Advance forgiveness

This post goes out to my cousin Adell Ulz Morton.

Cuz:

I forgive you.  I forgive you for expressing your chagrin when events challenge you and your world.

I forgive you for your cries of anguish at the burdens of your dearest daughter, whom you adore.

I forgive you for the times when you stand in the doorway with your eyes turned heavenward and your heart in turmoil.

I forgive you for collapsing into a chair and uttering profanity into the air around you, when fatigue overwhelms you.

Yes, my dear cousin:  I know these acts technically can be described as complaint.  I know you take inspiration from this blog and strive to eliminate complaint from your own life.  I know, too, of your deep love for your daughter and granddaughter, for this country, for your friends.  I don’t know you, because our childhoods and our lives as adult took us away from a common path.  But I know you because we share common blood — the blood of a man who shot off his trigger finger to avoid fighting in the Austrio-Hungary war; of a woman who crossed the ocean with small children, then raised a house-full of strong men and women; the blood of coal miners, and farmers, and wood-carvers.

Your momentary lapses do not outweigh your strength and perseverance, Adell.  Nor do they outweigh the positive attitude with which you have lived your life.  Soldier on, my cousin.  Soldier on.

It’s the tenth day of the thirty-fifth month of My Year Without Complaining.  Life continues.

My second-cousin Pat Talman, my sister Adrienne Corley Johnson, and my second-cousin Adell Ulz Morton.

My second-cousin Pat Talman, my sister Adrienne Corley Johnson, and my second-cousin Adell Ulz Morton.

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