Ashes to Ashes
by Craig Wiesner - San Mateo Daily Journal - September 8, 2026
In 2022 I wrote a column about estrangement, how sometimes people become quite judgemental when they learn that there is someone, some member of your family, that you had cut out of your life and wouldn’t allow back in. “Family is family!” They say. “Blood is blood.” “Forgive and forget.” They insist. I forgave decades ago but it was not safe to forget. Another person, who had ghosted our entire family decades earlier, went through a 12-Step program after his parents died. Because he could no longer reconcile with them, he tried to convince me to reconnect with the person from whom I was estranged. “I’m repairing things by proxy,” he said. When I told him the full truth, a story he had never suspected, he hung up and never called me again.
Last week I helped spread some ashes, shared some memories, and hopefully closed the last chapter in a saga only special people in my life fully understand. Like those ashes, I’ve scattered bits of the truth in my columns, university presentations, diary entries, support groups, letters, and conversations with friends, pastors, rabbis, therapists, and doctors. Over the years others have shared their stories with me. How people close to them had severe mental illnesses, drank, did drugs, stole from them, physically, sexually or psychologically abused them, cheated on them, wreaked havoc in their lives, but because they were family, or like family, they had tried again and again to forgive, forget, reconcile, reconnect, give second, third, and more chances, only to face another catastrophe, another betrayal, another wound that would take too long to heal.
Years ago, when I first started coming out to people as a gay man, I was amazed at how sharing that often caused people to share intimate and difficult details of their lives. Opening that door into myself made it safe for them to tell me something sacred. When we randomly ask people “How are you,” we usually don’t expect them to actually tell us, but I’ve found that if I spot something in a person’s eyes, I can follow up after the “Just fine” with “No, really, how are you?” The answer often changes. Standing at my shop register can be like bartending, people open up to me. This person just lost her husband, another has a parent in hospice, another just got divorced and is trying to figure out life without his partner of 25 years, and another is battling stage 4 cancer. Those moments are sacred, and I truly believe that just listening, not giving unsolicited advice and especially not judging, is a gift that we can give at little or no cost.
People often thank me for my columns. Some have asked what my goals are as a columnist. It is the same thing I’ve been trying to accomplish with my life, sharing some significant stories, explaining how they impact my world view, and hopefully doing something to make the world a little better. Of course better is based on my definition of what’s good and bad, something not every reader would agree with. In the case of this particular gathering of around 800 words, after scattering some ashes, I’m doing a little bit of soul healing, and offering readers some wisdom from my experiences.
If you have had to cut someone out of your life, after being wounded in some way, only you can decide whether you are open to reconciliation. Sharing your story with others, people you trust, professionals even, might help inform that decision. I’ve known too many LGBTQIA+ people, by the way, with families who discarded them. That breaks my heart and is hard to forgive.
Forgiveness is a special gift, as much for yourself as the person you forgive. Every time I say the Lord’s Prayer, “forgive us as we forgive others,” I truly mean it. During the Jewish High Holidays I look back carefully over the last year to identify anyone I may have harmed, seeking to repair any damage I may have caused, asking forgiveness for any wounds I may have inflicted. And I am open to forgiving those who may have hurt me in any way. That doesn’t mean, however, giving them another bite at that apple.
As I sit down to write I’m reminded of what many preachers say at the start of their sermons. “May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable.” I’m not trying to please everyone. I can’t. No one can. The Journal’s online comments make that abundantly clear. Some remind me that wounded people are quick to wound others. I get it. I’ve been guilty of that too. I’m sorry.
Ashes to ashes, friends, and onward.