Just getting by.

There was a discussion last week about evil. The nature of evil people, specifically. And whether or not redemption is possible. One of the people in the discussion was a self-proclaimed misanthrope. She claims to hate people. Just all of them. I personally think it's kind of sad for a 19 year old to have that kind of jaundiced view, but don't know her experiences, life story, nor do I want to spend much time analyzing it. I have my own issues to contend with, thanks anyway.

It made me think a bit. The most evil person I've ever met was a relative. I hated him. Honestly. I'm not exaggerating. And believe me, he really earned it. He tried his best to be nasty, brutish, and very unpleasant on numerous occasions. Yes, demon rum played a distinct role, but it was still a contentious relationship. I dreaded seeing him. I avoided holidays with him when I could. It was all difficult.

When he died, I felt a palpable sense of relief. I demanded to see his body at the funeral home, mostly to confirm that he was dead. He wouldn't be mean to me ever again. He would keep his racist crap to himself, and not insult Spouse. He wouldn't insult my Dad. He wouldn't verbally attack me. It was over.

Then I watched the decline of his wife. I have always loved her very much. I am the closest to her in my generation. She was wonderful. She is becoming lost. We have basically discovered that she was losing herself before he died. It is horrible to watch.

Now for the redemption. I'm not the person to rattle off about forgiveness. I can hold the world's longest grudge, given the proper motivation. Just ask me about my 20 year high school reunion and the bitterness that runneth over, still. But now I re-evaluate my position on this most difficult man. Seems that he was operating at the end of his life on 20% blood flow to his brain. He was suffering, sick and old. He did all of the cleaning, cooking and laundry for them both. We didn't know. His logic synapses weren't functioning, or he might've said something to one of us about needing help. But he cared for her. We didn't know. It hurts me inside to think of how frightened he must've been for her. To think of how hard it was for him. And for her. But to see her mind disintegrate by degree. I cannot go there for very long.

Do I love him? Hell no. He lost that long ago. Around my 12^th year, to be precise. But he did teach me how to fish. He did show me how to build a house. He did take care of her as best as he could. Redemption? Let's call it a softening of attitude. An active adoption of forgiveness for many faults. A recognition that evil can change, given the proper motivation. In the meantime, I'll keep sending her postcards to remind her that I exist. Until she can't read them anymore. Which seems like the inevitable. Which kills something inside me.