“Forgiveness is what frees the hands. Happiness is what we build with them.”
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Opening Reflection: Forgiveness Walks, Happiness Builds
Sometimes forgiveness begins with a whisper:
I forgive you for leaving.
I forgive you for not staying.
I forgive you because I must… if I am ever to breathe freely again.
And happiness? It doesn’t arrive by magic. It’s chosen. Created. Built from the ground up. A walk. A jump. A gesture.
On a quiet afternoon, I whispered forgiveness to the sky… and then I moved — across a field, up a hill, and down a mountain trail. Not away from grief, but into life again.
Both forgiveness and happiness ask for movement. They are not static. They are verbs. You step into them. You do them. And often, you must do them again, and again, and again.
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1. Forgiveness Is a Verb — A Doing Word
We often think forgiveness is something that “happens” to us — like a soft wave of peace washing over. But that’s the fairy tale version.
Forgiveness is a verb.
It’s a conscious act.
It’s the hand that lets go, the breath that releases, the step that says:
I will not stay here forever.
Forgiveness is doing differently:
• Choosing not to replay the betrayal in your mind every night.
• Speaking a name without bitterness or rage.
• Writing a letter you never send, just to empty the words from your chest.
• Lighting a candle, not out of spite, but in memory.
And here’s the part people forget — forgiveness is rarely “once and done.” Sometimes you forgive… and two weeks later, the same wave of anger or sadness crashes into you. That doesn’t mean you failed. It means forgiveness needs another round.
Think of forgiveness like untangling a ball of wool that the cats have played with.. You loosen one part, but the tangle is still there. You work at it again. And again. And again. Each attempt makes it looser, lighter, more manageable — until one day, without quite realizing it, you find the tangle gone.
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2. Forgiving the One Who Died
Grief twists time. Sometimes you feel abandoned — even when you know they didn’t choose to leave. And yet, part of living fully again requires this brave act:
I forgive you for dying.
I forgive you for not recovering.
I forgive you for leaving me in this mess of love and sadness.
This isn’t cruelty. It’s honesty. It’s giving yourself permission to stop holding the impossible expectation that they could have done more.
It’s saying:
I know you were in pain. I miss you. But I won’t let your death be the end of my living.
This might look like:
• Walking a trail in their memory.
• Planting a tree.
• Shouting into the wind, then breathing deeply and continuing to walk.
And if you do these things and still feel the ache as raw as before? Forgive again.
If the next day you still feel the heat of resentment? Forgive again.
If a year later you find yourself angry when you hear their favourite song? Forgive again.
Forgiveness is not a door you close; it’s a path you walk.
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3. Happiness Is Not Found — It’s Done
Like forgiveness, happiness isn’t a “state” you stumble upon. It’s a practice — often a small one.
Happiness is:
• Making yourself a good cup of coffee, and drinking it slowly.
• Dancing badly to a favourite song while cooking.
• Climbing rocks at the beach just because you can.
• Riding your bike fast enough to make your eyes water.
• Letting your hands get dirty in a garden.
• Laughing at something ridiculous, even in the middle of grief.
And here’s the important truth: Happiness will feel wrong at first. Mourning whispers that happiness is betrayal. That laughter is disloyal. But happiness isn’t the opposite of grief — it’s the proof you are still alive.
You don’t wait for happiness. You build it, brick by brick, action by action.
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4. Forgiveness Creates the Space — Happiness Fills It
Here’s how they work together:
Forgiveness clears the rubble.
Happiness builds the shelter.
If your heart is crowded with blame, guilt, or resentment, there’s no room for joy to land. But once you start letting go — even a little — space opens.
The process might look like this:
• Forgive.
• Then walk the trail.
• Forgive.
• Then bake the cake.
• Forgive.
• Then laugh at the memory without choking on it.
Forgiveness allows breath.
Happiness uses that breath to sing.
And if after forgiving, the space still feels heavy? Forgive again. Each time you forgive, you clear a little more rubble.
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5. The “Forgive Again” Rule
If you’ve forgiven and it hasn’t changed your behaviour or emotions — forgive again.
If you forgive again and it still hasn’t changed your emotions or behaviour — forgive again.
If you forgive for the third time and still feel unchanged — forgive again.
Because forgiveness is like exercise. You don’t get fit after one walk. You go back. You repeat. You keep showing up. The strength builds over time.
You may forgive the same person for the same thing fifty times before it stops controlling your emotions. That’s not weakness — that’s perseverance.
Sometimes this means forgiving before bed so you can sleep. Sometimes it means forgiving in the morning so you can get out the door. And sometimes it means forgiving in the middle of the day, because the anger has come back, uninvited and loud.
Forgiveness is not the same as approval. It doesn’t erase the fact that something happened — it simply stops that thing from owning you.
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6. Forgiveness Sometimes Means Exclusion
Forgiveness doesn’t always mean continued closeness.
There may be situations where the person who is deserving of forgiveness behaves in such a way that true forgiveness — and your own emotional well-being — requires distance.
