Missing Loves


Throughout my life, I’ve always craved the feeling of a grandmother’s love, and a father’s love. I truly believe that lacking love in these imperative family departments have contributed to my bouts with depression over the years. Let’s start with my maternal grandmother.
 

I was told that she passed away when I was just two years old. She was very sick with pneumonia. I was also told that she loved me, and was excited when she found out I would be entering into this world. My mother told me that my grandmother thought I was thee most beautiful baby that she had ever seen, and that she took me down to the country to visit her. I was happy to hear that, but I would’ve been even more elated if I could’ve felt that. Being two years old, it doesn’t leave much room for concise memories. I was left to run with my imagination. I imagined being smothered in hugs and kisses and being overly spoiled. I imagined always being able to speak into a loving, open minded, kind, and nonjudgmental ear. I imagined her cheering me on at my concerts, recitals, and graduations. I imagined her helping me, and my mother pick out my prom dress and seeing me off to prom. I imagined spending holidays and summers with her and creating family traditions with her. I imagined having movie nights, and long talks with her. I wanted to talk to her about her life and experiences. I imagined her smile, her light, and her wisdom. I imagined her protection, and her standing up for me. I imagined our fun adventures that would include some good eating lol. I heard that she was a great cook! I could only wonder what our relationship would’ve been like, and what her love would’ve felt like. As I grew older, I really felt empty inside. I would live vicariously through others, and watch how they interacted with their grandmothers. I witnessed their special bonds, a bond I would never get to forge in my lifetime. I yearned for that love so deeply that it shifted my life for awhile. It really affected me, and made me surrender to depression at times. There were so many difficult moments in my life where I really needed to talk to my grandmother. I needed her prayers, her reassurance, her encouragement, her faith, her energy, her presence, and her words. I needed that. Sure, my mother supplied me with all these things, but I still needed my grandmother. Some days I only wanted my grandmother. My family showed me love yet they didn’t always understand me. I knew she would get me if no one else did, and I would get her. I also wanted to be able to cook for her, and take care of her. I think most of us can agree that grandparents serve a very unique and mighty purpose in our lives. Today it still affects me, but I am coping much better. I wish she could see my children, the woman I’ve become, and all my accomplishments. I wish she knew how much I loved her, my thoughts of her. I hope she is proud of me because I am proud of her. I love you deeply grandmother.


My Father…

My father died when I was sixteen years old. I didn’t even know he passed away until 30 days after he died. That’s an entire book that has been shelved for the moment. I was told when I was born that he wasn’t that happy to see me. I know he was at my first birthday party because I have one picture of he and I with my Mickey Mouse cake. Besides that, I only remember one other time that he came around when I was about 8 or 9 years old. He didn’t stay long. I would later learn that my father had a drug addiction. His addiction suffocated him, and kept him away from me. I can’t say that it was the only reason he didn’t come around, but it played a huge part. Maybe he didn’t want to be my father. I will never know. Again, I was only left with a few memories, and my imagination which was drained at that point. As angry as I was, I still craved my father’s love. I wanted him to be there for me, and to love me. I was his daughter. How could he not want to spend time with me or even see me?! Why didn’t he check on me?! Why didn’t he call me?! Then, I would remind myself that drugs craved his company more and hogged all of his love. He returned that love right back. They needed each other, and fed each other. I couldn’t be a part of that because there was no room for me. So, I would reimagine him being a different father. I imagined him being excited for my arrival. I imagined him spoiling me rotten, him being wrapped around my finger, and being overprotective when it came to boys lol. I imagined him being my best buddy, teaching me how to drive, and going on summer vacations. I imagined being able to talk to him about anything. I imagined him shielding me, and protecting me from harm. I imagined him walking me down the aisle at my wedding, crying, and being so happy for me. I imagined our father and daughter dance. I soooo needed THIS father in my life! I was mad for a long time until the madness turned into sadness. I was so sad because I felt a major void. Though I had struggled with not having my father present in my life, I finally forgave him. He’s deceased, and I can’t change that. I had to make peace. If I said I loved him, I would be lying because I didn’t know him to love him. Actually, he didn’t know me either. My love for my father lives in a fantasy land with the father I reimagined. I’ll have to leave it at forgiveness.

When I was maneuvering my way through life without experiencing the love of my grandmother and father, I was so angry and sad. I went through so much shit in my adolescent life. I went through many moments of feeling lonely, lost, misunderstood, and helpless. I felt that in those moments, I could’ve really used their comfort. I could’ve used their hugs. I wish they could’ve told me that everything would be okay. Not having them in my life damaged me but not beyond repair. I do believe that it is also one of the reasons why I loved so hard, why I yearned to be liked so much, why I held onto anger, and why I struggled so much. No it’s not the only reason but it is a piece of it. I blamed them both for leaving me even though it was their time. My grandmother got sick, and she had to leave me. My father let drugs consume him, and he had to leave. I was selfish and wanted a different life. However, it just wasn’t my reality, and I understand that now. I am always in a place of healing, growing, and understanding. I carry them both with me as I move in life. They serve as my constant reminder of how strong I am. I missed out on that kind of love. Missing out on that kind of love, it ultimately strengthened me.

This is a piece of my life. You never know what people have gone through or what transpired in their lives. May you feel inspired to release what burdens you. I felt amazing after writing this.


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