A journey of forgiveness.

What makes you feel nostalgic?

The most nostalgic and bittersweet memory of my father is his battle with dementia. Dementia, as I’ve come to understand, is like being stuck in a time loop, reliving the era when one’s life revolved around work. For many elderly people, especially in the environment I live in, this mindset stems from a lifetime of defining themselves by their productivity. When society deems someone “retired,” it often strips away their sense of purpose. In this world, white hair is a symbol of being past one’s prime—a signal to step aside and “relax.” But who decides this is right?

If a retired person has a network of friends, hobbies, or a passion to stay active, they might navigate this phase of life more easily. But what about those who don’t? My father didn’t have such outlets, and for years, I resented him deeply. He made choices that left our family struggling and fractured. He nearly destroyed the bond we shared as father and daughter—a wound that impacted every relationship I had, leaving me hesitant to trust or connect with anyone deeply.

Forgiveness and Reflection

As time passed, I began to feel less anger and more sorrow for my father. When we made the painful decision to send him to a special home for dementia care, something tore inside me. I avoided entering his room or even the bathroom he used for almost eight months because it was too painful to face those memories. His room became a physical reminder of our broken relationship and the hurt I had carried for so long.

But as I reflected, I realized something profound: my father’s actions were shaped by his own environment, filled with deceit, manipulation, and negativity. He lived in a world where survival often meant making difficult, sometimes questionable, choices. While those choices hurt our family, I began to see him as a man who carried his own burdens and pain.

The Path to Healing

Now, I’ve started cleaning out his room—a space that once symbolized so much pain. Sorting through his belongings has become a therapeutic process. Among the documents he hid were countless paper clippings tucked away between pages, which I’ve set aside for recycling. Removing these remnants of the past feels like clearing away old, stagnant energy, making room for healing and renewal.

I’ve also turned to chanting and self-reflection to heal my own wounds. These practices resonate with me, helping me reconcile my emotions and find inner peace. I’ve learned to forgive him, not because what happened was okay, but because forgiveness frees me from the weight of resentment.

A Shared Journey

In the dementia home, my father spends his nights restless, walking around or sitting idly, as though his mind is replaying moments from his working life—the mistakes, regrets, and struggles. At the same time, I’ve had my own sleepless nights, haunted by the disturbances of unresolved pain and memories. It’s as if we’re both on parallel journeys, trying to find peace in our own ways.

Through it all, I’ve realized that healing isn’t just about fixing the past; it’s about creating a new future. Cleaning his room, clearing out the old papers, and reflecting on our relationship have all been steps toward building a brighter, more peaceful life.

Moving Forward

My father’s story is a reminder of the complexity of human relationships. He lived a life shaped by his environment and circumstances, and I’ve come to see him not just as a father, but as a man with his own struggles. By forgiving him, I’ve started to heal the wounds that shaped my own life.

This journey has taught me to approach life with compassion, resilience, and the determination to break free from negativity. It’s a process, but with each step—whether it’s recycling old papers, chanting for peace, or embracing forgiveness—I’m finding my way forward.

The most nostalgic and bittersweet memory of my father is his battle with dementia. Dementia, as I’ve come to understand, is like being stuck in a time loop, reliving the era when one’s life revolved around work. For many elderly people, especially in the environment I live in, this mindset stems from a lifetime of defining themselves by their productivity. When society deems someone “retired,” it often strips away their sense of purpose. In this world, white hair is a symbol of being past one’s prime—a signal to step aside and “relax.” But who decides this is right?

If a retired person has a network of friends, hobbies, or a passion to stay active, they might navigate this phase of life more easily. But what about those who don’t? My father didn’t have such outlets, and for years, I resented him deeply. He made choices that left our family struggling and fractured. He nearly destroyed the bond we shared as father and daughter—a wound that impacted every relationship I had, leaving me hesitant to trust or connect with anyone deeply.


—

Forgiveness and Reflection

As time passed, I began to feel less anger and more sorrow for my father. When we made the painful decision to send him to a special home for dementia care, something tore inside me. I avoided entering his room or even the bathroom he used for almost eight months because it was too painful to face those memories. His room became a physical reminder of our broken relationship and the hurt I had carried for so long.

But as I reflected, I realized something profound: my father’s actions were shaped by his own environment, filled with deceit, manipulation, and negativity. He lived in a world where survival often meant making difficult, sometimes questionable, choices. While those choices hurt our family, I began to see him as a man who carried his own burdens and pain.


—

The Path to Healing

Now, I’ve started cleaning out his room—a space that once symbolized so much pain. Sorting through his belongings has become a therapeutic process. Among the documents he hid were countless paper clippings tucked away between pages, which I’ve set aside for recycling. Removing these remnants of the past feels like clearing away old, stagnant energy, making room for healing and renewal.

I’ve also turned to chanting and self-reflection to heal my own wounds. These practices resonate with me, helping me reconcile my emotions and find inner peace. I’ve learned to forgive him, not because what happened was okay, but because forgiveness frees me from the weight of resentment.


—

A Shared Journey

In the dementia home, my father spends his nights restless, walking around or sitting idly, as though his mind is replaying moments from his working life—the mistakes, regrets, and struggles. At the same time, I’ve had my own sleepless nights, haunted by the disturbances of unresolved pain and memories. It’s as if we’re both on parallel journeys, trying to find peace in our own ways.

Through it all, I’ve realized that healing isn’t just about fixing the past; it’s about creating a new future. Cleaning his room, clearing out the old papers, and reflecting on our relationship have all been steps toward building a brighter, more peaceful life.


—

Moving Forward

My father’s story is a reminder of the complexity of human relationships. He lived a life shaped by his environment and circumstances, and I’ve come to see him not just as a father, but as a man with his own struggles. By forgiving him, I’ve started to heal the wounds that shaped my own life.

This journey has taught me to approach life with compassion, resilience, and the determination to break free from negativity. It’s a process, but with each step—whether it’s recycling old papers, chanting for peace, or embracing forgiveness—I’m finding my way forward.