A Box of Forgiveness

“To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you.” – Lewis B. Smedes

Science leads us to the conclusion the capacity for forgiveness may also be a facet of our nature although we are often inclined to unforgiveness. Forgiveness and the lack thereof can each be a double-edged sword, both leaving deep scars. Herein lies a story of forgiveness, gifted when it was previously thought too late to attain – a double-edged sword melded into liquid amidst the hottest of fires. Forgiveness can be powerful enough to free one’s soul.

She sat stoically before the blazing fire, her face a mixture of emotions running rampant while she stared at the small lock box on the massive walnut desk. It was his desk and his lock box. She did not want to touch either less alone be in this room, but she had no choice - she had a responsibility to confront whatever lay within the box. She didn’t normally make decisions or choices for herself, but here was one of which she must firmly take hold. What secrets would this lockbox of his divulge?

The last few days had been difficult, but as usual, she was a survivor and would persevere despite any challenges she must confront. In some small way, now he was dead, she could at least feel a measure of peace and breathe. The release had been akin to an independence previously completely unbeknownst. It was hard to believe he was gone. He’d been such a massive and intrusive figure – both a commanding and a demanding presence - in her life for so many years. His death had been unexpected, and thankfully, quite quick. Despite the fact he had been no real companion, she had never wished any kind of suffering on him. He was, after all, the father of her children, and she had at one time loved him enough to marry him. Being able to recall such a time, however, was difficult at best.

Isabell had been married to Jack for thirty-four years. He had used every manipulative trick in the book to keep by his side, including threatening to take her two children. She had not doubted his sincerity, although now she looked back on the threat he’d made with disdain. He had never wanted the children and likely never would have taken them. He had used a useless threat to control her. Her children were adults now, but the sting of his threat still clung with an impenetrable thickness to the corners of her mind. She was thankful the children had never known the voracity of his actions. It would be difficult to explain to them, regardless of their ages. She couldn’t even explain to herself or begin to understand why she had continued to stay with him after the children were grown.

He had not been abusive - or at least not physically. He had consistently showed her off, much like one would a trophy or a prized racehorse, to his friends and acquaintances, only speaking poorly of her behind closed doors. No one really knew the extent of what she had endured through the years. She had become his lackey, continuing to do his bidding and never truly able to express her own opinions and desires. Quietly, and without malice, she had lived, finding joy in little things like weekly visits to the grocery store where she could pick and choose as she wanted – where her opinion mattered. “One day, I will leave him,” she'd continually told herself, to which the small voice in her head had always responded, “Better sooner than later." Still, she’d never had the courage despite the desire. Well, it looked as though the day of moving on had arrived and through no means of her own.

She held the brass key and turned it over repeatedly in her slim fingers. The crackle of the fire and peaceful notes of Chopin were all that could be heard until with a driven purpose, she moved forward in her seat to thrust the key determinedly into the lock box’s keyhole. With one turn, she felt the lock give way to open. The box was a bit large and deep, nearly like a safe and gave her pause as she attempted to slide it closer. Chiding herself she no longer had anything or anyone to fear, she reached and lifted the lid.

In the dim light of the study, she saw a black notebook lay atop all else, covering whatever lay beneath it in the confines of the box. Curious, she removed the book and stifled a gasp as she saw several bundles of currency. Carefully, she lifted each and realized there must be over one hundred thousand dollars within. How and why had he kept so much money in such a way? More importantly, why had he not deposited the money in the bank?

Removing the bundles of currency, she found a small black velvet bag tied closed with a blue ribbon. Upon opening the bag, yet more money spilled out. These bills, however, were also tied together with a blue ribbon. Along with the money there was a handwritten note which simply said, “For Italy.” She looked down, perplexed by the vast amount of money, half within the box and half strewn about on his walnut desk.

The soft delicate and enchanting strains of Chopin continued, lifting the heaviness of the room. She took a deep breath, feeling a new, unlimited freedom despite the situation. Indeed, the music seemed to lighten her soul in a way she had not known for years. She could feel the diminishment of a burden she had long carried. Her breathing steadied and slowed while she sat for long moments observing the contents of the lockbox. Nothing she could have found would have surprised her more than the money. Or so she thought.

At last, she turned to the black notebook and hesitantly opened it, uncertain as to what secrets it could disclose. Her hands trembled as she turned the pages. There was an inscription on the initial page in his handwriting. It read, “To Isabell”. Reading further, she saw he had inscribed a small paragraph. Taking a huge breath, she continued, wondering if he would reach out from the grave to do further harm or make more useless threats.

“Though you make think so, I am not a complete imbecile. I know I’ve failed you and never been able to show you love or truly appreciate you. I am a ridiculously flawed human. The fact I’ve not shown you does not mean I am completely unaware of the truth. I know you deserve better. I hope this money, along with what’s in the bank, will help you live without worry.”

He had signed it only ‘Jack”. Beneath his signature, he had written a simple postscript: “The $10,000 in the bag is for Italy.” She was speechless. She had always longed to visit Italy and Jack knew it. He’d always said they didn’t have the money to take such an exorbitant trip.

Curious, she flipped the page to find the notebook was filled with more handwritten entries, dating back to when their marriage began thirty-four years earlier, with the most recent entry made only days before his death. Beside each dated entry, he had written an account of her patience, her loyalty, and her commitments over the years of their marriage. More surprisingly, he had also detailed accounts of his own faults and shortcomings along with the entries of her attributes.

She had thought she was surprised by the vast amount of money, but nothing could have possibly amazed her more than what she had just read. If she had not been sitting, she would have surely fallen to the floor in shock. Sheer astonishment suffused her entire being. Jack had meticulously recorded nearly every single time he had been at fault, but instead of laying the fault on her as he’d been inclined to do in their marriage, on the pages herein, he had described the events in undeniable truth, blaming himself. He had known how wrong he’d been, as these writings clearly showed, but he had never once been able to own it. She had thought she had known the man, but in truth, she knew him not at all.

A resolute peace and profuse sadness infused sunk back in the leather chair. The man in her marriage had been completely different than the author of this notebook’s scribbling - two separate identities, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. How sad Jack had never been able to say, “I am sorry” or to own his faults until after death. It appeared he had carried those burdens to the grave. All she could feel was immense sorrow for him. More surprisingly, she also felt undeniable regret. She regretted that she had not striven to understand the better and help him achieve some peace while living. In truth, and despite his hurtful ways and words, he had loved in so far as he was able to love anyone. In doing so, he had released her from the burden of their years together, letting her know that he blamed her for nothing when she thought he blamed her for everything. How ironic it took death to reach such a pivotal point. How sad it also took such for her to see the true man she had loved and married years earlier.

Methodically, she replaced the money along with the black notebook and picked up the key to relock the lockbox. She held onto the black, velvet bag of $10,0000, choosing to keep it with her. Tucking the note that read “For Italy” inside, she retied the blue ribbon tightly. Tonight marked a new beginning, and she alone would now be responsible for her decisions. Better late than never. The thought was comforting.

Holding the little black bag, she leaned back and exhaled a deep sigh of mixed emotions as tears of relief formed. She had not wept in years and didn’t think she had it in her to do so even now. Still, the final gift from a man she didn’t know despite living with him for so long, had freed her from all the anger, the resentment, and even the love she’d ever felt for him. More importantly, in his death, she was able to forgive him. This gift he had given her was truly an invaluable one. It allowed her to move on and mourn the man who could have chosen to live and love but never truly did. It was better late than never to realize these things and forgive.

She had never felt such power within her grasp.