The Towers and Time

For millennia, people have wrestled with their mortality and the time allotted to them and those around them. They have searched for wisdom and created answers that have allowed individuals to be at peace with their time. Some have spent countless hours debating what occurs with the final breath. Glimpses of those moments have been played out on live broadcasts. Fred Rogers once said ‘No matter what our particular job, especially in our world today, we all are called to be Tikkun Olam, repairers of creation. Thank you for whatever you do, wherever you are, to bring joy and light and hope and faith and pardon and love to your neighbor and to yourself.’

On this day, I sit wondering if I have done enough with the time that has been allotted me. It is not an easy question to ask, then admit where and when I have fallen short. One of the many flaws that I have found in myself is the ability to pardon. In certain situations, it has been simply easy to pardon where it was desirable, it might have been on the streets. The situations that I have not pardoned, have been for those instances where I have allowed someone to be close to me. In those moments whether being big or small, I have simply hardened myself, turned, and walked away. The flaw has been exposed, like the bones of a weathered and bleached carcass, for a long time. It does not come easy for me to articulate these words as it simply exposes a part of myself that I have long held in the dark recesses of my being. Am I able to sit with myself? Am I able to sit with myself in the silence?

One instance, out of many, happened between myself and my cousin Don. In doing so,  I lost years of relationships. I always told myself that at some point, there would be a moment to repair, but that either way, I had plenty of time. The time went much faster than expected. It was an August Wednesday morning when I got the phone call that my cousin had been hit by a semi truck and the prognosis was grim. A few days  later, he took his final breath. That moment stays with me even though I was not at his bedside. Regret. Guilt. Sorrow. Self-loathing. There was no chance to make amends, I was simply left with the decision of how I would carry myself and what 'moving forward' would look like. Could I ask to be pardoned? Could I pardon myself for my actions?

It is here that I think back on the words that Mr. Rogers spoke twenty three years ago, shortly after 9/11. He spoke of them in a time of regret, guilt, sorrow, anger, but also hope. '...for whatever you do, wherever you are, to bring joy and light and hope and faith and pardon and love to your neighbor and to yourself.’