Echoes of absent fathers: ‘My Daddy Died’ too, so I can relate (Review)
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Losing a parent isn’t easy.
Isn’t ironic that pop culture has yet to produce a popular written manual on how to move through grief? It would help.
My father passed away in Colorado during the last month of 2011. Before he died, I was told that he wanted to see me. Unfortunately for us, his wife didn’t want to honour his wishes. I was never added to the family visit list, and my estranged aunt didn’t fight for me. No one did. It wouldn’t be the first time one of his wives has ill-treated me.
I didn’t overthink what he may have wanted to tell me. It could have been an apology for his absence, or just a final conversation where I could have gotten an understanding of what made him ill and possibly ways to prevent it. After all, we shared blood.
Our time didn’t come, so I made peace with it and chose to move on. There weren’t many options.
I was named after my father’s American name: Richard. To this day, when I meet new people, they tell me how unique it is. Sometimes, strangers assume that he must have loved me a lot. Others wantonly clamour. It’s been interesting—So interesting that a select few knock the “ine” off my name to change my sex.
It took years before I learned where my father was buried. On February 12, I received a text message from Geraldine, my father’s daughter. She shared an image with me, revealing the cemetery where she believed he was buried.
In my response to her, as I’ve done most of my life, I said exactly what was on my mind.
So, yes, like all fathers and every living thing on earth, my daddy died.
Unlike Miss Chelsea Clark (real name: Earthsignchels), I didn’t get to stand at the foot of my father’s hospital bed. Nor did I have the comfort of any family members present before my begetter took his last breath. We didn’t talk for years. He moved away from New York City across the country to the Centennial State when I was young. I didn’t get to see him or speak to him again.
I’ve read many comments criticising the Chicago artist’s work. Some cannot relate to what she’s singing because their fathers are alive (which is a gift from God), whilst others focus on alleged cues seemingly taken from none other than the world’s most polarising yet celebrated rapper-performer, Nicki Minaj.
In my humble opinion, I thoroughly enjoyed how she delivers her lyrics. I connected with every spoken word, as the exquisite J Hill piano work matched the drama.
As a person grieving again nearly fifteen years after his death, I would advise the people watching to spend more time with their fathers after thumb-thugging on their app of choice. If you are not in the same city as your father, call him, question him and retain his words. You wouldn’t want to miss your opportunity as I did.
For the rest of us, may God in Heaven continue to fill the holes in our hearts and take away the emptiness that we sometimes feel. Grief isn’t easy. So, if you have health insurance or you are financially stable, invest some of your time into grief therapy. It helped me. I can’t wait to get back to it when I am in the States.
