My earliest memory is that of my father. I remember it was a room, probably their bedroom with my mum, and i was in my cot. My father walked up to my cot, in the back ground there was lots of sunlight coming through the window. Seems like a bright morning. He picked me up from my cot and rocked me. I must have been crying. Thats the only memory i have of contact with my father, after that it was just my mum.
I had always wondered what happened to him. At first i was so sure he was dead, killed in the war in the Middle east. My aunt before she died said she knew he was still alive and that one day he would come for me. I waited through out my teen years. That never happened until I was 25yrs old and I found out he was alive and living in the UK.
I was mad!!! why hadn’t he bothered to find me? I had so many questions and i just wanted to find out why he did not bother to find me.
He declined to speak to me. I felt so rejected. Why would my own father deny me the opportunity to speak with him. Why doesn’t he love me??
I was told my father had a medical condition for years and that he hadn’t been himself for the longest time. I thought to myself “thats hope, I could help him come out of it” but it was only a dream. He still refused to speak with me. I have so many unanswered questions and today I live with the fact that they will never get answered.
Sometimes I imagine sitting across from him and asking him all the questions I have had all these years “Did you love me when you first held me in your arms? Did you love my mum? what happened with my mum, why didn’t you try to make things work? so many questions….
I am still mad at him, but deep inside me, i still long for the opportunity to help him get well. to tell him about my life, my kid, my adventures in life. To hold him and tell him that I am happy i found him….. but only just wishes.
So today, my father lives in they dark side of my heart. The side i dare not expose to my friends and my family because I have to look strong. I want to look like I don’t care that he does not want to speak to me. In there he stays, locked away with broken hopes, dreams and promises.