A letter to my lost father, Wilbert Blair

BOMANI IKEMBA MAYASA | 8/21/2014, 2:09 p.m.
I still can’t believe my dad committed suicide. He put a .38 to his head and pulled the trigger. I ...
Wilbert Blair Contributed

Dear Dad,

The last time I saw you, I was 14 years old. That was also the last time we said “I love you” to one another. Then you vanished from my life. I lost contact with you for 10 years. And I haven’t laid eyes on you in over 20 years now. How do you mend a bond that has been broken for so long?

As a young boy, spending time with you (no matter how brief) was a highlight, and I looked forward to seeing you. I have fond memories of you kissing my head and pulling my nose, telling me how much you loved me, asking me in your Jamaican accent, “Do you love your daddy?” To which I always responded excitedly with a “Yes!” You never dropped any wisdom on me. Never taught me how to tie my shoes, ride a bike or anything like that. But as a child, that didn’t matter to me. I was happy and content just being in your presence. As a boy, I adored you. I don’t remember having a negative thought in regards to you. What a difference 20 years makes, huh?

I can’t believe my dad committed suicide

I still can’t believe my dad committed suicide. He put a .38 to his head and pulled the trigger. I don’t know if I’ll ever get over that.

Peace, family. I appreciate everyone for your condolences. I’m still attempting to process all that happened and the manner in which my father passed. It’s all very painful for me.

I wrote this letter to my dad, which I would appreciate if everyone took the time to read. He’s not here in the physical anymore for us to have this conversation, so I hope this energy reaches him in the next realm through your reading this letter. These are just some feelings I had sitting in my chest that I needed to purge. It was difficult to write, and I shed plenty tears writing it. Again, I appreciate all of you. Peace and love.

Now, here we are, 20-plus years later. You weren’t around to guide me through mistakes I made as boy. You missed when I was thrown out of high school and had to go get a GED diploma. You weren’t around to give me sound advice when I started college. Nor were you around to make sure I stayed focused enough to finish college.

You missed the birth of my first child. I was 22. A young man in need of some fatherly guidance and wisdom. You had no idea that at 2 weeks old, your granddaughter contracted meningitis and was on the brink of death. That was one of the toughest moments in my life. During this period of my life, I had no idea where you were, if you were alive or dead. Sometimes I tried to convince myself that you were dead because that reality was easier to deal with, more so than you just being gone out of my life, just living yours.