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Forgiveness just comes. Forgiveness is a feeling in the heart that will take you by surprise. Such was the case with my dad. After nearly 40 years of estrangement, I forgave Dad for abandoning me and my mother when I was just three years old. Because I did forgive him, I found what I had been looking for along. The act of forgiveness gave me the closure I needed and blessed me with knowing that I mattered to Dad.

I didn't purposely seek to find Dad. Dad came to me in the midst of a struggle to find myself. For most of my adult life I have carried the first image of Dad that I can remember. The time was the era of James Dean with packs of cigarettes rolled in the sleeve of a crisp white shirt and blue jeans. Men applied VO5 gel to thick wavy hair and women wore peddle pushers with soft Angora sweaters displaying pointed breasts formed by stiff cotton bras. Oddly enough, my hometown is Fairmount, Ind. - the very same ground James Dean graced. My parents blended with the generation of the '50s complete with Dad's cigarettes and Mom's cotton bra. 1958 brought to life their union in the form of a chubby, wrinkled, little human. Me.

Following Dad's departure, Mom struggled and silently cursed him for leaving. She kept it to herself and said only that I was "Daddy's Little Girl." That first image by the river is forever branded in my mind's eye. To this day, I still can feel the elation of holding their hands as we walked through sun-streaked woods to a rippling river which, to a toddler, might as well have been the deepest part of the ocean. But, I had no fear because my hands were nestled in the hands of security. The scent of a summer day lingers and often reminds me of my beginnings.

Perhaps that image gave me permission to forgive. In order to forgive we have to allow ourselves the luxury of putting the past in the past. Moving on and moving forward is a prescription to heal old hurts and wounds. Some wounds are deep and heal slowly. Forgiveness is an extra-strength painkiller.

Moving on and moving forward I received a gift. My gift came wrapped in Dad's words to me. A cherished letter that found its way to my mailbox proved I mattered. Because I mattered to Dad, I held him in my arms as he died. Forgiveness creates unexpected treasures.

As Dad lie dying, once again, Mom closed her hand around mine and forgave me for wanting to be "Daddy's Little Girl." Like so many years ago, the deepest part of the ocean is just a rippling river. My heart is nestled in the security of forgiveness.

Learn more about this author, BJ Burke.
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