Invisibility

Weight. I had never realized how ponderous it could embellish into, until, at the progeny, my father became absent. It drub, as if a non-predicted storm launched to the beaches of my heart. Full force, a missile destroyed the trust I had within my biological father figure.

It was the weekend. Him and I always saw each other in the midst of Friday, Saturday, and a partial Sunday. Everything had a sense of normality. In the underdeveloped mind, never once, did I presume to think this would be the endmost. This was the ending, where physically I would lose the ability to glimpse my father. Smiles would never trade. A black hole would undertake, without realization, with the continuance to grow throughout the entirety of one’s life.

I closed my eyes as he vanished. When I opened them again, he was gone. As I looked in all directions, our journey was over. The end. I had never realized the drastic truth in “All good things come to an end.”

The story of a father and daughter would cease to lose its happy ending.

I was left standing with a piece missing, overcome by the overwhelming emotions as I watched the picture-perfect scene leave before me. Dancing with her father, sandwiched within his embrace, I could feel the love, as if an electric shock through body. This, an instant memory erupting. It did not look much different, as half of my appearance was at the fault of him.

A pause of silence, while my mind relinquished the memories. Clouds of grief wash over I. Finally I broke. Tears began to stream down the cheeks that, so often, rose from the happiness. I remember getting to the maternal side, running to the safe haven. My feet pounding against the pavement, as the broken beat heavily in my chest. My mother and I intertwined.

In that moment, I felt the loss of my father in a way I never had before. He would never return; emphasizing “never”. How one could abandon his creation. This would not end, the troubling emotion due to him. One’s first heartbreak kills. Throughout the years, salt has been poured upon my wound. A sore that stings with the thought.

I spent years pouring over readings about orphaned children, begging God for remittance. Yet, there was a plan, where strength was deep-seated. I desired to be liberated, still to this day, yet realizations are born from the soil. Almost fifteen years later, I am my biological fatherless woman.

Before the last bearing, aside from the intermittent visits, my father was not a precise resident in my entity. Inaugurated, I was unwitting of absence to a man I had never truly known. Idyllic. A comfortable childhood lifestyle, personal toys to myself. My mother toiled tirelessly for the amelioration of her children. Providing, in which, my father lacked the responsibility. The constant song of birds; the peaceful times. Grabbing clumps of crunchy brown and orange leaves, launching the wondrous nature into the sky.

As I flourished into a young woman, the black hole behooved. A gaping hole inside of me. Increasing in size and growing in power as the years passed; I realized. My biological father had forgotten about I. He would not attend the father-daughter dance, an absence of his wave from a stage, his diminished claps from the last shot of a basketball game. The moments passed, it was impossible to notice much else. Few times did he attempt to speak to me. Reasons for calling were self-preserving; I knew. My heart still ached.

I pursue to bestow in miracles. I longed for him to enter my life once again. I anticipated for a happy ending to this part of my story, but it has, on no account, seemed to thrive. I remember numerous instances when my mother questioned; “Am I not good enough for you?” Losing breath, struggling with to find the answer, as her sacrificial graces never subsided. I choked back a sob, nodding “Yes, you’re enough.”

My father never will fill that gaping hole he birthed. I never witness the “man” whose love and dedication could have meant the most. The days, hurt, over abandonment by family. I have found out pours of love acting as medicine; trembling the heart of cure, healing the salted wound. I carry love. Waiting on the moments when my life is, finally, a full circle.

Miracles will come true.

These thoughts, chaos and distracted, given the private space of being a comparatively good girl, where my own thoughts arise, as emotion is displayed in writing. A girl overlooked, undermined as to what ideas form, what she is supposed to do. A girl who is free, preconceptions hurt. From the outside, dark it may seem.

I am just an individual who was never taught what not to try.