how do we forgive our fathers?

If you haven't seen the movie Smoke Signals, it is an incredible film. It ends with a striking poem, and I'm including the clip below. I've been thinking a lot about forgiveness these days as I have felt called to extend several gestures of forgiveness and reconciliation to my own father in the last few months. I won't lie, it's been pretty difficult and I haven't wanted to do it. I identify strongly with the last line of the poem: if we forgive our fathers, what is left?

However, I feel called to forgiveness as I am learning to take seriously the gift I hold within me. I have the power to bless even when it is not deserved, and I should never underestimate the transformational nature of this grace even if I do not see it's fruit immediately or ever.

Forgiveness has been a process; it has come slowly piece by piece. First, I had to recognize the pain and name it. I had to grieve and mourn. I had to set boundaries. I had to confront so that I knew what was at stake when (and if) I forgave, and I had to let go. Finally, I was able to write to my father this week and say: "whatever your failings as a father, I forgive you." Even in this expression, I did not deny the pain or the lingering questions I still have. I did not deny what has been lost. I did not deny that there are failings.

My dad called after he got the father's day letter (I was so nervous). To my surprise, he thanked me many times for my letter and said that it was very "generous" of me. He said he would put my letter in his book of memories. That was it.

Even as I write, I feel conflicted. However, when I think about forgiveness, I realize it is more for me than for my father. In an act of freedom, in a spirit of empowerment, I can bless and forgive knowing that he doesn't really deserve it but I can make the choice to bless anyway. I have the power to free my father from the impossible burden of having to make things right. And so I used this power because I felt called to out of love, not necessarily because I wanted to.

I definitely don't think forgiveness is cheap, easy, or immediate. It is not denial. It is not escapism. There is still much more for me to let go. If I had attempted this step of verbal forgiveness any earlier, it would have been about getting a specific response from my father or seeing a change of behavior. However, at this time, in this place, it wasn't about what my dad could offer me because I recognize he is a weak and broken man. Instead, it was about me choosing as an adult to let go and recognizing that time is short. Not to be too morbid, but in my relationship with my father death is always on the back burner because of his age. So, quite literally, it has became a choice between forgiveness or death. In forgiving, I choose to hope in the future. This father's day, I gave my dad the gift of life. What he chooses to do with this will be up to him.

Do we forgive our fathers in our age or in theirs?
Or in their deaths, saying it to them, or not saying it?
If we forgive our fathers, what is left?

The space of forgiveness is strangely empty, but in this space, there exists the possibility of new life. It's a gift, but not a guarantee. But what is the alternative? It is I who must make peace.