I Forgive You…

by August 8, 2015 0 comments

I forgive you…

For what you did. You didn’t know what your actions would do. You were young and hurt. I’ll give you that. I’ve been there myself and know the consequences my own actions have caused. It seems I inherited more from you than first meets the eye.

I forgive you…

For leaving me alone when you’d pick up my brother and sisters. You surely didn’t see the hurt in my watering eyes as the house emptied and I was left alone, lonely. I had my toys to play with. They did a good job of distracting me… for a little while. But deep down I knew I wasn’t included. I learned to deal with the feeling of exclusion. I’m alright now.

I forgive you…

For leaving the child-sized me to sort out who was daddy and who wasn’t. Heavy things for such a tender and young heart to deal with. But because of that, I found daddys everywhere. Teachers, coaches, friends fathers, big brother, uncles, TV characters. I looked and found my daddy in hundreds of role models… but never in you.

I forgive you…

For leaving me to carry on another’s name. I ended up carrying it well too. Even passed the name on. My crooked branch off the family tree has been extended now. 3 times, actually. It’s a shame they will never carry your name. They will pass on this court-induced alias for generations to come. Your blood being carried on the wave of another man’s name.

I forgive you…

For making me seek you out. For waiting for me to ask you the million dollar question instead of telling me. I guess you never realized the clouds of questions that followed me since I could remember. I assume you assumed I didn’t question it at all. I assume a lot.

I forgive you…

For never acknowledging the little boy that still lives inside of me. He speaks to me at night, when all the din of the waking world fades away and all that’s left are twilight dreams and nightmares. It’s when he calls for you that I come. He cries for you to hold him. I hold him for you. He pleads for you to see him. I see him for you. He begs for you to call him son. I call him son for you. Eventually he calms and melts in my arms. I tell him that the fault is not his, but yours. I whisper that the loss is not his, it’s yours. I hold him and tell him he doesn’t have to forgive you, just because I do.

editors note:

In the end, forgiveness benefits the forgiver more. (See another take on how a bastard bears all on Gianni’s page – check it out) – mh clay

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