Forgiveness and Pie

Last night during our Bible study we hit the topic of forgiveness. God calls us to forgive those who sin against us “seventy times seven times”… or rather an infinite number of times.

Forgiving people who have wronged me? That’s hardly an issue in my book. If anything, I probably forgive way too easily; holding a grudge is about as foreign to me as speaking German.

But the study didn’t stop there…

We’re supposed to forgive ourselves, too.

That part? Not so easy for me.

Within seconds of the discussion turning to forgiving ourselves, the tears began to flow. Pretending to fidgit with my reading glasses, I tried to be stealth as I wiped them away.

Why did I have to sit at the front?

Nothing to look at here folks. The idiot who decided to sit right next to the study leader is definitely not crying. Just keep your attention on him…

My incognito-tear-wiping lasted about five minutes until I couldn’t hold it back any longer and bolted from the room. The tears flowed as I broke down, escaping down the street and away from the lesson. I couldn’t get far enough away fast enough.

Because I can’t forgive myself.

Over pie.

Pumpkin pie, no less.

My Tanner had Celiac disease which meant many of his favorite foods were off-limits. Dining at restaurants was hard but we had figured out how to make it work. Wanting to protect my baby as much as I could from any disappointment, I made a point of never eating something he would want if he couldn’t have it too. I never wanted him to look at my plate of food and be sad.

No gluten-free pasta for my baby? No pasta for me.

No gluten-free pizza for my baby? No pizza for me.

No gluten-free cake for my baby? No cake for me.

It felt like a sacrifice early on, but as the years went on, it was just our way of life.

Until it wasn’t. Until I got selfish.

The very last meal we ate out as a family was at Hometown Buffet. My ex and the kids were all enjoying some amazing-looking Blueberry Pie for dessert as Tanner and I ate our soft-serve vanilla ice cream.

As I watched them eat the pie, I began to rationalize all the reasons it would be okay for me to have a piece even though Tanner was sitting right across from me and couldn’t have it himself. Most of all, I just decided he probably wouldn’t even want a slice.

So I did it.

I got a piece of pie and I ate it. Right in front of my precious child with Celiac disease.

He watched me take a few bites and then he cupped his chin between his right pointer and his thumb in a cliche thinking pose and said “Hmmmmmm….” and then, with a huge grin, he pointed his finger to the sky with a massive “Ah ha!”-look and said “Pie!”

“Tanner, you want pie?” I asked tentatively, immediately guilt-ridden.

“Yes! Pie!” he exclaimed.

“I’m sorry, baby, it’s not gluten-free….” I said as a lump filled my throat.

Worst. Mom. Ever.

He just looked down, disappointed and resigned.

“I’ll make you a pie when we get home, okay?” I asked, begging for forgiveness.

His smile returned and he agreed that would be fine.

By the time we got home, it was late, I was tired and told myself he was tired too and likely wouldn’t want to eat pie anyways.

The next day was busy and Tanner wasn’t feeling well. By Sunday, he had been diagnosed with pneumonia and I decided to hold off on his pie until he was feeling better and could enjoy it more.

Two days later he left my world forever.

He’s an angel who didn’t get his pie… but the part that kills me is that I’m a mom who didn’t make my baby his pie.

I promised him I would.

And then I made excuses. I got lazy.

For years I sacrificed the foods I wanted and didn’t eat in front of him. Why, oh why, did I have to screw up our last real meal together?

After years of making so many special considerations, why does the last engrained image in my head have to be of his disappointment and resignation… all because I had to selfishly eat pie in front of him.

I can’t forgive myself for not making him his pie.

Yes, rationally I can assume he didn’t even remember the pie by the time we got home. Rationally I know he’s not in Heaven saying to Jesus “I would love to dance on these golden streets, but my mom didn’t make me pie so instead I will sit here and mope.” Rationally I know he knew how very much I loved him with every ounce of my being.

But grief isn’t rational.

And I don’t know how to get past the pie.

Maybe it’s just the easiest failure to pinpoint.

Maybe it’s the most obvious broken promise or missed opportunity to show him I loved him. I don’t know.

A few months ago, I had to remove myself from a situation at a pool after watching a boy, probably 7 or 8, repeatedly ask his dad to come in the water and play with him. The dad declined every time, opting instead to enjoy the sun and talk to his wife.

I wanted to shake that man. I wanted to yell at him to go play with his child. I wanted to tell him it could be his last chance ever because tomorrow his baby could be dead and he will never get these moments back.

I wanted to tell him to take his son out for pie.

Moms and dads, squander these moments with your children. Play with them, talk to them, watch tv with them, love them, make pie for them.

Someday they will be in Heaven, or college, or even stupid teenage-years where they don’t want to have anything to do with you…

Whatever the reason, these moments, these days, these opportunities to love our kids… they won’t last forever.

So love them now.

Make the pie.

**Pictured is Tanner on Thanksgiving 2016 with the last homemade pumpkin pie I ever made him. And yes, that is the appropriate amount of whipped cream on pumpkin pie.