A Daughter’s lament to the father she never knew on Father’s Day.
Words: Mary Jane.
After a busy day at work, I called my mum to check up on her. She running an errand on my behalf. We spoke for a bit about stuff before she abruptly asked if I had received ‘THE NEWS’.
I thought of her goats, hundreds of them. She had probably made a killing selling them off at profit. Yet, my heart instantly felt heavy because she repeated the same question and I sensed some hesitation in her voice.
No goats had been exchanged for cash.
“He died”, she pronounced.
All I said was okay, and hang up.
You see, ‘he’ was my dad.