Letter to my Father Part I

Letter to my Father Part I

I finally got round to putting something down about my father.

Like medicine after death, literally, because he is dead and gone.

Died December 7th, buried December 28th, Beloved Father, Brother, Uncle, Grandfather, Cousin, and all the other names they wouldn’t let us put in the obituary…Friend to his Children, Humorist, Lover of British Comedy who Introduced me to the Magic that is Sarcasm, Motivator, Adviser, Truth-Teller, Shame-Coverer, Patient Listener, Calmer of Hysterical Women …

(I’m sorry I never told you all this when I had you with me; you were never one for emotionalism. But I like to think that you knew, somehow, just how much I love you. Love you, I say, and always will, because even if you are gone, my love for you will never die. And remember that you once told me that, as long as you love and you are loved, then the person you give your love will never die, but remain in the hearts and minds of every one they’ve ever had impact on?

So if you’re reading this wherever you are (as you used to read my blog and share your thoughts), I would love to hear your feedback. And if it’s too hard to contact me from where you are, then send me a dream of you, or a hug when I fall asleep, exhausted from the tears I shed for your loss.)

I miss you in the little things, the routines that rule my days.

I cry over a cup of tea because you and I liked our tea the same way (2 sugars, one lime).

I cried over my chocolate biscuits last week, because we always used to share them, remember?

I think back on that last big breakfast I cooked for you a few months ago. You had the biggest grin on your face.

“You always know how to catch me, Uchenna! Your cooking !” you said, as I buttered an extra piece of toast for you.

You said to me once that you knew you hadn’t been perfect as a father, but you hoped that at the end of everything, when your life was weighed in the balance, you would be found to have been a good man.

A good man, you said. Your exact words. You were right you know.

You weren’t a perfect dad or a perfect man. But you were good enough for me. You are the yardstick against which I measure all others, and for that I am thankful. Because you were the very best.

I miss you dreadfully. Every day brings a new set of memories to smile about, think about, weep about.

Every day brings fresh platitudes from people I work with, or see, or talk to. Its as if they see that I’ve lost a piece of myself. I have. I lost it when they threw the sand on your casket that last day, because it seems obscene to me to still be whole in a world that doesn’t have you anymore.

I hope you understand what I’m trying to say. You always said,

“Keep your writing clear, concise and ramble-free”, and I’ve tried to do that. I hope you approve, oh Stringent One!

I love you, and I miss you, Dad.



16 thoughts on “Letter to my Father Part I” by hotchocolate (@hotchocolate)

  1. This is beautiful…makes me feel jealous that he wasn’t my dad…and makes me experience that sense of loss that you feel. I’m so sorry for your loss…may his soul rest in peace

    1. @topazo, thanks so much, and Amen

  2. Beautiful piece…I lost my dad over a year ago, and time has done nothing to ease the pain…not one bit. At least he knows I love him, and even if he wasn’t the best dad…he did his best. @Uche, I feel you…*hugs*

  3. Aw…this almost made me cry. May your Dad continue to rest in peace. I hope you get the comfort and strength you need at this time too.

    1. Amen, @Myne. Some days are easier than others.

  4. So sorry for your loss. And your beautiful writing makes me feel truly sorry that the beauty you shared now lives in memories alone. But then even memories are to be cherished. Let those memories comfort you.

    1. @chemokopi, thank you. I wanted to convey a little bit of just how much he meant to me. He wasn’t just my father, but my friend as well.

  5. This was very touching, @hotchocolate. You must have been very close to your father to share the experiences that you narrate here, and you are blessed to have experienced them.

    1. @TolaO, we all were. Thank you

  6. When we lose someone we love, someone we depended on, it is so hard. But our comfort lies in the remembrance of the good times we shared and in the hope of much more better experiences in the hereafter.
    Beautiful letter, I enjoyed reading it.

    1. @Theo, thanks so much for the encouragement.

  7. I know the feeling, @hotchocolate. Some days are easier than others, and we never stop missing them. But we survive first, and then we live, because we must maintain their legacy. I had a wonderful dad too (the best,even), and it hurts to refer to him in the past tense.

    1. @febidel, it does, doesn’t it? I think it’s when I start sentences with, “Daddy would love this…”, and then recall and quickly correct it, “Daddy would have loved this…”that it hits me hardest. I’m sorry about your dad.

  8. @hotchocolate I loved this . It reminds me of my dad who passed away 13 years ago in January. This is not hiding in the shadows, afraid to come to light, this is a celebration. I play Luther Vandross’ Dance with my father every now and then just to remind me a great man passed this way.

    1. @Lulu, thanks so much. Time does nothing to dull the pain of losing him, but I also feel so grateful to have known him.

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