UNFINISHED BUSINESS
Unfinished Business
When I left for college, I was certain I would never come back. My relationship with my dad was difficult, to say the least. He wasn't my biological father, but he was the male parent in my life and the primary disciplinarian. We were polar opposites. He was an accountant for AT&T—a man of numbers and logic—while I was all about art and writing.
He was determined to "toughen me up." He was hell-bent on making sure I worked for everything and wouldn't get things just because I was an only child. I believe he also sensed that I was gay and didn't know how to handle it. He came at me even harder, maybe hoping to mold me into a man so i wouldn't become some "punk" as he put it. My escape was my acceptance into Loyola Marymount University with a scholarship as a dance major. I couldn't wait to get away from him and start my new life in Los Angeles.
A Call to Return
Fast forward ten years. I had moved back to Portland after college, was in a long-term relationship, and had barely spoken to him. My grandmother, however, would periodically remind me to check on him. During one of those calls, he told me he was going in for some tests. A wave of guilt washed over me. He was alone in California, and I felt I should go see him. I planned a trip for September.
A week later, a doctor called. My dad was in intensive care and didn't have much time. "If you want to see him alive, you need to be on the next flight," he said. I was discombobulated and could barely focus. My mom, unable to join me, helped me book a ticket. I packed quickly, thinking I'd be there for a week.
Once i got seated the plane, settled in for the ride and turned on my phones music app, a song came on that felt like a diredt sign: "Hurt" by Christina Aguilera. The lyrics are about the regret of shutting out an abusive father, only to wish for one more chance to see his face after he's gone. I saw myself completely in that song. I broke down right there, terrified of what lay ahead. The flight attendant saw me and asked if I was okay, but I just fell apart, fully consumed by my fear and regret.
When the plane landed and I took an Uber directly to the hospital. I navigated the maze of hallways to the intensive care ward, found the nurses, and asked for Elbert Elliott Ashurst. They directed me to his room.
No Words, Just Tears
When I opened the door, he was a shadow of the man I remembered. Tubes and devices were everywhere. A bag on the side of the bed held a black liquid that should have been clear. The steady beep of the heart monitor was a constant presence. As his eyes met mine, they welled up with tears and he began to cry. It broke me. In that moment, something melted in me, dissolving all the years of hurt. I walked to his bedside and hugged him.
A few hours later, he told me he wanted to talk the next evening. He stressed that I had to be there at 5 p.m.
The next night, he was clear and alert. This was his night of clarity, and getting through it with him was the most powerful thing I'd ever experienced. He started, "There are some things I need to get off my chest, things I need you to know." At 34, I felt like a little boy again.
He began by apologizing. He told me he was sorry for the way he was with me. He said he was trying to give me the tools I needed to survive life, to know what I was up against so there would be no surprises. He said there was no rulebook, and his intentions were always good. Every word was like a healing salve gently placed on my wounds. He kept apologizing and telling me he loved me. I just sat by his bed and took it all in.
He apologized to my mom, too. While I couldn't speak for her, I told him I knew she had forgiven him. I told him I had also forgiven him and that I appreciated him for everything he did. In so many ways, I told him, he had been right. For the next two hours, he poured his heart out with a fearlessness that simultaneously healed my own. I had no idea that by refusing to have him in my life for all those years, I was also hurting myself. When he finished, we both rested. Unbeknownst to me, he would be gone by morning.
The Power of Forgiveness
From this experience, I learned that in estranged relationships, it's imperative for someone to step up. If you are reading this and haven't spoken to someone in your life for a long time, be the bigger person. Swallow your pride and reach out.
It doesn't matter who is at fault or whether they "deserve" your forgiveness. In many cases, neither party even remembers how the distance started. What matters is that you choose to grow up and let go. True forgiveness is for you. It's about releasing yourself from the weight of carrying an old story and finally setting yourself free.
The feeling of a weight being lifted off your shoulders is indescribable. You will know you did the right thing. It ensures there is no unfinished business—a gift not only for the person who is passing on but also for you, so you don't live with the regret of wishing you had just told them you loved them before it was too late.
Every day is not promised. We can lose someone close to us in an instant. The greatest act of love is to seek peace while there's still time. NO UNFINISHED BIZNESS
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