He closed it quietly locked it behind him.

My mother sat perched on her chair; her face cradled in her hands. I gasped for breath, and fresh tears poured from my eyes. Why did it have to be so hard? “Mom?” I began slowly. “I—I h-have to say g-goodbye now.” My heart broke as I watched her body shudder with renewed sobs. “I can’t k-keep holding on t-to you. I can finally look at you without feeling angry or upset. That’s a big step for me, mom.” I imagined her lifting her glasses, and wiping her eyes. She looked at me. You l-loved me, and you did the best you could. I know that n-now. I miss you—And I love you, but I have to let go now.” I stood from my chair, and whispered, “Goodbye.”

I strode across the room and wiped my eyes. Without looking back, I walked out of Jonathan’s room, feeling lighter than I had in years.