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My Daddy

My father passed on November 11.  God that was an awful day.  Hearing/reading the words that my father was dead.  I was driving to work when I heard the news.  I thought I could go on with my scheduled day without issue.  I guess that was the part of me that wasn't really willing to process it.  Just go to work and check in later in the day with the family to make sure everyone is okay.  I really wanted and needed my mom at that moment, so I called her to let her know.  I didn't expect her to breakdown as much as she did.  I expected her sweetness and love and compassion, but not her heartache.  I believe that was the point I talked to each of my siblings.  Each of them feeling the weight of the very sudden absence of our dad.

I spent the next week receiving love and condolences and flowers and more love and a multitude of stories about who my father was to people.  How he affected their lives, how he helped shape who they were how he made them laugh how he supported them through so much of their journey. It was beautiful.  It was a week filled with mourning and pride.  

That week ended with a memorial that my sister Bertha  did an amazing job pulling together. We both unfortunately missed our father's funeral in Zimbabwe.  My mother came with me to the memorial in Ohio.  I thought it would be good for her to make her peace.   See my parents had not seen each other in at least 30 years, so I was nervous and anxious about how she would do at the memorial.  I didn't realize how much I would need her during that time.  

See, during the memorial and actually during the prior week I realized how alone I was.  I knew very few people at my own father's memorial.  I felt completely out of place.  Almost guilty as I sat with my mom.  I held her hand for dear life.  I had to get up to speak and be vulnerable in front of a group of people whom loved and respected my father.  A group of people who knew my siblings well, but did not know me.  My mother was my comfort and the one whose eyes I could look into as I stood behind that podium sharing my story of my dad.  My acknowledgement of our existence together.    

I grew up with my mom in the US and my siblings grew up with dad and my step mom in Zim.  I really just started to get to really know my dad over the last twelve or so years.  Getting to know who  he was.  What he thought was important. How he felt about me. How much he loved his grandkids. Our relationship was new.  I finally had my dad in my life.  

On social media, or phone calls from multiple relatives and family friends to the memorial...It was my painful reality.  I wanted to share my story online and post pictures of my mom and dad.  I had not been an integral part of the majority of my father's life.  For the longest time my father existed to me in my heart and mind and a few old pictures.  I grew up wishing and hoping and praying that one day we would be reunited.  I knew he loved me,  I just couldn't be with him.  I was his American daughter.  

A week after the memorial in Ohio, I went to Zimbabwe with my son.  It was a time to memorialize my father at home.  It was my very first time in my father's home.  His wife, my stepmother, was and has been the most accepting and loving step mother to me.  She welcomed me with open arms.  As I walked in the door and took in the space the once housed my father, my heart broke a little more.  I wasn't a part of it.   I didn't get to grow up in this house.  I walked around taking it all in.  Wishing for my dad to be there.  My sister and brother had been there for the last couple of weeks.  They were handling the difficult tasks that come with the passing of a parent.  They were impressive.  That week I met a large amount of family.  I had seen pictures of some and had random phone conversations with others...this was the first time I was meeting uncles and aunties and cousins face to face.  I was again made painfully aware of how much of my father's life I had not actively been a part of.    Please don't get me wrong, I LOVE my new found family. I love understanding myself more because of my family.  I love them all.  It's because of how they were toward me that made my heart break more.   I wanted my mom so much.  She was my safety.   I could put my head in her lap and cry myself to sleep.  I could talk to her about what our time was like with my father.  I could fully embrace my story.

My father was a great man.  I wish I had had more time with him.  I wish that I had had an opportunity to see Zimbabwe through his eyes.  I'm glad that I consistently heard how much he loved me.  


I miss my father...








Comments

  1. I love you sisi.. and I can assure you dad always made us know you were there. Because of how he felt about you, it was easy for us to love you just like he did.. I love you sis..

    ReplyDelete
  2. Ida you look just like your mom.. wow.. that could be you standing next to dad.. love it..

    ReplyDelete
  3. Dads passing is still haunting. He passed as peacefully as he lived and had a funeral that displayed how much he was loved. I took in all the faces and realized that their pain was real. Many because dad was an advisor and elder that kept parts of them alive, dad was the one who would tell them about their family that they may not have known, Daddy was their link.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Daddy was a force. A peaceful force that linked so many together. I miss him

      Delete

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