The Hopelessness of Forgiveness

When I was just old enough
to be advised about relationships
outside of my parents' evasions towards me
my mother told me two distinct things.

The first was
'when you make your bed then you have to lie in it afterwards.'.

The second thing she said was
'Don't bring any little bastards home to me.'.

I understood what she meant with the first rule; 
when you marry it is for life-there could be no change
and no choice once the vows were said,
not even if who you married was abusive
or was a murderer or a criminal
-you chose to marry the abuser,
their abuse is your reward,
abuse is what you married them for.

I understood the second rule even better.
given a choice of abuse or shame,
and I preferred the shame of bastardy,
as if I myself had been born out of wedlock, 
rather than passively living out an abusive relationship. 

Following Mother's advice
led me not only into my homosexuality
as a way of surviving the shame of bastardy,
but to finding a life times affection and support
from a man who lived in the full knowledge
of being conceived and growing up
outside the cursed state of wedlock.
His family related to each other
with more maturity
than I could begin to count.

Thirty years on from my first full choices
I have no regrets worth mentioning
and find modern heterosexuality more benign
than Mother would have wanted it to be,
but still it is strange stuff best left alone. 

My rule for relationships was more conditional;
everyone is bound to make rules for relationships;
part of their making rules is making the rules work.