Lost child

My Papa went to heaven a week ago today. Before anyone chooses to question whether I truly believe that, the answer is yes! I am and always will be a daddy’s girl. My fondest memories are walking across parking lots holding his hand at the ages of 5 or 6 or long talks about life for hours on the phone at age 25 or 26.

My father had a series of illness and disease in his life but the latest being cancer. He lived about exactly one year past his diagnosis of stage 4. But I’m not here to talk about that. I would much rather run off a list of things I have to reconsider in my life now that he is gone. I accept his death and I accept the grief that is to come with it. What I am having trouble coming to terms with are the simple things.

I often told myself that when I brought my first house it had to have private parking or an immense amount of parking on the block. I knew how protective my father was of his car and if he couldn’t see if from the door or top floor window he may not have come visit me often. Now, he’s gone and I have no idea what I’ll look for in a house.

I used to fantasize about having children and smiling at the fact that he would of course, as the head of our family recite the ATHAN in the ears of my children after birth. Now, I can hardly picture myself having children.

Some of the simple things I think about now that he’s gone become even more far fetched. I hated the strong aroma of the massive amount of Muslim oils that he would splash across his beard, face, and neck. Now, I want to visit my mother’s house and take them all with me. I want to smell him each day I wake and sleep.

I know that all of these things are a part of my grieving process but I find them somewhat humorous. Not realizing at the time when these thoughts were created just how crazy I was and am about him. I think about the accomplishments that I will have and the ones that I won’t. And my brain becomes tangled and puzzled. I have grown accustomed to having two people celebrate for me or two people tell me that a better try is yet to come. Those two people being my mother and father. Now, I question whether or not I will truly learn to celebrate without him.

I had a dream about him last night. I knew that it was him even though his figure was dark and shadowy. He was there and it was clear to me. 

At this point I am a wandering child looking for my father’s image in every waking moment, every phrase, every tv show and all things in my daily life. I do miss my Papa dearly. But, I am proud of the man he was. I am proud of the person he helped me become.
To Papa Haqq himself: I know you see me. I know you will read this. You were always the first to read my post and tell me how good my writing is. People are surprised at how quickly I went back to work. Or how much I’m not crying. That’s because I’m too busy smiling at the great memories you’ve given me. I love you. 

Diagnosis: Cancer

The lump in his throat has become the cause for the lump of tears in mine. Family history? No. Smoking, drinking? No and no. Yet that demon chose to reveal its ugly presence in the first man who could ever love me. It had taken him from a once strong, stern voiced, red beard, cool walking Pops to a broken, afraid and frail man. He was not someone I recognized or wanted to become familiar with. All images of him in this limp and sick state I blocked from my mind. But with blocking the images I would at times block his feelings and concerns. Blocking myself from dealing with the reality that this situation is beyond our control. The dynamic duo who never let anyone or anything tell us a belief contrary to our own. We were struggling. Struggling to see eye to eye. You were struggling to believe that God would see you through and I struggled to convince you of the same. Faith had been tested and limits had been pushed. Talk of giving up but actions that did not follow, thankfully. I distanced myself from you afraid to see you bend and you were hurt. Asking questions like ” I thought you would visit?” I know what I said and I came once and that was enough because I stared into your sunken eyes and outlined your slim jawline with mine. I saw the same concern and fear that trickled within my conscious each night when I prayed for you. For your wife, my mother, for our family. And that fear pumped deep within you ten times stronger than I could ever imagine. Because this was your fight, no it was ours! No this is not a battle that we asked to partake in but here we are. Staring the possibility of death in its grim and ugly face. It will not win because you are still fighting. We are still fighting. Perhaps an easier fight this time but God willing, we will win. 

For Fathers on Father’s Day¬†

Today is Father’s Day. I imagine that an enormous amount of blogs posted today will be about fathers. I imagine that people will reminisce on lessons learned and memories created with their fathers. But, I also imagine that many blogs will be about mothers that some feel have acted as fathers. This blog is not the latter. The days are separate and I feel they should always be treated as such and simply out of respect for the mother’s and father’s who play the role and wish to celebrate the day. Let me be clear, I have nothing against a woman who has raised a child on her own, but to me, that doesn’t make her a father. I know some people will not agree but hey… What probably bugs me even more is that some women who feel that they have been fathers to their children go on to down men as if all men do not accept responsibilities and parent their children. I saw that Hallmark even made a card for mothers on Father’s Day, later removed due to it being placed in the “mahogany” section and some felt that Hallmark was insinuating that only black homes have single parents. Nonetheless there are men, parenting their children. The fact is that there are two days for parents. One for each. Let the day be for who it states. I rarely see men bash women on Mother’s Day. Some may equate that with the fact that not many men are sole providers of their children but I equate that with respect. Men respecting a holiday made for strong creatures that are women who bear the children of the world. People should exhibit that same respect on Father’s Day. I know many, and when I say many I mean more than a handful and more than some, men who are terrific fathers; both young and old. I salute those men. One of them happens to be my father Mr. Red Beard himself. My father met my mother when she had five children and they had three additional after. Each of my siblings calls my father Abi/Abu (Arabic for father.) My pop is a father and I feel that if I celebrate the day at all and if he celebrates the day at all that it belongs to him!! May is for mothers. I want people to acknowledge men and the role that many of them play in their child’s life. I do understand that women may be sole providers and that they may be primary care givers but that does not make them a father. It does make them a strong mother though. For those women who have had children with men who aren’t quality fathers or don’t care for their children at all, let’s celebrate the day for the ones that do. Let’s commend and respect the men who are a part of their child’s life. Today is Father’s Day, and this blog is for the fathers. 
I wouldn’t be an artist if I wasn’t controversial…
Peace.