Hello my fellow bloggers. I am here to invite you to my new poetry blog http:// poeticallybloo.wordpress.com I know some of you used to follow my last poetry blog which I decided to close down due to expenses I could not afford at the moment and I hope you will come to partake of my poetry here. I will most definitely follow your page with my new blog in return. Thank you in advance for your continued support.
Being that fathers day is a few weeks away, as always I have begun to think what this time of the year does to me and how it affects me. How no matter how hard I try to ignore it my mind refuses to be silent. Anything revolving around occasions where fathers are involved always tend to get to me in some way or another. Weddings, graduations, holidays and all those other days where a little girl wants or needs a dad. A child never heals from not having a father, don’t let anyone lead you to believe otherwise. Although that child may function just fine and mature into a balanced adult, that balance is always slightly tilted.
I know, I’m a fatherless daughter. A man may have help create me but no man raised me. That I owe to my single mother.
The effects of not having a father are many. Some positive and quite a few, negative. I can recollect the day I realized that I did not have a dad clearly, and until that day I did not realize how much I truly missed it. I was about eleven years old when the realization hit me like a cold fist to the belly.
I was at the park and a little girl fell and her father came to the rescue. He picked her up cleaned off her wounds and kissed her. He made her feel all better and the look on her face was priceless with awe and admiration. I was mesmerized by their interaction. How much he loved her and she him. It was brought home to me that I had never had a dad to do that for me. At such a young age I knew that I had no hero. That realization has affected my whole life and always will. This bears no mark on the fact that I had a good and responsible mother or that despite the lack I grew up well,with an education and a good upbringing. This is simply a testimony that as a daughter to an irresponsible man it has wounded me deeply as the woman I am and the girl I was.
Every occasion having to do with having a dad there has been a cause of pain for me. Never having a fathers attention on regular days let alone pivotal moments only reminds me that there’s a father who could have been there but never was. Not because he died or was indisposed but because he chose not to be there. I think that is the most distressing part to any child who’s irrelevant in their fathers life. The feeling of not only abandonment but the one of disregard. To know someone took part in your creation yet feels no love or need of you. The anger grows like a weed in you because although this person doesn’t care, you will never know why or what caused them, in you, to be so unloving toward one of their own.
As a daughter I wondered why he didn’t want to be my father. What did I do? Did he know I wanted a dad? Did he care that he was missing all the moments of my life. Does he know or care how much he hurt that little girl, that young woman this woman now. The truth is that I don’t know the answers to any of these questions. The truth is that even at 42 I ask them still to a resounding silence.
The effects have been numerous. Having no dad creates gaping wounds in a girl child’s soul. Every time you see a girl with her dad it has a way of setting fire to the dry embers of your fallen memories. I can go ages without thinking about it. I am blessed in many ways yet on days like fathers day, yet when I see weddings taking place or when I simply sit on a bench at the park and watch a dad console his daughter I think. Where is he now? Do I ever cross his mind? Does he care whether I’m sick or healthy or am I still only a fatherless daughter. I don’t think I’ll ever really know. Perhaps one day I will stop asking, and the silence will be mutual.
I have to say, I love books! I simply love everything about them. The smell, the feel etc. I have over 2000 books which I have been collecting since I was fifteen when I fell in love with them. The library was my sanctuary and nowhere do I feel more at home than in my office at home. Every book I love is there and even though I hardly buy physical books anymore ( blame it on the ipad ) they’re very presence makes my woes abate and disappear. When I spend time on my office/library I feel refreshed, pumped and ready to write or crate a new art journal page. It is my shelter where I can believe it is all possible. Where I can create dreams and design magic. Here I have written much of my poetry, stories and of course my art journals. There is nothing like having a space where you feel completely capable and free. This is my home inside my home.