Once upon a summer, I made a friend. I had never made a friend like this-we were always together (as long as each of us weren't working). We talked about things. God-things, shallow things, things I had never discussed with anyone else. We talked on the phone. We ate together, read together and laughed together.
A little over a year ago, he went to jail. He began a five-year sentence for something I still can't fully wrap my head around, for pain that was inflicted on him. We had been out of touch for a few months, keeping conversations light and to the point. But one day I received a phone call that I hope I never have to go through again. I was wrought with emotions that week. I was leaving my wonderful job, getting ready to return to school and then this huge bomb. I'm still not entirely sure what I felt that week, but I know that I cried, I prayed and I thought a lot about him.
This summer, at the very beginning, before I knew I forgave him at all, I went to see him. As soon as I left Baton Rouge, everything told me to go back, but a still, small voice told me I could. I did. I made it. Without tears and with forgiveness. It can surprisingly easy!
I wish that I could say with that forgiveness, my mind forgot him, that my heart let him go. Unfortunately that isn't true. I want it to be so. I want it to be so bad. I want to not cry when I think about him. I want to forget. But I have decided that when I think about him (or about anyone really) to say a prayer. It is calming. It makes me feel better. It doesn't let me forget.

I wish I could