When I read Lucille Clifton’s “forgiving my father” poem, I was struck with deep resonance on how profoundly I related to it.  I realized that it actually ended up setting a framework for how I could track and understand my own (rocky) process of forgiving my own father.  I came to a few realizations about the process of forgiveness – both from the poem and my own struggle with it. So, in honor of this year’s Father’s Day, a day when we can reflect on our perfect, all-providing Heavenly Father, but also a day when we can acknowledge the grief in how perhaps our earthly fathers fell short, I would like to share what I realized here.

“forgiving my father”

The poem’s  title is not capitalized, which at first struck me as odd, but also struck me as standing out as a fragment.  The fragmentation of it brought to mind how forgiveness itself can be a fragmented process.  I also noticed how the title was not “forgiven my father” or “forgave my father” but “forgiving my father,” a nod to forgiveness as an ongoing process.  As the Life-Giving Wounds prayer card beautifully and realistically notes, “old and new wounds arise” – how very true when it comes to the wounds that necessitated our start of forgiveness journeys in the first place.  So, yes, forgiveness is an ongoing process, but I have found that since the Lord’s love is ongoing, too, He can hold the “ongoing-ness” of my forgiveness process within His perfect, patient, everlasting love for me, too, as He walks with me.

“it is friday. we have come / to the paying of the bills.”

How many times did my single mom cry that we did not have enough money?  How many times did my mom refuse to have us join my extended family for vacation so that our uncles would not pity us and pay for our meals, lodging, and for us to go on rides with our cousins, thus depriving my sister and me of a vacation for years on end?  How many times was I made fun of for wearing cheap clothing when I was young?  Countless, Dad, countless.  Then again, I see how the Lord provided for all of our needs.

“all week you have stood in my dreams / like a ghost, asking for more time / but today is payday, payday old man; my mother’s hand opens in her early grave / and i hold it out like a good daughter.”

Oh, how deeply I resonated with these lines.  My father was mostly absent except for a bi-weekly visit, so sometimes his presence felt as “near” as dreams – elusive and far.  Sometimes, he did feel “like a ghost” to me – in moments that I wish he had been a part of (whether not coming because he did not want to risk angering my mom, her extended family, or he was just plain too tired), I often pretended he was there; thus, his “presence” feeling like that of an old and familiar ghost.  I have often felt like my mom’s “joke” about herself that she was half in the grave, ever since she got divorced, was never really truly a joke.  Every time she would inappropriately joke about that with my sister and me, this sickening image of her as half human and half cartoon-like skeleton was disturbing to me.  Holding out my hand like a good daughter, though, resonates the deepest and most sickeningly with me, though.  Why?  Because I felt like I had to push down feelings of guilt and resentment towards my father for leaving.  His leaving produced a horrid domino effect: it left my sister and me completely vulnerable to abuse from my mother, who lost her mental health after the divorce. It also had numerous, countless consequences on our self-esteem, self-worth, and just about every aspect of our health.  And yet I still hug him.  I still kiss him on the cheek.  When I realized the depth of fragmentation of my mom’s mental health as I grew older, and saw her through the eyes of an adult, I still had the gumption to tell my father over the phone, “I understand why you left.”  Although I felt like I was betraying myself or selling myself out to a large extent, there was also something freeing about saying that.  Because it was not about me.  It was never about me.  So many adult children of divorce, like myself, were tempted to slump through life thinking that the divorce was their fault.  But thanks to Dr. Sodergren’s talk on a Life-Giving Wounds retreat, I now know that I cannot hold myself responsible for the way I acted out when my father started to mentally withdraw from his marriage and family life.  

Me making that gesture of understanding to my father in no way condones his leaving, makes it okay, or excuses it, but simply acknowledges his suffering through an act of empathy – and through that act of empathy, I am able to release him from any wished-for debt. Clifton’s clincher of this poem is “you lie side by side in debtors’ boxes / and no accounting will open them up.”  It is true that no human accounting will open up the “debtors’ boxes” of my wounds nor its aftereffects, but Christ’s accounting will.  

What do I mean by that?  Ultimately, His gaze is the only gaze that really matters to me (cf. CCC 2715).  Although I do treasure each gaze from my earthly father when he is loving towards me, proud of me, etc., deep down, I know that my identity – my true identity – lies peacefully in my Heavenly Father’s gaze.  It is under that gaze that I can reach out and forgive my earthly father.  It is under that gaze that I can hope that my father – and even my mother, who had done all of that abuse – can be made perfect and whole again, God willing, in Heaven.  A movie that inspired that hope in me was the closing scene of the abusive father made perfect and whole again in I Can Only Imagine.  Watching that scene shed light on my deepest hope, because that was the kind of mother and father that I was truly created for – a perfect and whole one.  And God willing, I will hopefully be able to behold that vision one day in Heaven.

“what am i doing here collecting?”

Clifton asserts this towards the end of her poem, and I trust that God collects my every tear, wound, and heartache from the divorce.  I trust His counting, His justice, but most importantly, His mercy.  And for me, that is enough for my peace.

[Editor’s Note:

For those struggling with their mental health or in current or past situations of abuse, here is a re from Life-Giving Wounds to Christian and Catholic mental health resources that may be a start.

If you are having or have had thoughts of harming yourself or others, or feel like you are experiencing a mental health emergency or mental health crisis, please do any or all of the following:

1. Call 911 or go to the nearest Emergency Department for help and an evaluation

2. Text the Crisis Text Hotline: Text HOME to 741-741

3. Call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: Call or text 988

4. Chat with crisis centers around the U.S.: Lifeline Crisis Chat, https://988lifeline.org/chat/]

Intercessory Prayer

God of all love and mercy, we ask for your assistance today in helping us find and offer forgiveness. Though we are injured and struggle with anger and disappointment, we know all too well the harm done by ongoing conflict.

Help us better understand what hurt us and why we feel so deeply.

Give us the courage and perspective to stand in the shoes of the one who has injured us.

Remind us that forgiveness is the only way to find freedom from the pain and desire for revenge that can trap us.

Provide the grace for us to extend forgiveness as an action of strength and hope, not weakness.

We know, from your loving example, that forgiveness possesses a power far beyond our experience of suffering and being wronged. Inspire us, then, to reconcile and to bring peace to our relationships and society through the power of forgiveness.

In your mercy, we pray. Amen.

(This prayer was found on the Grotto Network here.)

About the Author:

The writer of this blog post seeks to use their wounds in a life-giving way by offering comfort and consolation to others through writing.  This writer is passionate about giving a voice to the wounds of adult children of divorce, especially after having attended a Life-Giving Wounds Retreat in the Spring of 2021.  The writer would like to dedicate this post to their priest for being a steadfast supporter of this writer's healing and journey to forgiveness.  This writer prays for the healing of all adult children of divorce, especially the ones met through Life-Giving Wounds as well as for the renewal of strength and courage in men called to serve as spiritual fathers to those in need.  

Reflection Questions for Small Groups or Individuals

1. Take some time to read and reflect on Lucille Clifton’s poem “forgiving my father.” Reflect on your experience as a child of divorce or separation. What thoughts and emotions come to mind?

2. Try writing your own poem called “forgiving my father” or “mother.” What are some key areas of your past that you will include?

3. Who in your life might God be calling you to forgive?  What is one step you can take in your journey to forgiveness of that person?  

4. Who has been a good father to you?  How?  Perhaps compose a prayer of thanksgiving to God for placing them in your life.

5. In what ways has your earthly father exhibited good qualities?  In which ways could there have been improvement?  If ready, perhaps compose a prayer to God for him.