When I was only 6 years old, I felt pain for the first time.
I’m not talking about any kind of pain like when a little kid falls and cries, I’m talking about real pain.
The pain you feel when someone abandons you or when someone doesn’t care about you.
When I was 7 years old, I envied other kids.
I wasn’t jealous of their perfect clothes, pencils, sparkly pink Barbie bags or glittery stickers, I was jealous of their genuine happiness.
I was jealous every time they ran to their father when he came to pick them up from school.
I envied every hug they got and every tap on the shoulder when they got an A on their homework.
I was jealous of their freedom and how they didn’t have to pretend everything was okay, because it was for them.
When I was 9 years old, I saw my father drunk for the first time.
I remember thinking it was apple juice.
We would take long walks and then go to a pub; He always said he needed a rest and asked for a beer.
I don’t know why but I always thought he drank apple juice.
I wanted to drink like him, so he would order me apple juice, and as soon as I sat next to him and drank it, I felt happy.
When I was ten years old, my father yelled at me.
He started coming home very late.
Our walks were no longer interesting to him, so he replaced me with some tall, strange people with long beards.
I couldn’t understand my mother but I felt her pain.
He was hiding during the day, but at night he was spreading like a virus. We’ve all felt it.
In our house, the nights were lively and full of arguments, words, and screaming from my parents.
My father would come home at four in the morning, drunk, messed up, and dirty, and he would turn on the light in the hallway, making sure we all knew he was home.
We were supposed to be in our beds, pretending to be asleep.
But one night in February, I woke up and went to the bathroom. It was four in the morning and the lights were on.
He yelled at me because I wasn’t in my bed, and he didn’t know that the anger in his eyes would create
When I was 14, my father left us for the third time.
His departure was always uncertain, as was his mind.
We never knew what he was going to do next but one thing was for sure, we got used to him leaving.
He never said “goodbye” when he was leaving. Sometimes, he would leave when I wasn’t home.
This time, I was talking to him about how excited I was to go to high school; He looked me straight in the eyes and squeezed my hand.
And so I knew I wouldn’t see him for a very long time.
When I was 19, I realized how strong I really was.
Through all the pain, my father taught me one thing: to cherish the moments, even the ones you think don’t matter.
You never know when someone’s presence will be taken away from you.
Not having my father in my life made me realize and see everything I have.
He made everything and everyone in my life so important.
I cherished every moment of every day I spent with my mother and siblings, and I still do.
I am very sensitive with them and protective of them.
Pain taught me kindness, humility, and care.
You taught me how to be thankful for everything I have.
He taught me that you can’t choose a family member, and you can’t change them.
You can’t control every move or choice someone makes.
You can’t make yourself hate someone when you don’t.
The battle you created inside me, between pain and love, always found a way to light me up.
It made me strong, humble and kind, when I just wanted to be young.
I went to college and didn’t know anyone there.
I was very lonely and the only person I couldn’t stop thinking about was my father.
His absence hurt me deeply, creating trust issues and an emotional wall that I had up whenever someone tried to reach out to me.
I didn’t have many friends and I didn’t know how to love someone, even though I tried.
But I learned how to love and take care of myself.
I am forever grateful for that.
When I have my own children, I will teach them what tolerance really means.
I know they say that a woman should look to her father when she is looking for the man to spend her life with.
But I don’t believe in “research” or “research”.
I believe in faith and that one day, someone special will hold my hand while I thank my father for getting me through all the drama and pain.
I’ll let mine look into my eyes and squeeze my hand and I know he’ll stay.
One day, when I have my own children and when they are old enough, I will tell them that forgiveness does not mean “I forgive you.”
Forgiveness is a process. It takes time and sometimes lasts a lifetime.
Forgiveness is not a choice between things and people or the fear of losing everything.
Forgiveness is the strength that enables you to get up and move forward. It is to hold the hand of darkness and know that your heart is light.
Now, I can’t imagine my life without moments that break me, but it only taught me how to pick myself up and be stronger than ever.
I am full of love and patience. That’s all I have for the people around me.
There are positive thoughts and within me there is compassion and unconditional love for every person I have lost touch with, hurt me, or left me.
I hope my father knows that somewhere in the world.
