What is a Holiday without a Father?

All the weight on my Mother, working overtime to get her children together before the festivities. I see her efforts so I hide the pain of that absence tearing at my heart and avoid the question, WHY?

Oh but the excitement takes over, pull up to the function untied with my favorite cousins, the hugs and kisses from my aunts and uncles fill me with joy, can’t forget that annoying family friend that tries to get you to call them ‘Auntie’, screwed face but I tolerate her anyways because she don’t mean any harm. Oh yea and them lipstick stain kisses from grandma that you can’t avoid no matter how hard you try, you have to respect it.

Forgetting about the pain for the moment, the distractions are fun, catching up, playing games, dancing to the loud music and trying to get away from the adults and their loud convos over a card game of spades or pitty pat, for the money of course. Eating amazing soul food admiring the essence of what family is, without my Father unfortunately.

Oh but when the night creeps up and it’s time to head back home. Yea I’m worn out, yea I’m tired but the toughest feeling is the hurt that resurfaces and sets in.

Some nights crying myself to sleep, others praying but most nights I’m asking WHY?

Why couldn’t he have seen me?

Why couldn’t I have met him at least once?

Why couldn’t he have met and held me that early morning of October 29th, 1994?

Why me?

Why my father?

Why do I feel this pain?

Why does this feeling never go away?

Why can’t I just call him?

Why couldn’t he be here for this holiday?

Why God?

Oh the pains of Holidays.

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