Over the years, there have been people who have... or have tried... to cause me harm. Harm... physically, emotionally, or financially. Some of those I still wouldn't offer two drops of spit if they were dying of thirst. Karma has caught up with some of them. The others I could care less about. They don't bother me. Let them live with their own conscience.
One will haunt me until I'm six feet under. I had a younger brother. We were raised to be good people, having honor and respect for those we encountered on life's pathway. My younger brother stole his first car when he was in high school. Traveled across the U.S. on hot checks, in stolen cars, spending time along the way in various jails. My parents were poor dirt farmers, but mortgaged everything they had to keep him bailed out of whatever the trouble de jour might be. In 1975 he held up a bank and shot it out with officers. Captured, he was sent to a Federal prison. Paroled after a few years, wasn't out 30 days and raped a lady who had been tending her lawn in a residential area. Back to prison.
In the meantime, our Mother had contracted breast cancer. She fought it like a champ, but had the constant worry of her youngest son and his straying ways. I had washed my hands of him when he made threats to my wife and had told him never to let my eyes see him again. He was in prison when my Mother passed away. I will always believe he shaved valuable years from her life due to his criminal, uncaring ways.
The last I heard of him was when our Dad was living by himself and about ready to go to a nursing home. He knocked on my Dad's door, demanding money. Dad refused. He made verbal threats and left. No one has ever heard from him since. That was 2001. Dead. Alive. Back in prison. Don't know. Don't care.
There will never be forgiveness...