“Father to
the fatherless, defender of widows—
this is God, whose dwelling is holy.”
this is God, whose dwelling is holy.”
5 days after fathers’ day I celebrate the 8
anniversary of my fathers’ death. Well I can’t really call what I do
celebrating neither can I call it grieving. I’m somewhere in the middle. As
someone who trained herself to distance her from emotions; I never really know
what to do or how to feel when this day comes around. I normally just try and
act that this day holds no. But this year I found myself reflecting on the
relationship I shared with the man who leant his DNA for me to be here.
I will never forget the day he died. My mother can
to school to tell me of his demise. I felt nothing. Literally had to force myself
to cry so that I could seem normal. Isn’t that the normal response when you
hear that the man you haven’t seen in 5 years has died? Too cry? What upset me
the most apart from missing an exam I’d revised hard for, was the clear
heartbreak all over my mums face. I had to be strong for her. The only time I
really felt something for him was when I was made to look at his dead body. I fought
the urge to shake and slap him awake. Had to be strong.
My reaction to the news of his death perplexed me.
Why didn’t I break down in tears like a normal person? Why didn’t I curse the
Gods? Why did I want to stay in school
for an exam? Am I really that much of nerd?
The sad reality of my father situation is that I
lost my father many years before he died. Not only I not laid eyes on him since
I was 8. Don’t get me wrong I did speak to him in rushed phone conversations
that I would try and cut short to get back to watching T.V. But I lost my
father the day my brother died. The father that would tuck me, let me fall
asleep on his lap and shout at me when I drew on the walls and talk to much
died when his son died. Instead an alcoholic man who spent more time in the pub
and other women than with his wife and daughter. For 3 years this man was what
I had to call father.
The sad reality is that many years before my father’s
physical expiration, emotionally and spiritually he was dead. He found comfort
in alcoholic and God knows what else. I’d grieved for my father long before his
end.
Society will show that girls who don’t have a father
figure are most likely to have multiple sexual partners, do drugs and are
basically are a lost cause. And those who know my testimony know that I was a
lost cause. That is, until I encountered my heavenly father. Having not known a
fathers love for so long it was hard nearly impossible for me to accept. In
fact I found it sexist that it’s the “fathers love” and “fathers heart” that
Christianity plugs to the world. Surely a Mothers love is stronger than a
fathers love. I know what a mothers love is cause that’s all I’ve know since
birth. It’s impossible for mother to leave a child. But a father can. That’s
the thing. That’s why the father’s love is so special in my eyes. The father
regularly chooses to love and to unconditionally. A father’s love is something
I am learning about from my heavenly father. Abba.
To my earthly father I wish I got to say these
words:
“Father. I’m not mad at you. Yes you hurt me. Yes you made
numerous mistakes as a father, as a husband, as a man in general. But it’s ok.
I forgive and I’ve always loved you. It might have been hard for me to show you
love cause you where to distant even when we lived under the same roof. Some of
your actions are harder to forgive than others and they are really hard to
understand. But I know you where hurting and trying to cope the best way you
could. I love you. I’m made at you for leaving me, I’m made that you choose
other earthly things over us. You hurt me deeper than anyone ever has and
taught me to be distant. But I forgive you. I choose to remember the good man
you once were. I choose to hold on to the good memories instead of the bad,
love and not to hate. I can’t be angry at a dead man for the rest of my life
can I? I choose to hold on to the fact that my well being was your main
priority on your death bed. I wish we could a change to know each other more. I
wish I could call myself daddy’s little girl. I wish so much that you where
alive. You loved me the only way you knew how I know that now. Even though you
hurt me, luckily I have a heavenly father whose love is healing that pain. I
really wish you got to know him and that you got a chance to choose him before
it was too late.”
Rest In Peace Alphonce Kundai Misi
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