To The Father Of My Child — Even Thought It’s Hard, I Forgive You


I forgive you.

And there is love that’s kept for you here, always.

When double lines appeared on my pregnancy test, I sighed and stared at the blank space of my empty bathroom. How will I tell you? But before I had to, I already have gotten myself ready for whatever decisions you made that I had to face.

I showed you a photo of my positive pregnancy test and you immediately smiled. I was surprised at first but you told me that I didn’t have to worry because you’re happy that life was growing inside me. I grinned a bit and I breathed deeply, deeply, and deeper. Maybe things will work out, maybe you will be there for us.

But you didn’t and you left.

And it’s okay.

I forgive you.

It was a tough decision to choose between two and I knew that I and my baby were in the last of the list and I submitted to all rain and quakes that smothered my life that time. You decided to disappear and fade away from our distance and I saw you walk away with your hands tied, your lips unshaken, your eyes looked far as the bright stars in the sky, and legs locked as you turned your back away from me and our baby.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t frown. I just stared at your silhouette succumbing to the fog surrounding your mind and heart. I held on to my belly and words repeated my mouth, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

I was saying sorry to our kid who will ask me one day where he came from and where fathers come from. I was saying sorry to our kid who will be fighting alone in the midst of inquiries of where’s his father, where’s his family photo, where’s his dad in father’s day, and to whom will he give his heart shaped art project for father’s day. I want to apologize to our baby who will cry in the middle of the night because his girlfriend broke up with him and wondering why all women are the same and I want to hug him tight and tell him stories about beautiful fantasies that I made up about you and me.

Stories about how you and I love him, about how beautiful the experience was when he was born and how you smiled and cried there at the exact moment in the hospital, and about how you held his newborn body. I know, these are all just fantasies.

I will probably say sorry to our baby until my breath leaves my lungs. I always felt it’s my fault that I couldn’t give him enough.

But hey, you’re forgiven.

I forgive you with all my heart and soul.

But we are sorry too.

We are sorry that we weren’t enough for you.

I understand everything completely and you don’t have to worry about anything. I realize that people come and go, that no one can force the mountains to float, and that no one can let the nomads stay.

Every little piece of dust leaves.

Love leaves, hatred leaves.

Even parents leave.

I don’t expect you to come to his first birthday or to his wedding. I don’t even expect you to think about or even remember him. I don’t expect you to wait on our doorstep but if you will, you’re welcome.

You’re welcome to see the most beautiful gift you’ve given to me. You’re welcome to hug and experience the love that’s just waiting for you here.

Your hands won’t be tied in my home, your lips won’t be unshaken, and your legs won’t be locked. You’re free to do anything, you’re free to claim what you have deposited.

For as long as our baby lives, there will always be a reminder that love was planted and so it grew.

I never hated you, I never held a grudge against you. Instead, I understand where you’re coming from and where you’re going to.

Because after all, you’re the father of my child.

And I forgive you.