I’m usually one to flow when I write a post. My heart communicates what it feels and the words just flow. This time though, it is excruciatingly hard to piece together sentences in a clear, compelling, and coherent way. I’m overcome by emotions and worry that I will not do justice to this piece, that I will not be able to articulate myself.
My father died a few years ago, my dad is still very much alive. To some my life is complicated. Let me try to break it down to you. When my mother was pregnant with me, she stayed with her sister. I shared the entire story on via a mother’s day post here. My parents shared a beautiful friendship, and out of curiosity I was conceived. She never shared my father’s name with anyone, including the father himself.
Through all my life stories I make it clear that I was loved. My aunt, cousins, uncle treated me like their own blood. But there is always that small hole that no one can fill. A missing piece to the puzzle. I had this deep sense of uncertainty growing up. Most times I would wonder if he knew about me? Why is he not claiming me as his own. I spent so many nights crying my lungs out because ‘How terrible a human being am I that my own blood abandoned me’. As a child I asked my mother who he was. I will never forget that look in her eyes. Like I cursed at her or something. She was so hurt that I promised myself that I would never ask her again. And so I developed my own theories.
1. He must be homeless and she just doesn’t want to invite problems into my life.
2. Or maybe he was abusive
3. No, actually he must be in prison for murder
At the age of 31 (ok now you know how old I am) she sat me down, choked a bit and blurted out who my other half is. I cried, she cried, and I thanked her for finally telling me. Turns out he didn’t know about me until then. The day we met was so incredible. He must have hugged and kissed me a million times. He gave me that look that every daughter yearns for from their father. I was so overwhelmed because I just didn’t expect that much love and acceptance. A little freaked out because he wouldn’t let go. He prayed and thanked God for me. Turns out that my dad is a man of God. I’m a pastors daughter. Explains why I have tattoos and am a wild child. You know what they say about Pastors kids. One thing we have in common though is our faith. We believe that God’s timing is impeccable, that it was for a reason that we only met then.
Most people would’ve been absolutely bitter and resentful. Me, I’m full of gratitude. To have found him means closure. To know that he loves me gives me peace. I AM LOVED. I hope you know how much I love you too dad. Happy Father’s day ….