This past Sunday, being father’s day was a rather peculiar day. I decided I was going to be at a grateful place. I, however, could not have anticipated my parental responsibilities to a daughter who has no idea how to navigate this complex path; I chose not to go down. Rightfully so, because I did not teach her what I have taught myself about such days. The source of my agony is different to hers:
My father died before I was born.
My father did not choose to leave
me.
My father is not wondering around
some place pretending I do not exist.
I have full control of the
narrative that I create regarding my father:
·
I choose to believe he looked forward to meeting
me,
·
He would be responsible and emotionally
available
·
He would love me.
·
He would protect me
·
He would provide for me.
However, would he? Do I know that
he would? Even though I do not know this with certainty, my father’s departure
got me well acquainted with abandonment; recognizing its effect on my life and
living with it. I chose not to go down
that thorny road because I know it all too well. I have been there, done that
and I now chose to come back to myself. I
have learnt that there is nothing down that road for me. I however have decided
that, instead of entertaining the thorns, I will plant flowers. You see, I have
never met my father and as such; I get to ravage through scraps of other people’s
memories, stories I have heard of him and the words in his letters and create
the story of Khomotso’s father. This story; is however, decorated by the main
story of Khomotso’s life as authored by the Almighty Father. The more I grow,
and recognize my purpose and mission in this world, the more I recognize that
it is my life featuring the fleeting scene of my father’s passing because in
the grand scheme of my life story, it is but a fleeting moment.
How then, do I help my own child
deal with her version of abandonment? Hers is not that someone had no choice.
Heck; it seems like believe much as I would like to that I have mastered this
terrain; I did not anticipate that, when I dragged myself out of the river of desertion,
I left behind some casualties. I rather
believed that I had carried her well through the path, and that my love and
care was a destruction enough. Perhaps, I did not carry her through it, but
chose to avert her discovery of it. I realise now, that carrying her, is not
enough – I need to teach her what I know. She too, needs freedom from the
bondage living whilst focused on the rear view mirror. I need to help her see
herself, not in the reflection what none of us can know with certainty. We do
not know the reasons why people do what they do, why they leave, and why they
do not chose us. Perhaps, those
responsible will, one day find enough light to shed some. What we can do in the meantime, is to seek and
move towards the light. We can recognize and enjoy the light that is good
fatherhood. We can proffer gratitude for love and well-meaning fathers we
encounter.
To my daughter:
I see your longing heart; it
beats inside of mine.
What you long for; I have desired
the longest.
The tears you cry now, I have
cried many nights for you.
I fear, however that your eyes
are set on the horizon
Missing the beauty of the
landscape carved right in front of you
I fear, that your nose is
congested so much
Missing the sweet aroma of
flowers planted in your tribute.
You see, you my dearest, are the
prettiest flower in my garden
I want to claim that it is of my
doing
It would be so wrong of me, if I
did.
Your father; My father – He has
done it.
Whilst I discovered you, He knew
you.
He created you in love, for love.
You are love.
You are His masterpiece.
You are his treasure.
You, my sweetheart, are the
landscape.
Carefully molded by our Father
for His pleasure.
The sun eagerly awaits, you
adjust your slopes towards her warm embrace.
You are the vast ocean of love
and hope.
The treasure is within you,
anticipates the breaking of the trove
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