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Letting it go: The journey toward forgiveness

Because Ralph Pollock climbed behind the wheel, Greg and Sherry Hockerman buried two of their children.

They picked out the caskets and wrote the obituaries.

They struggled to find the words to go on the tiny tombstones: a lot to say, but not much space to say it in.

They live every day in a house that's too quiet, fighting the memories of a nightmare they can never forget.

But they can forgive.

The Hockermans brought a Cook County courtroom to tears this summer when they said they'd made peace in their hearts with the drunken driver who smashed into their minivan in 2005 -- telling Pollock, who sat with his head bowed in his prison jumpsuit, that God loves him no less than he loved their two children.

More Coverage What does it take to forgive?

The decision to forgive, though not natural nor easy, made sense to the couple.

As devout Christians, they say their faith directs them to do so; they also said they'd rather the memory of their children not be tainted by pent-up frustration and fury.

"I didn't want their deaths, no matter how tragic, to result in hatred," Greg Hockerman said. "I think, sometimes, we feel entitled to those feelings, and it's self-destroying. It prevents you from being able to move on."

Joan Magette, whose son was killed when the drunk friend behind the wheel drove the car into a tree, also calls forgiveness a "relief."

A total release.

And that's precisely what it can be, experts say -- medically speaking. A number of studies have shown that forgiveness can promote a healthier heart, a boosted immune system and lessened anxiety, stress and depression. It even can reduce criminal behavior by reducing the penchant for revenge, some research has shown.

Forgiveness also is a valued tenet of the world's major religions.

Jews annually mark Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. In the Islamic Koran, the name Al-Ghafoor -- "the most forgiving" -- is often used for Allah, and the act is encouraged among humans throughout the holy book. Christians include a plug for pardons every time they recite the Lord's Prayer: Forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us.

But it's not always easy, and not everyone can do it.

"Some individuals seem to find within themselves the capacity to work through a profound wounding," said Avis Clendenen, a religious studies professor at Chicago's St. Xavier University. "Others are unable to do that -- possibly for very real reasons."

People who are deeply religious may have an easier time forgiving, she and others say, if only because they feel obligated. On the flip side, it's harder for people to forgive if the offender has not sought that forgiveness, experts say; such remorse often can be a stepping stone for progress.

No matter what, forgiveness -- particularly in the wake of unspeakable tragedy -- is always an "act of grace," Clendenen said. And even in cases when the violence is so heinous that many would think it impossible to let it go, people sometimes find a way.

One year ago, days after a gunman executed five Amish children and killed himself in a Pennsylvania schoolhouse, the Amish community spoke of forgiveness -- saying it was necessary even after authorities revealed that gunman Charles Roberts had meticulously planned the massacre.

Closer to home, the Rev. Nancy Eileen Harris of Buffalo Grove began her own journey: From the courtroom witness stand, she called out to the man who savagely beat, stabbed and burned her husband and daughter, telling him she knows God loves and forgives "all of us, especially you." She said then she opposed the death sentence.

Jeanne Bishop, a Winnetka woman whose younger sister, brother-in-law and their unborn child were brutally murdered in 1990 by a teenager they didn't know, also has taken a firm stance against capital punishment.

She works every day, she says, to fully forgive the man who took away their lives, and has since taken up public defending, representing alleged criminals in the courtroom.

Magette, who lives in Kansas, says her forgiveness was instantaneous; she folded the drunken driver who snuffed out her son's life into a hug the first time she met him. Today, the two keep in touch via e-mails and phone calls.

She calls him a cool guy.

"People who forgive have so much more peace," says Pat Larson, the director of victim services with the Alliance Against Intoxicated Motorists. She's led nearly a dozen face-to-face sessions between offenders and victims to promote forgiveness. "The people who can't forgive, they just can't let go."

So how do you do it?

Experts suggest looking to your faith, or turning the situation -- no matter how bad it is -- around: Consider that you've likely done things that needed forgiving as well.

Everett Worthington, a Virginia Commonwealth University psychology professor who's researched and written about forgiveness, has a five-step program to help people get there.

It focuses on empathizing -- or at least sympathizing -- with the one who hurt you, committing to forgiving, and holding on to that pledge, even when it gets tough.

Worthington, who went through it himself after his mother was murdered, acknowledges it can seem trite.

But he says it's less about the steps -- and more about the time people pour into it.

That's just it, others say.

It takes time.

"It's a process. It's a journey," Larson says. "You can say, 'I forgive,' but you have to work it into your heart."

The Forgiveness Project

www.theforgivenessproject.com

Murder Victims' Families for Reconciliation Inc.

www.mvfr.org

International Forgiveness Institute

www.forgiveness-institute.org

Campaign for Forgiveness Research

www.forgiving.org

Jeanne Bishop of Winnetka became a Cook County public defender after her sister, brother-in-law and their unborn child were murdered in 1990. She says she's committed to forgiving the killer, but says it is a years-long journey. Gilber R. Boucher II | Staff Photographer
Cook County public defender Jeanne Bishop discusses personal journeys to forgive criminals including hers after she lost her sister and brother-in-law to murder 17 years ago. Gilber R. Boucher II | Staff Photographer