Sedona: City of Refugees

The hardness of her hatred welled up inside her throat, making her feel as if she was going to choke on it. How could she be rid of it, put it aside, get on with her life?

A thought came to Kathleen, something from many years before when she was doing an article on a psychiatric counselor who worked with abused women. She asked the counselor how abused women could work through the hatred they harbored for those who hurt them.

“The act of forgiveness seems to do it for some,” the counselor told Kathleen. “But for others, that’s not possible. In that case, I tell them that instead of giving up their hatred, they need to use it instead.”

At the time, it was an answer Kathleen did not quite understand.

“Use it?”

“Yes. Turn it around. I tell the women who come to me that if they can’t get rid of it, use the hatred to get where they want to go in their life.”

Kathleen considered what the counselor told her. She knew her hatred kept her alive since Scott’s attack, had even helped her get through the ordeal of his death. Maybe putting it aside was something she would never be able to do.

She stood for a long time with that thought and then faced Scott’s resting place.

Alone in the cemetery with only the wind as a companion, she said aloud, “You’re not going to get me, Scott. You tried when you were alive. I’ll be damned if you’ll do it from the grave.”