Only Human

 When I was 17, my first dog died. Her name was Jenny, as in that old  Little Richard song "Ooh Jenny Jenny, won't you come home with me!" 

She was an English Springer Spaniel, if you haven't heard of them you should,  they're beautiful dogs. Practically every year they win the best breed award in the West Minster Kennel Club dog show. Not only are they cute, but they are smart, love water, hunt birds, and barley shed. 

I got Jenny when I was five, living in New Hampshire. She was the last girl in her litter. I can still remember my mom on the phone with the breeder, asking if I wanted a boy or a girl. For a moment there was hesitation, because I thought it was sad none of the boys were getting adopted. But I knew I wanted a girl. So I got the last one. That was it, she was the love of my life. My Jenny.

Over the next 11-12 years, she sat by me through elementary all the way to high school, a long bitter divorce, three moves, and other countless disappointments and heartbreaks. She actually used to mimic my cry, so when I was upset it seemed like she was crying alongside me. 

She was such a happy dog, and then in a short period of two months she began to look lethargic and stiff. One morning we found her hiding in the shower, and immediately took her to the vet. Turns out she had cancer. They said she could possible live for a few more months but that she would be in pain, so we decided to put her down that day. I know it seems silly because dogs are dogs, not people, but as an only child a dog can become your best friend: especially when you go from five years old to 17 with her. 

After my Jenny became heaven's Jenny, I called my dad. I was crying as I told him everything I should have done; like given her longer walks, more playtime, less reprimanding, etc... My dad, who is familiar with grief having lost his parents and a sibling, said, "Don't worry, you're only human."

I can't tell you how much freedom I found in that statement. "You're only human..." Suddenly I didn't feel I needed to have so many regrets, or that she left too soon. I realized I gave her all the love I had at the time, and my mistakes were ok, because I am only human. 

Albert Einstein is quoted as saying, "Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I'm not sure about the former." Which is another way of saying what my dad told me. 

I was thinking about this yesterday when I watched a documentary on Netflix called "Awful Normal". The premise circles around the filmmaker and her sister, who were abused as children by a family friend. When the girls told their parents, shortly after it happened, the parents offered the friend two options: 1) Go to prison , or, 2) Go to counseling. Naturally, he chose the latter. 

Problem is he never actually went. On top of that, their parents still brought them around this man. Their trust in their dad would never recover. So, as 30 somethings, these women tracked down their abuser to get some closer. 


When they finally found him, they asked him to sit down for a talk. For almost an hour the sisters relayed how much damage his abuse has caused: most significantly to their present relationships. They told him how their relationship with their father was tainted, and the general uneasiness they feel around men. Rather inauthentically, he offered up some "sorry"s and promised to do what it took to make things right. In truth, when I watched it, all I could think was, 'these women want to end this attachment to him forever, and he is trying to become their friend! To pretend like it never happened... As if they could start fresh.'

Finally they say their peace, and leave. When they emerge in the parking lot the tears begin to flow even harder. As the filmmaker's mother holds her, she cries over and over again, "I want to hate him, but he's just human! I want to hate him, but he's just human!"

I was really shocked.

Because as she walked us [the audience] through her story, you began to think 'this isn't a human being. I don't know what he is, but he is not a child of God...'

Yet in all of her pain she was able to recognize him as a human being. And that as such, he fell victim to the evil capable by all human beings. Essentially, as she goes on to say later in reflection, she was acknowledging that everyone makes mistakes; and though we may never forget, we can forgive. 

"We cannot despair of humanity, since we ourselves are human beings."

-Albert Einstein 

I'm not saying my regrets should be equivalent to this man's many regrets. But certainly it's true that neither of us is infallible. We can only choose to do the right thing, then choose it again and again... until our small choices point us more and more towards the people we were created to be. 

So I want to encourage you to cut yourself some slack. You're doing the best you can. Maybe you don't have it all together, but you're working on it. And that is most anyone can say. You're only human.