My freshman year, part of our core curriculum was reading the memoir, Just Mercy by Bryan Stevenson. Admittedly, I wasn’t thrilled about reading it back then, but since, I have actually noticed some of the book’s themes creeping into my life.
“Each of us is more than the worst thing we’ve ever done,” declared Stevenson.
Every year since joining Advanced Journalism, I have written a column in the first semester where I talk about the parts of myself I am proud of. This is not that type of column.
It was a calamitous day at work in a small biotech lab, and absolutely nothing was going right. Experiments were running too long, results were too ambiguous and procedures too uncertain. My runs were basically doing nothing but messing up the collective data and wasting resources.
As I slaved away trying to turn things around, I completely lost track of time and, with that, my responsibilities. Earlier that day, my parents drilled me about getting home early, at about 7 p.m., to help feed our dog, Mango, since they had some important business to attend to.
The hours ticked by, and in no time, it was 8:30. I was still at the lab racking my brain for what to do when my phone rang:
“Why are you not at home?” My mom’s voice broke the downward spiral I was heading towards.
The bubble I was in popped; my blinders were removed.
I hadn’t fed my dog.
My dog was at home, hungry.
Guilt crept up in my throat and sat there awhile, as I rushed out of work and (safely) drove myself home. My thoughts were louder than my driving playlist, which is quite a feat, I assure you.
When my family got Mango, my dad sat my sister and me down and explained the severity of this decision. A dog is not a toy; he is living and breathing like a small child. His entire livelihood is in our hands. Once we bring him home, we agree to advocate for and fulfill his needs and wants since he can’t do them himself.
That concept just kept ringing in my head. For us, Mango is just part of our lives; for him, we are his life. We are all he has. He’s the enthusiastic troublemaker who always welcomes us home with jumps, licks and devoted attention no matter the circumstances. His actions were predictable and regular, but so genuinely loving.
That was the dog I hadn’t prioritized.
That was the responsibility that I had neglected.
That was the love I had betrayed.
As I pulled into the driveway, I saw that my parents had already come home after our phone call and had fed Mango. By this point, guilt had infected every cell of my being, but somehow it was still able to multiply when I opened the door to Mango’s tail wagging like crazy, as if nothing had happened. He didn’t care about what had happened. He was just happy I was home.
I decided I would never make that mistake again. I put alarms on my phone and laid down limits for myself. No working too late, no leaving Mango alone for too long, and no longer would I let the people I love slip through the cracks for the things I love. I didn’t want to be that person: I refuse to be that person. So I won’t be.
Once I pulled myself back together, I refocused on Mango who was cuddled up in my lap, tail still wagging, with nothing but affection in his actions. He had forgiven me, just like that, and I was in awe. For someone not human at all, he had an odd skill of understanding one of the most important tenets of humanity: mercy.
When I was younger, I thought I could get through life without disappointing anyone, an unrealistic expectation I realize now. As sad as it may be, everyone lets down someone they love eventually. It’s inevitable, part of the human experience. But it hurts so much, every single time. When people say that mistakes are times for character development, they don’t mean dropping a negative when solving a math problem. They mean mistakes like this one where people get hurt because of one person’s missteps. The only way to grow from it is to feel bad about it and decide to never make that misstep again.
Once again, I took advice from my dog. How dark a place would it be if people shunned others at the slightest mistake? No relationship would feel genuine or even last. Don’t get me wrong; some actions are unforgivable and call for the burning of bridges, but most situations just need a little bit of forgiveness.
They need just mercy.
