Looking back at my childhood, all I can remember is my dad being absent, me and my mom sharing memories and my gran being very involved in my life. If I think back to my earliest memory of my childhood, my dad isn't present. I remember living with my mom in my grans double story house. I remember how my grans dog never liked me and how I dropped my bottle from the top balcony and never got another one. I remember how our cat, Stringa, fell into the bath one night with my mom and I. He died shorty after. I always thought it was because of the fall, but it turns out he was sick. I briefly remember our ginger cat named Kiki (called that because I couldn't say kitty). I remember playing peak-a-boo with my teddy while my mom was in the bath. All these memories and not one involved my father.
My mom then moved us to the school where she worked. I remember the giant hail stones, baboon spiders and conning the other teachers into letting me go see my mom. Still my father was no where to be found.
Moving forward to preschool. We still lived with my gran. I had a massive operation done and had to stay home for a long time. I remember how I loved playing in the boat and bus at the school I was at. I remember how sad I felt having to hear all the kids playing outside while I was cooped up inside recovering from surgery. My gran treated me like a princess. Still my dad was no where to be found.
If I think about the last time I saw my father, I was about 9 years old. I briefly remember having a passing conversation with him. Fast forward 9 years, to 2013, I found out my father was diagnosed with cancer. Within a week of finding out, he lost his fight to cancer. I visited him in hospital. He was so drugged up on morpheme and in so much pain, I doubt he recognized me. I held onto so much resentment towards him. He was never my father, but rather a sperm donor.
After many years of caring this baggage with me (along with many other problems), I finally met someone who understood where I was coming from. Together with his understanding of my broken pieces and some counselling in my own time, I have finally overcome the issues this man put on such a small child. Walking with childhood trauma is not for the faint of heart. While I still have many things to sort through in my life, I can finally close this chapter in my life and move on from the scares left behind by the man who was supposed to be my father.
