Every parent is at some time the father of the unreturned

In the tender wisdom of John Ciardi, poet and philosopher of the human heart, we find a truth as ancient as love itself: “Every parent is at some time the father of the unreturned prodigal, with nothing to do but keep his house open to hope.” These words carry the weight of both sorrow and devotion—the quiet pain of waiting, the steadfast endurance of love that refuses to close its doors. Ciardi draws upon the immortal parable of the Prodigal Son, but expands its meaning beyond one moment of return to the timeless ache of parenthood itself. For every parent, he says, must someday stand in that sacred posture: loving without control, hoping without guarantee, keeping faith when all else fails.

The origin of the image lies in Scripture, in the Gospel of Luke, where a father waits for his lost son who has squandered his inheritance in distant lands. Yet Ciardi’s genius is to see in this not merely a story of one boy, but the universal truth of all parents and children. There comes a time when every parent must watch their child walk away—into independence, into danger, into choices that cannot be undone. In that moment, the parent becomes, as Ciardi says, “the father of the unreturned prodigal.” Not every prodigal returns, and not every story finds its happy ending. But still the heart must remain open. For hope is the final act of love.

This is the paradox of parental love: it begins in protection and ends in surrender. The child once held in arms must one day be released into the world’s wild uncertainty. The parent’s power fades, but their faith must grow stronger. To love a child truly is not to bind them to one’s will, but to let them go and still keep the light burning in the window, so they may find their way home—if not in body, then in spirit. This is why Ciardi speaks of “nothing to do but keep the house open.” For love, when stripped of action, becomes pure waiting: silent, enduring, unconditional.

There is a tale from history that mirrors this truth. Thomas Edison’s mother, Nancy Edison, once received her son home from school with a note declaring him “addled” and unfit for education. The boy, humiliated, withdrew from formal learning, yet his mother’s faith did not waver. She became his teacher, his encourager, his guiding flame. Though her son wandered through countless failures, experiments gone awry, and sleepless nights of frustration, she never lost hope in the spark within him. That unwavering hope, kept alive in the house of love, became the foundation of one of the greatest minds in human history. Thus, Nancy Edison, like Ciardi’s father of the unreturned prodigal, kept her house open to hope—and through that faith, her son returned, not in repentance, but in triumph.

Yet Ciardi’s insight does not belong to parents alone. It speaks to all who love deeply—to friends, to mentors, to those who have given their hearts only to see them misunderstood or turned away. There comes a point in every life where love must wait—where words cannot reach, and all that remains is the steady, sacred act of keeping one’s heart unlocked. This is not weakness, but the highest strength. For to love without demand, to remain faithful in absence, is to imitate the divine patience of creation itself.

There is, however, quiet sorrow in this truth. Ciardi’s words remind us that love does not guarantee reunion. Some prodigals never return; some roads never circle back. Yet even so, hope must not die. For the open door, the waiting light, the enduring faith—these are not only for the lost, but for the ones who wait. Hope keeps the soul alive. It prevents the heart from hardening into despair. It transforms grief into devotion and absence into meaning. The waiting parent becomes a living testament to the immortality of love.

So what, then, is the lesson for us who live and love in this fleeting world? It is this: keep your house open to hope. Do not let anger or disappointment bar the door of your heart. Whether you are a parent, a friend, or a lover, understand that love’s truest test is not in moments of joy, but in the long silence of waiting. Trust that what was sown in love is never truly lost, even if unseen. Hope, though fragile, is sacred—and to hold it is to remain human in the face of uncertainty.

And so, as the ancients would say, “Let your lamp never go out.” Keep faith even when the road grows long and the horizon is empty. For the house of the heart must always stand ready, warm with forgiveness, bright with memory, and open to the possibility of return. In this, we fulfill Ciardi’s timeless wisdom: that love’s greatest strength lies not in possession, but in patience—and that the open house of hope is the truest home of the human soul.