Death is a funny thing isn’t it? You grow up thinking the most pure things, like your dad being there to pick you up from school, bring you to go feed the ducks at the pond, to walk you down the aisle. The most simple expected things from a father that I longed for. My 7-year-old brain couldn't wrap my little head around why my dad had left us. Was it me? He had left abruptly, and he left without looking back. Half a world away and he couldn't bother to pick up the phone once, to give his children he left behind a call.

Seven years ago I got a heart wrenching call that no 11 year old should get. I sat there in shock as my mother told me my father had passed away from a heart attack. All those expectations of having a dad were suddenly gone. I just wanted to bolt out the door and never come back. I didn't know how to feel. I went upstairs to my room and didn’t come down for hours. I eventually built the courage to come downstairs, and that is when it finally all hit me like a hurricane of emotions at once. I cried on my mom's lap for hours. It had been a week after my birthday and now I regretted not calling him every day. I could've said one last goodbye or one last I love you. I buried my faith with my father when I heard he passed, blaming a God for his death but not seeing the good in it. My mom consoled me and told me it was nobody’s fault.

Little did 11 year old me know that my mom lived in constant fear everyday thinking my father was going to come back to kill her for telling the truth. Contemplating if she had done the right thing, leaving him and saving her children. As the years went by the stories unraveled and I found out the truth. You would expect someone as old as 6 to notice or remember such a terrible thing like this, but my brain protected me from the truth and so did everybody else. I remember only discrete moments: like when I was too loud, or fussy, or wouldn’t sit down, or asked for my mom and he would threaten me, like going to school with bruises on my arms, but no teachers noticing.

The person I am today is partly because of my dad. A girl that lets many people step all over her and say anything to her. A girl with trust, and commitment issues, along with anxiety. I am always thinking that somehow I’m always the problem. As much as I wish that my dad's death made me more tough, in reality the impact he had on me when he was alive still lingered. In life he had made me feel distressed but now that he was gone these feelings didn't change or leave me, as much as I wished that these feelings died with him.

I had an abusive, absent father. In front of people he displayed a righteous man with morals but behind closed doors my mom was living in constant fear. My father was a dishonorable man, abusing his wife and children behind closed doors.

The person I am today is also because of my mom. My mom was strong enough to leave my father when she thought she couldn’t, and I'm very thankful for my mom's bravery. She encouraged me to go to therapy and going to therapy helped me by providing me a safe and confidential space to talk about feelings, thoughts, and behaviors with a person I trusted. Therapy has taught me to be more open about my feelings and how communication is key. My mom has been by my side since day one. She's always stood by me and made me stronger than I ever thought possible. She’s taught me how to be the person I am today. With my mom and therapy I've processed what I've been through and instead of letting it affect me I’ve learned to accept it in some way. I’m still an open wound but I'm slowly healing through the love of my family today and friends. Moving forward is easier said than done but as I live through life, I will slowly but surely close this wound.

© Stephany. All rights reserved. If you are interested in quoting this story, contact the national team and we can put you in touch with the author’s teacher.