From my 12-year-old self to my Daddy.

For well over a decade, the ache has dulled. Time, we all know, heals all wounds. The question, however, is, was I wounded? As a 12 year old, I didn’t feel wounded because the concept was a bit strange for me to comprehend. Rather, I felt a strong sense of loss. A well of absence. A void that will be difficult to fill as I knew, even back then, that each person was the only one of his or her kind. There was no “getting back” of that same person once death states its claim.

The recent death of someone I knew caused me to reflect on the void that I felt and wondered what really happened to it. Honestly, I haven’t a clue but in all that reflecting, I remembered I never really had a chance to bid my father farewell. I was robbed of the opportunity to say my goodbye, not just for me, but for my siblings as well. So, today, after so many years, here’s a tribute from a 12-year old Sena to her late father, Mr. Peter Valcourt Amuzu-Sewornu.

Growing up, you were mostly away but I always looked forward to your coming home because that meant I was going to get a treat, no matter how small it was going to be.

I admired your intelligence as you had an answer for everything (though some of those answers you gave, I now know were just well… you trying to be smart). I’ve always wondered how you made friends so easily because at every turn, there is someone who knew you at some point. There were times I was simply awed by how you got so drawn into a book that you’ll not just be smiling to yourself but would burst into a hearty laughter at times (I picked that up somehow).

Daddy, your love for music was another thing that shaped my music preferences unconsciously. There was always something playing whenever you were at home. Did I say love for music? Do pardon me, dad. It was not just any music, it was your love for “great” music. Another thing, I never really understood why you could stay up all night to watch movies. Well, I now know better.

I’m not going to pretend it was a bed of roses being your daughter because it wasn’t. There were times I questioned if you really were my father because you knew how to set me straight and well, being a child, I didn’t quite appreciate it for the good it’ll do me. Now, I know. Because, tough on me or otherwise, I could call you mine. My very own father.  

You know, a girl could use her dad right about now. Dad, there is so much I thought I could say but my throat is clogged and my eyes are puffy because I look at the boys, especially, the little one and I break down knowing he’ll never know you the way I did. I mean, for 12 years, I knew you but for him, he barely recognized the contours of your face before you left us. 

All is not lost, daddy. For though you aren’t here with us, mummy keeps saying we’ll never want for a father because God is with us. That He’s always been here. 

Talk of God, I wish you knew him better when you were here because I now wonder how you’re going to relate to Him up there as you two were barely friends. 

Dear heavenly Father, in thy bosom, I plead, let my mortal father’s soul rest. 

This I pray for you, daddy.

I love you, daddy and may your soul rest in peace. 
By:  A girl who simply misses her daddy,

         mz_Scenah📝