Monday, 22 July 2013


Source: Google 

 I stumbled on this piece by dewunmi_  posted by obafuntay hope you like it.

There are some things you later realize are not your fault. It takes time, grieving, healing and being surrounded with people who love you, for you to finally come to that realisation. Like a mother losing her baby, sooner or later, they come to terms with the fact that there was nothing different they could have done. Bad things do happen to good people. Unlike me, whose fault it is entirely.
I was sixteen; young, believing in right and wrong. Black and white. No gray shades. It was either good or bad.
I saw my father with another woman at Hotel Lacoste. The school had organized a seminar at some Bank for the SS3 students. The seminar ended with nothing productive achieved except some truly amazing dozing skills. We were being heralded into the school bus when I saw his car drive into the hotel across the bank. I wasn’t sure it was his, but then he came out; you don’t mistaken your father’s height, his clothes or his movements. He walked over to the passenger’s seat and helped the woman out. They didn’t kiss or anything. It was more the way they avoided doing anything suspicious that was in itself  suspicious. But at the last-minute when they entered the lobby, his hand glided down her arm to a point between her waist and hip. The touch of familiarity, a lover’s touch. I decided to tell my mom. There had been other incidents. A lipstick stain, a feminine perfume, late nights. This was just the final nail on the coffin.
My mom isn’t the strongest person. To be honest, she was quite weak. Her life revolved around her husband. She loved him, cared for him and got nothing in return.
My father was cold to her, the more she tried, the farther he got. It sickened me watching her kowtow to his every need. I decided telling her would grant her some sort of backbone. I hoped. I should have known better.
She did confront him when I told her, but she didn’t hack him to size. NO. Like the weakling that she was, she found a way to blame herself. What hadn’t she done right? What mistakes had she made? I got sick of listening to her. In his usual fashion, he said nothing, didn’t defend himself. Just left.
I yelled at her;  said horrible things I wish I could take back. Every mean thought I ever had came out and I stormed out.
I was sixteen, I was stupid, I knew nothing. What did I know of people’s fragile emotional state? What did I know of what caused a mind to snap? What did I understand that the words I spoke would push an already broken woman over the edge?
She killed herself that night. There was no note. He found her first. I screamed and screamed and screamed. It changed nothing.
Years after, it still changes nothing.

NOTE: Your words carry amazing power. So when you speak make sure you uplift someone and never put them down...*KISSES*

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