As it seems that manhood deprived me of the opportunity to grieve; as it seems that your mother should cry alone and be weak while I stood emotionless, apparently as her support; as it seems that I insisted that your sister should move on when she wanted to mourn, it seems I myself should have mourned you.
Three years on, I still wonder: what if you were here with me? What if I had little more days to show my love to you? What if I stayed at home on the day of your passing and stopped the angel from taking you? What if I told you moments before your last breath that I loved you? What if I died in your place? All these what-ifs are only but what-ifs. You are gone, yet you remain.
Daughter, I miss you. It is now that I am strong enough to cry; I am bolder to let them tears roll down my arrogant cheeks; I am brave enough to admit that I was not enough, it was not enough, that was not enough. Why did you have to go so soon?
It was brief, very three-moths brief. One moment I held you tight and laid your tender cheeks on my firm shoulders, the next moment I dropped a few particles of sand in your grave. It was brief, three months brief.
I was still planning to love you one day. I was busy making sure that you had supper the next, and I was caught up in paving the path ahead for you that I forgot to tell you when it mattered most, that I love you.
Rest my girl, peace I will have now that I braved a tear, finally, I cried - yes daddy cried.
- Gift Nkuna
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