My father died today. 

Today, I wore red . 

Red is his favourite colour. 

Red is my favourite colour. 

Today is Valentine's Day. 

Friday is his birthday. 

I woke up without the accustomed grogginess; albeit at 2:23 am. 

I had the insatiable need to cook. 

My father's love was cooking. 

As I chopped carrots, onions and garlic, I thought of him for no other reason than to fan flames of misandry.

Finally, I gave up the fight with my indignant attitude and a just as thick carrot stick and said:

"You know, when daddy dies, the first person to meet him in heaven will be his father."

One hour later the irony of those words would be realised. 

When I uttered those words, I had chosen to acknowledge his painful childhood; almost incomprehensible to me in large part to the father that he was when I was younger. 

I am often at fault in speaking in absolutes, but I could not have had a better father than the one I had for the first 11 years of my life- not even Jesus Christ of Nazareth.

 Why then had I, after my sister's own roundabout way of trying to get me to speak with him a few days ago, refused to pick up the phone and call?

Furthermore, why then had I made the decision (not yet acted upon) to 'cut him off' from my life for 2017?

He was my first love. And I do believe I, his. 

And my first heartbreak. 

So painful a heartbreak that the events that precipitated our estrangement have left me numb. 

My father does not deserve that indictment. The man who fathered me perfectly for 11 years does not deserve that. The man that inspired in my soul and in me an unshakable confidence that informs every success ever accomplished or will in the future, does not deserve that. 

But yet, it is the truth. 

His decision to choose another- woman, friends, family broke my heart. 

It was not until 5 days ago- after watching a video online about healing and boundaries did I understand that his actions, though diabolically painful were not intentioned that way or even malicious. Rather he was doing something for himself and not to me. 

5 days ago, I finally came to terms with that. 

And yet, I did not call or answer his messages. 

The reality is that understanding is not forgiveness. 

It starts the process. It is not the end. 

The truth is (and nothing to do with my father) I have endured things in my short 35 years on this earth that Quentin Tarantino would turn a whiter shade of pale for. 

I think the pain I have as it relates to my father, though separate and distinct, has been unfortunately compounded by men and events that he would have killed to protect me from. 

With his untimely death, I now hope that justice, balance, mercy, grace, dignity and self-respect can now be restored for me and for him. 

Rest in Peace, My King. And Rise In Glory. I will be waiting for you and I promise, in the next life your mistakes and my ignorance will not have the power to tear us apart ever again. 


Oh fear not, cause I'll be with you all the way. 

Don't you worry it is almost over. 

My King don't you be afraid, fear not

Fear not. 

And when the world starts trembling

Just say my name. 

Fear not, cause I'll be with you all the way. 

Fear not!

Fear not!