Dear Dad

Dear Dad,

I could never show this to you because I love you and I don’t want to hurt you. I sometimes think that if I were to be honest that you would stop believing that. Still, there’s a lot between us that hasn’t been said, that needs to be said.

The main thing is mummy. I just want to know why you did that to her, why you treated her that way. I get it, your relationship with her and your relationship with me are two different things. And to a certain extent I understand that when you look at her you don’t see what I see.

For me, she is this celestial being who no matter how much I upset, disrespect and mistreats, forgives. She has shown me that it is okay to cry and that it is okay to feel vulnerable. I took for granted how easily I can express my emotions to her until I met other children who couldn’t. And maybe you never had that, maybe that’s why you treated her like that.

You got with her, got her pregnant and when my brother got sick you left her and you left him. Your relationship with him has never been the same. He tells me that he has come to terms with not having a dad.

And then you got back with her, and because she was so desperate for a sense of family, and because she had always grown up with parents who stayed together and because you were from the same country and maybe you reminded her of home she returned to the one she had made with you.

But then you married someone else, and had my sister, and a few months later I was born. You went back with my mother, beat her and somewhere in the midst of all of this you made Jannat and you made Faith. In a way you made a beautiful mess because the love I have for them is insurmountable. For that I am grateful.

Most days I find myself making a concerted effort to avoid thinking about what transpired between you and her. No matter what you’re my dad and I want to stay daddy’s little girl. That being said, I can’t avoid thinking about it, the older I become the more I can see it has moulded me.

It’s not so much what was done, but its more how it makes me feel. Something will trigger a feeling and then the thoughts will race and I’ll be stuck in that place. I’ll remember you coming to our house and mummy looking the door- you trapped outside, or it will be the knife she slept with under the pillow, the police officers escorting you out of the house.

I can’t blame everything on you, but you need to take some. Who else can carry it? Still, even if you don’t I’ll always love you.

XX

Cestmira

Elizabeth Kubler Ross

The truth is she is not dead. That’s how I cope “so well”. That’s the reason that I’m not able to cry because I still don’t think she’s dead

Yes I saw her wax like face painted with false expressions, yes I heard the catholic sermon, saw the relatives who could only spare enough time to visit as she lay in the casket

And I was there when we drove to the graveyard

And I was there when they dug the hole

And I was there when they lowered her in, but still…

You don’t get it do you, as long as I’ve been alive, she’s always been there. Her voice and face are stitched into my brain. And now you want to undo the seams. Well I can’t.

I’ve decided that its safer for me to stay here,

You can’t grieve what you have not lost