Bonds of Trust by Payton

Bonds of Trust by Payton - May 2022 Scholarship Essay

My aunt drove our minivan straight into a tree not one hundred yards away from my house. My three younger siblings screamed in panic in the backseat as the vehicle swerved left and right, my aunt seemingly unbothered by her lack of control, before we crashed into the old oak at the end of our street. The entire event lasted barely thirty seconds, but those few moments were filled with adrenaline and confusion. My aunt acted indifferent and unbothered, which served to concern us even more. She mumbled some words and fumbled with the steering wheel, attempting to turn the car around and continue driving. I knew something was wrong, but my 13-year-old mind was too naive to comprehend the full situation. What I did know was that my aunt could not be trusted to continue driving, and I fought to no avail to pull the keys out of the ignition to prevent the fateful drive from resuming, until a helpful adult neighbor came out to handle the situation.
It was not until later that day, when my parents came rushing home after a call from our neighbor who witnessed the crash, that we learned our aunt had been drunk. None of us young children had recognized the signs because we had been sheltered from alcohol-filled atmospheres our whole lives. The same neighbor, who called my parents, also alerted emergency services. At the time, when the ambulance pulled away with our aunt in tow, I assumed she was suffering a serious health condition. I felt sympathy and fear, thinking perhaps she had suffered a stroke or heart attack. I never would have guessed that she voluntarily put her life and ours in danger.
The aftereffects of this traumatic event, and the breaking of trust between me and a beloved relative, took a long time to heal. At the time I felt betrayed by someone I had always depended upon. I did not understand how she could be so reckless when she knew she would be caring for us that day and driving. That accident occurred eight years ago. Last week my aunt took me out to lunch. We chatted about my college semester and summer plans. I felt no bitterness, and did not even think once about the car crash. Over the past few years my siblings and I have enjoyed watching football games at my aunt’s house and Thanksgiving dinners. I feel no resentment or towards her; but the only way I overcame those feelings were only achieved by practicing the skill of humility.
After the accident, my mom explained that alcoholism runs in our family, and how much my aunt both loved us, but also struggled fiercely against temptation. While addiction does not forgive actions, realizing this side of my aunt allowed my bitterness to soften. Thinking of my own struggles, things I’d given in to, made it a lot harder to fully condemn my aunt. The aftermath of this event forced me to practice humility in ways I never had before. The skill of framing the car accident and my aunt through humility prevented my feelings of bitterness towards my her from poisoning me as well. While it took practice, viewing this event with humility slowly allowed me to open my heart to forgiveness.
Humility is both a habit and a skill. Some people are naturally more inclined towards it, but it can also be honed through continued use. This event forced me to rely heavily on humility, and the more I changed my mind set when reflecting on this day, the easier it became to forgive. It can be natural to hold grudges, especially in situations where one party is clearly in the wrong. Yet my aunt and I are family, related by blood, and I yearned to repair our relationship, as did she. My aunt sincerely apologized, and took full responsibility, which was the first step. After that, our mutual want for a repaired relationship, and my renewed mindset of humility, allowed us to move forward and slowly bridge our broken relationship. It also gave me peace of mind when viewing the accident, relieving any sense of traumatic flashbacks or fears for the future. While it took years, all feelings of bitterness have dissipated. I do not pretend the past did not happen, or ignore the hurt that has been done; but I am also open to the beautiful possibilities of the future, and the flourishing of mended bonds.