“Sometimes the only way to heal the past is to finally tell the truth about it.”
What happens when the person who hurt you most is also the person you most wanted to love you?
In this deeply vulnerable story, author and storytelling strategist Kennerly Clay shows us what it means to forgive an absent father—not because he earned it, but because she was finally ready to let go. Through Letters from East of Nowhere, her memoir composed of decades of real letters from her alcoholic father, Kennerly invites us into her journey of rediscovery, compassion, and healing.
This is a story for anyone who’s ever waited for a parent who never showed up.
The Lingering Wound of Absence
Kennerly’s father was a long-haul truck driver. He wasn’t abusive. He wasn’t mean. He simply wasn’t there.
“I’d sit all Sunday waiting for him. Sometimes he came. Sometimes he didn’t,” she recalls. “There was no consistency, and no explanation. Just the waiting.”
That inconsistency left a lasting emotional bruise. Her father had started another family. She wasn’t part of the daily rhythms of his life. There were no alternating weekends. No routine. Just a father who drifted in and out when he could spare the time—or the sobriety.
“I built up a lifetime of resentment,” she admits. “But I also cherished every single moment I had with him.”
That contrast—the ache of absence and the thrill of presence—is at the heart of what makes forgiving an absent father so complex. It’s not just grief. It’s longing. It’s the hope that never dies.
Addiction, Pain, and Parallel Paths
Kennerly followed in her father’s footsteps in a painful way: she became an alcoholic.
But unlike her father, she found sobriety early—at just 21.
It was in recovery that she realized something had to change. “I had to be honest. Not just with myself, but with him,” she says.
One day, while visiting, she asked him to go for a drive. They parked in a field. She told him everything. About her drinking. Her pain. What it felt like to be his daughter. To wait. To wonder. To feel forgotten.
“He popped a beer as I spoke. He never made eye contact,” she writes. “And when I finished, he didn’t apologize. He said, ‘If I had known it was that bad…’ and started explaining.”
Kennerly knew in that moment: forgiveness wasn’t about his response. It was about her release.
The Power of the Unsent Letter
That fieldside conversation became Kennerly’s emotional turning point.
“He didn’t get it,” she writes. “But I said it. And in saying it, I was free.”
In recovery, Kennerly learned a powerful truth: not everyone you forgive will respond the way you want them to. Sometimes they won’t respond at all. Sometimes, they’re no longer alive.
But you forgive anyway—for you.
This is the deeper reality of forgiving an absent father. You may never get closure from them. You may never get the apology. The recognition. The reconciliation.
But what you can get is freedom.
From bitterness. From blame. From the constant craving for something they may never give.
Rediscovering Her Father Through Letters
Years later, Kennerly’s healing deepened in the most unexpected way: her mother unearthed a box of old letters.
They were from her father.
Hundreds of handwritten pages, chronologically ordered, spanning from his college days to adulthood.
As she read through them, something shifted. “I remembered some of them from childhood. But I had forgotten,” she says. “And suddenly I saw a version of my father I’d never seen before.”
There were love letters to her mother. Tender messages to toddler Kennerly. Reflections on life. Dreams. Regrets.
She realized: “My father loved us. He just didn’t know how to stay.”
The letters didn’t excuse his absence. But they explained it. And in that explanation, she found compassion.
Mourning the Love That Might Have Been
Reading those letters triggered a wave of grief Kennerly never expected.
“I started crying in a way I hadn’t in decades,” she shares. “I wasn’t mourning what happened. I was mourning what could have happened.”
That’s a painful layer to forgiving an absent father—letting go not just of the hurt, but of the fantasy. Of what you wished they’d been. Of what you tried not to want.
“I realized I missed the love that I should have had. And that I’d built my life proving I didn’t need it.”
This acknowledgment cracked open her heart in a way no confrontation could. The letters showed her the tenderness he couldn’t live out—and gave her permission to grieve what she lost.
Understanding Changes Everything
Kennerly didn’t stop at the letters. She started interviewing family—her father’s cousin, old college buddies, even former coworkers.
She wanted to know: who was this man before he became her father?
The more she learned, the more she understood. He’d grown up in a violent household. He was shamed by his own father. He never believed he was enough. And when he started drinking, it only deepened that wound.
One family member said, “He was a great kid—funny, bright, so loving. But he was told he was nothing.”
Kennerly realized: “Of course he abandoned us. He didn’t believe he had anything to give.”
This wasn’t about condoning his choices. It was about context. And when we understand the context, forgiveness becomes not just possible—but natural.
The Healing Power of Storytelling
Kennerly didn’t just read the letters. She wrote a book about them.
Letters from East of Nowhere became a memoir, a tribute, and a lifeline—for her and for others.
“Writing this book was like reclaiming a piece of myself,” she says. “I finally got to tell the story I never told as a child.”
And that story was never just about her father. It was about her voice. Her truth. Her healing.
She discovered that storytelling—especially the deeply personal kind—can be one of the most powerful tools for emotional transformation.
You don’t have to be a writer to start. You just have to be willing to speak your truth. Even if your voice shakes.
When Forgiveness Isn’t About Them
If you’re wrestling with forgiving an absent father, Kennerly offers this truth:
“It’s not about what they did or didn’t do. It’s about who you want to be.”
You can choose to carry bitterness. Or you can choose to release it. Forgiveness doesn’t say, “It was okay.” It says, “I won’t let this control me anymore.”
For Kennerly, forgiveness was the bridge between truth and peace.
It didn’t change the past. But it changed her future.
She could finally love her father—not as the man she wanted him to be, but as the flawed, complicated human he was.
And in doing so, she gave herself the kind of love she’d been seeking all along.
From Pain to Purpose
Kennerly Clay’s story is a roadmap for anyone navigating complex grief, family trauma, or generational wounds.
By forgiving an absent father, she didn’t erase the pain—she transformed it. Through sobriety, storytelling, and soulful reflection, she turned what could have been a life of resentment into a legacy of compassion.
Today, her book isn’t just a tribute to her father. It’s a guide for anyone learning to forgive someone who couldn’t show up—and for anyone ready to reclaim their voice.
If you're holding on to anger, longing, or silence, maybe it’s time to write your own letter. Speak your truth. And finally, let go.
🗣️ Join the Conversation
Have you ever forgiven someone who never apologized?
How did it feel to let go?
👉 Share your story in the comments or join our private community at grief2growth.com/community
📚 Learn More
🔗 Get the book: Letters from East of Nowhere
🎧 Listen to the episode on YouTube
🫂 Join our healing community: grief2growth.com/community
💬 Quote to Remember:
“There’s nothing he could have done about anything. I chose to forgive him. That was the point.” — Kennerly Clay
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