September 16th marks 31 years since my parents were murdered. The following essay on forgiving their killer appears in my new book, Just Love. Here's wishing us all the desire to forgive, no matter what. We are born with the ability.
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Thirty-one years ago, my parents -- Jimmy and Camille Stabile -- were shot to death in their produce market in Detroit. It was a Monday morning and was going to be my mom's last week of work at the market. She had promised me that. The neighborhood around the market had a lot of crime, and I'd been begging her for months to quit going there. For years after their murder, I would regret not begging her harder. I was 14 years old when they died, the youngest of their seven children.
The man who killed my parents, and also killed one of their employees that day, was caught and sent to prison for life. I have a vague memory of being at his sentencing with my siblings, all of us present to hear his fate. I don't know why we were there, really. I'm not sure what difference it made to anyone. I remember his name, of course, and his face, sometimes even more clearly than I remember my parents' faces. Perhaps because his actions, even more than my parents' to that point, would impact most profoundly the person I would become. He had changed my life more than anyone.
The months after their death are a total blur to me still, but two moments stand out in my memory. First, was the moment I found out, in my brother-in-law's deli. I was walking out of the bathroom as my brother walked in the front door to confirm to my sisters what we had feared, that our parents were dead. He had just returned from identifying their bodies. My sisters screamed and held one another as I retreated back into the bathroom and collapsed beside the urinal and sobbed. The second moment was at their funeral, when I overheard one of my sisters tell another that she didn't know how I -- as the baby of the family and a devoted mama's boy -- would be able to survive without our mom. I can still feel her tears, and her fear.
When I started writing this, I thought I would write about enduring grief, the pain of loss, and the remarkable ability we all have to survive horrific things and somehow continue on in our lives. I thought maybe I would tell a couple stories about my parents, as there are so many good ones. Or perhaps relate what it was like being an orphan at such a young age, and how I still sometimes feel like an outsider because of it. But all I really want to write about is forgiveness.
I forgive the man who killed my parents. Completely and without reservation. I forgave him a long time ago, but not until years after he did what he did. Not until I learned that forgiveness of others is the only choice that lives in love, and that love is the only choice I want to live by.
I hear justifications all the time for why some actions are unforgivable, and I just don't agree. I can barely stomach what we human beings do to each other, the amount of physical and emotional pain we can cause one another. But I intend to forgive everything. I won't stop until I find a way. We are all human beings, we were all born innocent and loving, we all know darkness and pain, and we are all worthy of compassion and forgiveness. No matter what. The man who killed my parents is every bit as worthy as any one of us.
Much has been written that states how forgiveness is not about the other person but about yourself, how we should forgive others for our own peace of mind and body. I agree with this. I know what it's like to hold onto hatred and blame. We all know. It's the worst kind of poison, it clouds everything. When we forgive others, though, we free ourselves from this toxic reality. Forgiveness gives us a chance to become clean and healed. The motivation may be selfish, but that's okay. Forgiveness is forgiveness.
But what about forgiving others as a gift to them and not just ourselves? What about recognizing their pain and their struggles and the degree to which that pain plays into their choices -- and knowing that the act of our forgiveness might help them become clean and healed, too? No one who is operating from any place of self-love or self-respect could walk into a market, pull out a gun and shoot innocent people. So I forgave the man who killed my parents -- not just for myself, but for him. Surely he needs forgiveness as much as I need to forgive, whether he's aware of it or not. Surely he needs compassion and love as much as we all do. Probably more than most.
It's been three decades, and some days I still can't believe my parents are dead, and that they died the way they did. In darker moments, I can't help but imagine their final minutes, play out all the possible scenarios, hear the gunshots and screams. I see them on the ground, blood pooling out from their bodies, their killer standing over them. It's like I was there.
I know I am who I am today because of everything that's happened in my life, my parents' death being the most profound and painful of it all. I know that a good degree of my independence and strength comes from surviving such a tragedy. Pain brings with it many gifts, when we are ready and willing to see them. Perhaps one of the biggest gifts my parents' death brought me was the opportunity to be faced with a circumstance that many would deem unforgivable, and with a deep commitment to love, see that I could ultimately make the choice to forgive. That choice gave me my freedom.
Imagine carrying such a depth of love and compassion for humanity that no matter what someone does to you or anyone else -- no matter how horrible or hurtful, you could look them in the eyes and with sincerity declare: "I love you, and I forgive you. I feel your pain as I feel mine, and I recognize your need to heal as much as I recognize my own." I'm not there quite yet, but that's what I want for myself. That's what I want for all of us. That's what I feel is the potential within each of us, and within that potential miracles are created, and humanity is changed.
There were hundreds of cars at my parents' funeral. The procession stretched for blocks. My mom and dad touched many people, from all walks of life. I don't think I fully understood that until I saw the number of people who showed up to mourn them. I don't think I realized just how generous they were with their support and their love. I'm sure I didn't realize, for many years, that perhaps the greatest lesson they taught me -- by example -- was to accept and respect whomever crosses your path, and to be a friend to those in need.
Aren't we all in need, every single one of us? In need of love, and compassion, and kindness, and friendship? We're in need and worthy of all these things. Forgiveness, too. You and I and everyone else in this entire world is in need and worthy of forgiveness. Lucky for us all, we also happen to be innately capable of offering it. We all have it in us to say and mean the words "I forgive you" in whatever circumstance.
Forgiveness is one of the great gifts we can give ourselves, and also each other. It is one of the mandates of love, and one of the cornerstones of freedom. Mine and yours.