To Say Goodbye

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To Say Goodbye

I sat there in the large room staring at photos of my dad.  It was surreal.  We were at his memorial service.  As I sat on the front pew with my stepmother, her sister and my dad’s brother, it was almost like I should not have been there.  At times numb, and at other times in a complete outbreak of tears, my emotions surprised me.  I never thought I would be so affected by the death of one who had chosen not to be in my life for most of it.  I felt so very cheated. 

He was an amazing man.  Beyond his height of six feet, six inches, he stood larger than life.  I loved him with a fierceness that could take my breath away.  He could be so cold, so cruel.  Vicious in his words towards me.  Rejecting.  Criticizing.  Not present.  Deliberate in his choices to hurt me.  And yet, as people got up there in the full church and told story after story about how he affected their lives, they were each right on point.

He had that kind of affect on people.  Women adored him.  And he was quite the looker.  Men respected him.  Children looked up to him and wanted to be just like him.  I just wanted him.  He was every wonderful thing that everyone said about him…and yet so much more than folks knew about him.  My mother and I lived through horrific episodes at his hands.  I looked into the faces of each of those people with their judgment, not knowing anything about my relationship with him except what they assumed.  And inside I was completely floored at their unwillingness to acknowledge my pain or even the fact that I had just lost my father.  It was as if their eyes looked at me in blame, as if to say that my not having a relationship with him was my fault.  Oh, the expletives that went off in my head at each of them!  I wanted to snatch the mic out of their hands and curse them out and tell them they didn’t know anything.  How dare you get up here and flaunt in my face the time and attention and affection and gifts that he gave to you and your children while completely ignoring me and my daughter.  All of you.  F-you with a capital F!


I think it was the fact that he escaped out of here without ever making it right, without ever an apology for his mistreatment towards me, that was the biggest part of my grief.  I needed the support of my mother near me.  But due to the dynamics between she and my stepmother, I was forced to endure it alone, as she sat in the back of the church keeping my daughter.  It was just me.

It was interesting and quite profound to realize this, but if I had been anyone other than his child, I would have had the same kinds of relationships with him that all those other people had.  I guess he just did not want to be a dad.  I remember him saying when I was a child and he was still married to my mother that he wanted thirteen daughters.  Thank God, He had the providence not to allow him to destroy the lives of twelve more girls.  One was enough.  He had done enough damage on me to probably cover all of us, had he been allowed to father thirteen.

About a week or so after his funeral, I remember having the distinct feeling that his presence was not only no longer around, but was no longer on the earth.  It startled me.  I was used to his not being around, but I never knew until that moment how much I could still feel him, until he was no longer around to be felt.  Humph. 

He had been a collector of beautiful and valuable things.  I got a call from my stepmother about a month after he died asking if I had wanted something.  There had been something I had wanted.  We had started a project when I was a small child, before he left us, and I wanted it.  It was a purely sentimental object, probably worth nothing monetarily, and even if it had, it doesn’t matter because I would not have sold it.  She informed me that she had given most of his stuff away or sold it, what remained was in storage and she didn’t want me going through it.  Humph.  I told her to forget it.  Honestly, I am not even sure why called.  Even in death, he wanted nothing to do with me and refused to look out for me.  She was no better.

I haven’t quite figured out how to separate myself from a lifetime of emotions where he is concerned.  I can be very good at just letting things be what they are, but with him, with this, it is just so personal.  It feels like a personal affront.  One of my cousins, on his side of the family, sent me a card.  Her words were so beautiful.  She acknowledged that he even though he never did, I was the best thing that came out of his life.  I appreciated that.

One day, soon I hope, I will wake up and no longer be filled with the pain and longing of a father who didn’t want me.  He will just be someone I knew in passing.  The donor who helped form my life so that I could complete my purpose.  One day….

Changing lives one word at a time…Tumika Patrice Cain

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Tumika Patrice Cain is an award-winning author, media personality, and motivational speaker. Through her imprint, Inkscriptions Publishing & Media Group, she provides high quality, affordable, mentor-based publishing services to indie authors, as well as inspired, empowering messages of hope and abundance through her media outlets. Her works can be found in many publications, including Fresh Lifestyle Magazine. To learn more about Tumika, her books, and her services visit the following websites. http://www.TumikaPatrice.com and http://www.InkscriptionsPMG.com