In November 2016, at 64, I had just exited the co-op in Arcata, California, when a man ran up from inside the store, slashed me once across the throat, and ran off. We never found out what he attacked me with, but my throat was cut. The doctor later said my carotid had been nicked. A young female assistant manager ran out within seconds, slapped a clean rag on my neck, and applied pressure, saving my life.
The attacker was apprehended with help from a shopper.
I spent two weeks in the hospital, one of them in the ICU with a tube down my throat, sedated and immobile. My recovery was slow. I had to use a walker for a month and had to relearn how to swallow. The worst part was the brain fog. I write novels and short stories. It was over a year before I came up with an idea for a new story.
Weekly for two years I saw a counselor to help me through the PTSD and to deal with my loss of creativity. Over this time I slowly recovered. The fog in my brain began to lift. I could leave the house without constantly looking over my shoulder. I even resumed shopping at the co-op, but my recovery still required something more.
The day came for my attacker’s preliminary hearing. I attended, accompanied by half a dozen friends for moral support. I finally was able to look him directly in the eye. This pitiful man I hated, feared and resented, looked away as if scared. Why had I allowed him to keep intruding in my life?
I’d heard people speak of the need for radical forgiveness and, frankly, thought it was an impractical, New Age idea suitable for saints. By the hearing, my body and mind had healed to what would become my new normal, and I realized I could no longer shoulder the burden of the resentment, anger, and hate I carried for this man. I could hold my hate and anger in my heart, but it would only stab me. The wound, at this point, was self-inflicted. My own recovery was being held back by dragging this load. The only way forward was to unburden myself—to forgive him. Even now, that thought gives me a sense of peace.
As I began the process of forgiving my attacker, I felt resignation rather than a sense of relief. Relief came over months as I took forgiveness to heart. When the district attorney’s office finally called to tell me they had worked out a plea bargain, I was able to readily accept it and could truly hope the man would receive treatment rather than punishment.
I recommend forgiveness, not for spiritual reasons, not for humanitarian reasons, but for the purely practical, self-centered reason that it can aid in your own personal recovery. Forgiveness can release you from the burdens that impede your progress and allow you to walk away from them and toward healing.
Stephen Sottong is a retired academic librarian and electrical engineer. His essays and stories have appeared in numerous local and national publications. Read more at www.stephensottong.com.