Sometimes that distance is temporary, a pause to allow wounds to close and your own heart to steady. Other times, the distance may be permanent, because their words, actions, or neglect have made it unsafe or unhealthy for them to remain in your life.
It is entirely possible — and sometimes necessary — to say:
I forgive you… and I am stepping away.
This is not punishment. It is boundary-setting. You forgive to free yourself from the weight of resentment, but the way the relationship is positioned in the future is not dictated by that forgiveness.
Forgiveness is your work — the clearing of your own inner space. How (or if) they fit into your future is a separate decision, made with wisdom, care, and self-respect.
Think of it this way: forgiveness is the release; boundaries and freedom from guilt are the foundations you build afterward. You can release the bitterness and decide not to invite them back into the home of your heart — only do so when the time feels right.
And in mourning, this distinction becomes vital. Because your ultimate goal is to live in a way that honours the person who has died — and sometimes, that means protecting your space, even from people you’ve forgiven.
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7. The Forgiveness Cycle
Forgiveness in mourning isn’t a straight line — it’s a cycle.
It can look like this:
1. Trigger – Something stirs up the hurt. A comment, a memory, a photograph, or even a silence.
2. Reaction – Emotion rises: anger, sadness, bitterness, resentment.
3. Decision – You acknowledge the feeling and decide not to let it own you.
4. Action – You actively forgive: speaking it out loud, writing it down, praying it, or simply breathing it out.
5. Release – The emotional pressure eases, sometimes only a little.
6. Rebuilding – You use that freed-up energy to do something that brings life: a walk, a conversation, a moment of laughter.
7. Return – A new trigger will come. And you begin again.
This cycle is normal. In mourning, you may go through it dozens of times a day. Over time, the spikes of reaction soften, the returns are less frequent, and the space between steps grows longer.
The goal is not to “finish” forgiveness — it’s to live in it.
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8. Living the Verbs: What It Looks Like
Forgiveness looks like:
• Whispering “I miss you” without bitterness.
• Burning a journal page filled with pain, then watching the smoke drift away.
• Choosing not to keep score when someone fails you again.
• Saying “yes” to today, even while carrying yesterday.
Happiness looks like:
• Taking a slow walk at sunrise with no destination.
• Building something with your hands — a meal, a chair, a garden bed.
• Listening — really listening — to a bird, a guitar, or a river.
• Riding. Planting. Smiling. Dancing. Living.
Neither is passive. You do them. You decide. And you keep deciding.
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9. Forgiveness and Happiness Feed Each Other
The more you forgive, the more room you have for happiness. The more you choose happiness, the more strength you have to forgive.
One without the other is like breathing in without breathing out — eventually you’ll choke.
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10. Common Mistakes in Forgiveness
One of the most painful lessons in forgiveness is realizing this: forgiving someone does not guarantee they will change.
We often forgive with a silent hope attached — that our act of grace will awaken their conscience, mend the relationship, or inspire them to behave differently. But sometimes, they don’t. Sometimes, they repeat the same words or actions that hurt you. Sometimes, they don’t even acknowledge your forgiveness.
This is where many people feel disillusioned: “I forgave them, and they still did it again.”
It’s important to remember that forgiveness is not a form of control. It is not a bargaining chip you trade for better behaviour. Forgiveness is your work. Their behaviour is theirs to own.
In mourning, this truth becomes sharper. You may forgive someone for not showing up when you needed them most, only to have them disappear again. You may forgive someone for saying something careless about the person you’ve lost, only to hear a similar comment later.
When that happens, you might be tempted to take forgiveness back — to harden your heart again. But the act of forgiving was never wasted. It was still the right thing for you, because it freed you from carrying that heavy anger.
This is why boundaries matter. If the person keeps behaving in harmful ways, you may need to adjust your relationship, not your forgiveness. You can forgive them for who they are and still limit how close you allow them to be.
Think of it this way: forgiveness cleans the inside of your house; boundaries decide who gets to come inside.
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Conclusion: Choosing Both, Again and Again
Forgiveness isn’t a moment. It’s a muscle you use daily. Happiness isn’t a miracle. It’s a craft you practice, stitch by stitch, step by step.
Forgiveness says: I release you.
Happiness says: And now, I begin again.
Both are actions. Both are verbs. Both are yours to choose — again, and again, and again.
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Reflective Prompts:
1. What is one act of forgiveness I can physically do today?
2. Who — or what — still holds a corner of my anger, and what can I release?
3. What’s a small, active thing I can do for happiness this week — even for five minutes?
4. How can I live both forgiveness and happiness as verbs, not just ideas?
5. What situation or person might require my forgiveness again today?
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Because of Angé
Because of Angé, I know forgiveness is not weakness — it’s the quiet courage that lets you live without carrying a stone in your chest. She taught me that happiness is not found in grand escapes but in the everyday acts of building a life worth waking up to. When I forgive, I make space. When I choose happiness, I fill it. And in both, I keep her alive in the way I move through this world.
