To Forgive

Candy Squared, the quirky aunt who stole away with Birdie and Daisy to facilitate Birdie's Thanksgiving weekend, first-ever tattoo, has died.
    On May 3, a mentally ill, homeless man shot Candy Squared with a registered handgun as she sat in her church office chair, preparing her Sunday homily. At her memorial service, in Baltimore, Big Guy--brother to Candy Squared--asked that we all move forward with compassion and forgiveness, as Candy Squared would have wanted.
    I wondered, at the time, if he were truly right. Would Candy Squared have granted forgiveness in that moment when uncontrolled anger pulled the trigger?
    Since that time, I have read some doctoral program writings of Candy Squared and glimpsed the deeper, spiritual side of a sister-in-law Episcopal priest I didn't know well enough. In her homework (not her confidential papers), she admits to long time periods when she feels God's absence. Yet she keeps the faith and puts one foot in front of the other. She counsels souls lost to drug and alcohol addiction, physical and mental abuse and anger; and in working through their hurt, a newborn humility emerges in her writings. She curbs preachiness and perfectionism, learns to like the unlikable, and figures out how to facilitate and be present without assuming control.
    In none of Candy Squared's papers does she touch upon handguns or personal safety or unlocked church doors. But clearly she walks the walk with those she counsels, and forgiveness of her killer is what she would offer. The shooter was not among those Candy Squared counseled. He was a client of the church's food bank and he couldn't manage his anger. He was the sort of soul Candy Squared would have made time for, if only he had asked.
    And so, because Big Guy asks--and Candy Squared would have asked, too--I forgive the shooter. It is much harder to come to terms with a way of national thinking that legally places a gun in the hands of a mentally disturbed, angry person.