The truth is, I am not ok

It’s been one year since daddy died. I wrote about how I didn’t cope with his death then, I am struggling now. I wrote about him on his birthday and still, I am unable to let the ‘pen and paper’ or keyboard fully help to release all of my nightmare. Writing is usually cathartic for me, but it seems that in death, there is no catharsis.

I am struggling because I never thought I would be a daddy’s girl whose dad resides in the ether in spirit, in pictures recklessly saved on clouds and hard drives. In quickly fading memories in my aging mind. I am afraid. Afraid that I will not remember him in full. Afraid that I will reach a point where I am struggling to recall his exact words. Words that may not have mattered so much in my teens, but are now worth so much through what I still believe to be his untimely passing. I am disappointed that I never paid attention when he quoted entire paragraphs of classic books. I have never been able to do that, but once he read something, he never forgot.

I don’t want my daughter to stop smiling like him because I still want to know that I can access his mischievous smile. I am willing to listen to Tatenda talk about as many conspiracies as he wants to enable me some comfort in what was so familiarly my father. I want to see my brother lose his temper from time to time so I am reminded of why daddy and I fought. I want so many things that I cannot have because simply, all those things are dad, and dad is not here.

We can talk about remembering the good, but that is my predicament. My dad is my dad, he is not just made up of the good, he is the bad and the ugly too. That is only half the predicament. The other half is, I don’t want to remember, I want to have the experience of it all, and cannot. I cannot because the experience left with him. There are no words. There is no comfort. We just have what we have. I have wailed myself to sleep, woken up with massive depression, lifted my head and continued with my day. Gotten on my knees to pray, fasted, meditated, gotten drunk, spoken to family and friends… I have done so much, not to forget, but to cope. It just is what it is.

Today, as I remember the good, the bad and the ugly, I really just remember my dad. The way he was. No pretense, just simply him. I am still my daddy’s girl, I will never leave that, but it is hard and I don’t know when it will get easier, I don’t actually really care… I am not ok, and that’s that.

Love,

MamaMambo

2 Comments

  1. Not being ok is ok too.. I know you’re not ok and l also know that one day you will be. There’s no rush babygirl

    Love you

    Sent from my iPhone

    >

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s