Beyond Borders Scotland and Dove Tales, the Association of Scottish Writers for Peace, collaborated on the Beyond Writing Competition, aiming to facilitating dialogue and cultural exchange through the creative writing and storytelling.    

The competition consisted of three rounds; Inspirational Women, Creative Peace and Beyond Borders.  

This piece by Jan Little was shortlisted in Round II: Creative Peace. The competition’s judge, Jean Rafferty of Dove Tales, described the piece as a vivid and moving exploration of the complexities of family life and the power of reconciliation

—

Forgiving My Father

My father left me twice before he died, 

Yet he returns in my dreams now and then. 

He stands silently in a tableau 

In the center of the room behind others, 

Who are also gone from me. 

He has an expectant look as if to ask  

For posthumous forgiveness for spending less time  

With me than with my mother and brother 

During the five years, he traveled for his job. 

Later, he changed in his last years trying to restrict 

My independence he had before valued.  He wanted 

A quiet, compliant daughter, who never spoke in church, 

And who did not love her black and Muslim students  

Equally with her white ones. 

Yet I remember his bringing ice cream and a coloring book 

To the hospital while I recovered from a tonsillectomy, 

Our laughing as we painted my bedroom one summer, 

And his driving me to school always almost making me tardy. 

These events become hanging ornaments on my timeline 

That I take out of memory boxes on birthdays, holidays. 

Each becomes burnished like worn brass 

From tears rubbed off because they are so few. 

Only now five years since his death, can I bear 

To remember third-shift staying with my halved dad 

Because Mom didn’t want him to be by himself. 

I slept in slightly padded chairs alone in his room. 

Daily, friends and family came to grieve  

For his dimming light that stayed lit only 

To go home with Mom to Hospice care. 

Silenced and gaunt, his only action was to hold Mom’s hand 

With brief looks from under lids to reveal  

The small light and large love left. 

I kiss his bald pate, promise to care for Mom 

And a breath is his last.