I am remembering September 3 years ago. 

This year will make it three years since I moved back into my apartment. An action I felt I was forced to do. Three years ago, was one of my most intense feeling with Loss. 

He was scheduled for a flight back to New York to drop his daughter off and his mother was accompanying him on his trip. 

I had everything packed up and was living in a room, months leading up to our ending he had put himself in another room. This action of his reminded me of my ex-husband and my dad staying in my sister’s room when him and my mom were close to their separation. 

The day he left for New York. I locked myself in the bedroom. He knocked on the door 3 times to let me know he was leaving. He had asked me to move out while he was out of town. I thought I would have never seen him again. I let the knocks go unanswered while my sister stayed with me on the phone, and I was trying to cry as silently as possible. 

Then I heard the front door closed and I just started to bawl on the phone. My sister and her husband were able to talk to me giving me encouraging words. I told her I needed to rest and hung up the phone. 

When I knew he had left the house, I went into the hallway. He usually hung his towel there and work shirts, in the hallway was also where the dirty laundry was kept. 

I grabbed the towel, a t-shit that was hanging and I barried my whole face in it, absorbing the scent as if I wanted it to leave an imprint inside my body. My stomach was twirling on the insides, my tears fell faster, and I took another breath, clutching the garment holding it as tight as I could of to my heart, my legs gave out and I fell to the floor with my only last pieces of him.

“God, it this what it feels like to lose someone, I feel like someone just died”

Remembering this event brought me back to my own childhood when my father left. I starting to put the past pain together with the current ones. 

When my dad left, my whole world fell apart. When my dad decided that Toronto wasn’t for him and stayed in Trinidad that left me with a message of “if they leave, they won’t come back, everyone leaves me, I am not important, I am not good enough”.

I didn’t hear from my dad for years when he left. 

Just like the child longing for her dad to arrive and make everything better, I fantasied about my dads arrival and splitting my holidays, birthdays, and weekends. Just like any other kid from a divorced home. 


I didn’t hear from Jack when I moved back home, not so much as “hey, are you settled in okay, do you need anything”. 

I couldn’t understand it, how could someone just pretend that I don’t matter. That same thought was a repetitive one as a child. (Does daddy not know how much I am hurting, did daddy forget about me).

I went into fantasy mode (a common trait with abandonment wounds)

When I heard the dogs bark on the street, I became anxious, I had built a fantasy about Jack coming to see me, tell me how sorry he was, that he had made a big mistake, that he was going to hold me to take all the pain away. I wanted to be seen, heard, and understood. It took me about 3 months to realize I was driving myself mad, that it was all in my mind that he wasn’t going to show up no matter how much I believed it was what I wanted and needed. 

It came to me this morning, his ignoring me and my feeling not important was a direct reflection of when my dad left and my mother giving me the impression that my longing was not allowed. The feelings were pretty much the same, so was the thought pattern. 


September also marks the Day of our Islamic marriage. When September 27th came around, I waited by the phone, looking at it every two seconds in case the second that just went by I might have missed a message or call. 

There was no message, no call, no text, no email. I had no idea why I thought I might have gotten flowers as a token to acknowledge the dedication of my love and for Islam. (delusional) 

That is how I was too with every birthday that came up or holiday as a child. I would wait and go through the mail, to see if Daddy remembered me, I would listen to my mom answer phone calls, hoping it would reveal that it was daddy calling to wish me happy birthday, that he remembered and miles apart he knows how much I love and miss him. 

No birthday Cards and No Phone calls. 


Doing inner child work is a hot mess for sure. A therapist of mine once told me “If you want to heal and change, it’s going to be painful, it’s like peeling back an onion, layer by layer”. Doc is right, it is painful, but being able to release trauma and rewriting your story to have a better one is worth the pain of past memories. 

My Mother and Father are not BAD people, they didn’t have the tools to heal themselves, much less try to understand me as a child. They did what they knew best. 

I now live miles apart from my son and the pain that comes with it is not easy, but it gives me compassion for my dad. Being away from three beautiful daughters is enough to give you a permanent heartbreak. He dealt with his situation by drinking. I can see now how his pain has led him to become an alcoholic, no one wants to lose a wife and three kids.

Maybe I fought so hard this time around to make things work. I couldn’t bear going through a loss again, maybe it was my inner child getting the message from the past of unworthiness, maybe I held on because I did love or maybe I was holding on to ignore my own healing. Maybe I just didn’t want to remember myself as a child. 

I want to make September great again! 


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