My fathers letters

If you can recall, my father was the most important person to me.  I knew if there was such a thing called loved.  Then my father loved me.  However, over the years and due to the problems I had experienced, writing to my father had become a chore.  After all and sadly it was almost 18 years that we were ripped apart.  I was brought to this cruel country to a life of a pain from everyone I had met so far.

I would write to my father, and he would always write back.  Over the years, although I didn’t write to him as regular as I should, all the letters I did have, became my treasured possession.   I had a lovely pencil-case, and all my fathers letter were kept neatly inside in date order. I would take them everywhere I went.  I would read them over and over, it had got to a point where I would also  read them in my mind.  (This pencil-case, later post).

Well the letter that I had written had been received, my father had written back to me.   He always started his letter…

To my dear daughter…..


Actual letter

he explained about Jamaica, how he missed me, he had hoped I was in England living the best life, and I would be a doctor.  I read these words and my tears flowed slowly, and drenched the paper.  I would wipe away the tears and try desperately not to allow the ink to run into the other words.  If only you knew “Papa”. Which is what I called him.  “If only you knew”

I had been  bullied, abused, abandon,  sexually abused, raped, physically abused by your wife, papa,  the one you sent me to. My children were stolen from me, and  I was in the middle of a court battle, and living with a control and sex  freak.  “Yes, papa your daughter was doing ok”

“Yes, papa” I  had become a nurse, as I was now an expert at cleaning my own wounds .

I read on, about the conditions in Jamaica,  and I tried to picture him sitting down writing to me.  I wondered what he looked like, my last memories i was six years old. I tried very hard, ever since coming to the England, not to forget how he looked.

I read on, and my heart skipped a beat. I re-read the line.  and my heart skipped a beat again,  my father, had a new daughter.   Why!  why did he tell me this? I felt a sharp pain in my chest, my stomach was churning, and my imagination had gone wild.

That was it, I  felt betrayed, crazy I know, but he was my father. I was his baby, now I felt truly abandon.  The tears flowed easily, what’s the point, my situation felt so much worse.  My box at the bottom of the sea, had opened once more.  (Previous post)

I threw the letter down and I cried, deep pitiful cry.  I cried for several reasons, I cried for my life.  I felt so sorry for myself and I  thought about the stupid baby sister.  I was certain my father wouldn’t love me anymore after all he had a new daughter.  She would be  little and cute, not spoilt like me, I imagined him doing all the things to her that he did to me,  the bike rides, the pony rides, sitting on his shoulder.

I guess she could become  the doctor he wanted.  I was so confused, and even at my age, I was  extremely jealous.

But then….I  cried because I finally had a sister.  I wanted to see her,  I was sad , but excited at the same time.  I had a sister.  I had waited all my life to have a sister, someone else shared  my blood.  We shared the same father,  I smiled in between my tears; was I going mad finally?

I thought of how me and my little sister would  be friends. We would be so close, once she got older she would write to me, and who knows maybe I would see her one day.  I had a sister.   As the words rolled off my tongue.  I wanted to tell the world I wasn’t an only child.   I belonged.  Wow! I had a sister.  Me and my little sister, well we were one.  The thought became more obsessive throughout the day.  I had a sister.  I said the words over and over, my children had a aunty, their own aunty.  The words felt good on my tongue, but at the same the time they tasted bitter..

I tried so hard to be happy, but I wasnt.

As hard as I tried, I was so unhappy, and confused.  At the back of My mind was the fear that my father would forget me.  I was not his baby girl anymore.  I didn’t want the sister anymore.  I had waited all my life, for a sister. But…

I was totally confused, until it dawned on me.  I did still want a sister.

I just didn’t want a baby sister. I didn’t want her to take my place.

I cried.

I needed to forget her.


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