The Loss of a Fathers' Love

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
As a healing process I set out to write about some of my experiences. I grew up idolising my father and could not bring myself to displease him. But all that changed as I started to become a teenager.

Submitted: April 10, 2007

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Submitted: April 10, 2007

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I don't remember the words of love and encouragement that could have made all the difference at a time of great difficulty in my life.

I remember my father, strong and determined in his ways. As the head of a family of six there would often be times where he would be gone all night just to earn enough money, wheather it was working at a petrol station or driving a taxi, he would do his best. A man to be worshiped by his little girl.

The father whom laughed, sang and joked with me as I sat in the bathroom watching him wash and shave. Combing his jet black heavily greased hair into place. The teasing as he sang the words to "These boots are made for walking," smiling down at me at any given moment. I loved the way he would wake me in the morning with the sounds of his trumpet echoeing throughout the house to the tune of "Ill Solencio".

My adoration grew as a child swept away with the currents of this mans life and energy, re-charging me with the strength to go out and explore another day. But things began to change as I got older and my interest in boys, music and fun that led me away from the comfort of his arms. I was sixteen and on the brink of freedom looking for my own special way to fit into lifes rythem.

This time of discovery was also a time of great sorrow. With my first taste of independance I spent a week in Sydney. A whole week on my own meeting young people who shared similar experiences and difficulties. At the same time my father withdrew, distancing himself from me. He started to criticise my friends, my appearance and all the things that were making me happy. My inner spirit was torn between my new found freedom and continuing to be "Daddys' little girl".

As time went on things progressively got worse. I was now eighteen and still struggling with the need for my fathers' approval, I began to smoke at a time when things were going haywire for my family. My mother was seriously ill with cancer, a secret she kept hidden for along time. Niave as I was I did not realise the full extent of her condition. It was at this time that my father disowned me for smoking, it took six months for him to utter a word to me.

That day came when he sat down at the kitchen table to tell me that mum would not be with us by christmas. I froze and retreated into my bedroom which by now had become my sanctuary from the world around me. My mother ill and my father angry at me, so much for freedom and choice. The constant struggle wore heavily, all my fathers' strength that I admired was now like a chain around my neck holding me down and trapped in a world I wanted to escape even for just a little while.

The death of my mother not long after left me empty and raw, no longer was there a friend that I could turn to and in whose arms I could feel safe. No proper good-byes. All that was left were alot of unanswered questions of why?

My father the strength of my family grew frail  in the months that followed. No words were spoken just the silent look of despair as the distance between us grew. The gap growing so wide that all hope of communication was fading as I withdrew even deeper into my own silent world of pain.

Within six months my father was gone, so soon after my mother. The sorrow of the loss was too much for his heart. The world of happy and secure times were gone forever replaced by silence and guilt. All I'm left with are the memories of youth. Like a torture stake I carry them with me as a constant reminder of a young girls grief at the loss of a fathers' love. All I can hear in the distant voice in my head is the ehoe of the words " If only he could have told me he loved me everything would have been alright. 

 


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