I spoke to my father for the 1st time today in years.

I 1st met my dad when I was 18. His wife found out that he had another child-me, living in Jamaica and went on a search for me.

That’s how I imagined it went, and that’s what his then-wife told me.

I don’t remember talking to him much for the one month I spent in New York with him the following summer.

I remember him being as quiet and non-confrontational as I am, not wanting to be seen or heard. We had similar insecurities, and I pondered the power of genes over socialisation since I had all his mannerisms and none from my confident, confrontational and outspoken mom.

Fast forward to today, my mom randomly asked me to give him a call since we were now in globally serious times, and we never know who may need some reaching out to.

I wouldn’t say I liked having to call him, but I called.

He answered on the third ring, asking him if he knew who was speaking with him. He replied that he saw my pic, and we immediately began exchanging pleasantries.

I made sure to tell him in not so many words that I do not need anything from him. A feature of the defence mechanism of independence I had developed over time.

Not wanting anyone to be sorry for me, I made confident to unnecessarily tell him I’m in a great position in life, and I’m just calling to say hi.

He sighed and told me he was lonely.

I felt like an ass. Having suffered from loneliness and daddy issues all my life, my father is now telling me that he is lonely.

I swept up his grief with words of comfort and assurance that I am here now and I can’t wait to see him and be a family.

I think I meant it.

At 31 years old, I’m ready to forgive my father and discard the unrelenting stress of abandonment I felt all my life.

The beauty of the pandemic is that it gives us the opportunity to feel immense grief, fear and loneliness that we yearn and develop any means necessary to re-connect to that which we have lost.

Covid-19 brought us together.

N.B- I didn’t re-read this post.