To the man who gave me life,

I write this to you today with a heavy heart, clear mind and the strength to keep moving forward with a positive outlook on life.

It was only a week and a half ago that after thirty-eight years I sincerely believed that a large hole in my soul and heart could be plugged, maybe not completely, but enough that years of anguish, pain, unknowns, disappointment, and fear could at least be put aside for good, and that I could move on with a degree of uneasy satisfaction in knowing that I have some semblance of a father in my life for the future.

Sadly, that was not to be.

Thirty-eight years. Thirty-eight years, and so hard to believe (and who would believe such a story) that the man who gave me birth and claimed to be my father, did not – could not – afford me a single contact, a single appearance, a single word of “hello”, a single birthday card, a single Christmas, a single penny, not a single sole effort. Thirty-eight years of NOTHING! from a man who gave me life, who claims to be my father.

Incredulous is the only word that comes to mind. Simply mind-boggling and unfathomable to all but the most fringed outliers who inhabit this planet.

And yet, with great trepidation I decided to go ahead and meet this man for the first time, and adventured to meet him without prejudging him and kept an open mind. My thoughts raced in a thousand directions and I was as nervous as one could be given the situation, however, I knew that something was not quite right when he called at the 11th hour to change the venue to meet his own schedule, despite him setting the time in the first place. (I should have listened to my intuition then and there and not shown up. His reasoning was a lie, and the truth is he couldn’t be bothered to take a 20 minute taxi ride to meet me as it was simply an inconvenience to him, though of course he will deny this as this is how he is.)

You see, it hurts. It hurts to grow up trying to figure out exactly what I could have possibly done wrong as a 2 year old child to drive her own father away for life, for him to deny my entire existence as a daughter. It hurts, for spending my life not knowing. Thirty-eight years later, today, it hurts even more for knowing, knowing what type of a man this ‘father’ really is. Because a week and a half ago, I really did find out.

On that fateful day I saw this man sitting before me, yet in reality I saw nothing. I saw zero guilt, zero remorse, zero empathy, zero compassion – I saw NOTHING. For thirty-eight years, I didn’t even get a simple “I’m sorry” that I so deserved, BUT what I did get was a self-absorbed soliloquy of thirty-eight years of excuses and “I am the victim!” mentality.

Seeing a man trying to defend himself like his life depends on it with reasons such as “I didn’t know if your mother would allow me to see you” (oh, and like he even tried to ask!!) was so hilarious had it not been so pathetic! How could anyone in their right state of mind would think of an excuse like this would hold any water for thirty-eight years?! Perhaps, by giving yourself an excuse like that to justify your cowardice helps you get through each day and so you are able to look at yourself in the mirror. Oh dear, I almost feel sorry for you! Wait, I do feel sorry for you, along with your wife and kids who are as equally culpable in this charade of denial.

The truth is – you ran away. You ran away from your duties and your responsibilities as a father for thirty-eight years. The truth is – you made a conscious choice to deny my existence for thirty-eight years! And don’t tell me you thought of me or you had asked people about me, because the truth is, you did NOTHING, never once – ONCE – tried to reach out to me – NOTHING.

As for your daughters, it is equally evident they learned well from you, as not one of them ever tried reaching out to me although they knew of my existence, and yet, like you they chose to deny my being as well.

The truth is, you owe me an apology. However, the real truth is, you didn’t and don’t have the guts to deliver one. And now it’s too late.

The hard truth is, one day when you leave this world to meet your own Maker (God – your conscience), then try and defend your actions to Him and let Him judge you!

As painful as it may seem, I also feel sorry. I feel sorry for this man who sat before me. I feel sorry for such a self-pitiful coward who doesn’t even have a single ounce of courage to own it up like a man, a weak pitiful pathetic soul who sees himself as a victim in life. I feel even more sorry for his three daughters for having a father figure like him in their lives, and I thank God that I never had one ­– never had, never will, never needed. But they will no doubt defend this “good man”, but unbeknownst to them is what he is truly all about – himself.

You see, as your last words to me were “I never missed you”, said everything about you in one short succinct sentence.

And yet, I missed you.

As hard as it may seem to be, I have a soul, I have a heart, and I have feelings. Evidently, you didn’t give one damn about any of that.

However, today, I’m thankful. Thank you for helping me realise what kind of person I don’t want to be, and thank you for letting me know that what type of person I don’t want to have in my life, not even as a ‘friend’ (and that request was the ultimate utter insult and slap in the face). I am now more grateful and appreciate the people in my life who love and value me – especially my mother, as she is everything you are not, and God made a right choice by handling me to her and not you.

Thank you for being you for me to see. It was everything I needed to witness in order to bring a sense of closure to this unfortunate and very long, and sad chapter in my life. Now I can move forward with the knowledge and hope that there are good things in my life, and many more to discover.

I am strong and will remain so. You are weak and will always be.

You will not be missed, but my soul and heart will always have a hole.