“I’ll never forgive him. I told him I would never forgive him.”
The elderly lady spoke softly, but with resolve, as the nurse brought her her nightly medication. The lady’s expression was troubled as she turned away, focusing on the drape wrapped around her nursing home bed. This brief exchange revealed a deep, deep hurt.
She told of how her brother had approached her bed, accusing her of taking more than her share of family heirlooms following their mother’s death.
He spoke of various items, ending with “the berry spoon.” He said, “I want the berry spoon.” For the forty years since the mother’s death he had hidden his feelings, and now they erupted.
She was both hurt and angered by his accusation and vowed never to forgive him. “It’s my spoon. Mother gave it to me,” she defended herself. “He’s wrong and I won’t forgive him.”
Standing at her bedside, the nurse felt her own spirit soften and grieve. A spoon – a berry spoon! In the bed lay a woman given two months to live – just sixty days – and she would face eternity and never see her brother again in this life. Her mind and spirit were in anguish, and her only remaining family ties were broken over a berry spoon.
As the nurse returned to her station she was drawn deep into thought: “How many berry spoons are there in my life? How many things, as insignificant as a spoon, in light of eternity, separate me from others? How does a lack of forgiveness keep me separated from my family?”
How many berry spoons are there in your life?
Recent Comments