For The Sake Of Chief Never Gasho, I Have FORGIVEN My ‘Mother’.

Today I can boldly say I’m letting go of all the pain and trauma of my past. My father always told me that his dying wish was that I forgive my ‘mother’ Miriam. Just a few months before he passed, he sent me messages saying to me “Jean my daughter, the day you will forgive your mother, you will TOUCH the Sky. The world is waiting for you to forgive her, because it will be the greatest story ever.”

I had a massive argument with him over these words, which at that time I thought were insensitive and manipulative. I was so upset that he would even say the day I forgive is the day I would touch the sky, and have my breakthrough, whatever that meant. I told him that what he wished and wanted was never ever going to happen. I told him that I was going to touch that sky without forgiving Miriam. I told him to stop putting Miriam on such a pedestal, like she was a goddess, touch the sky my foot. I told him that the only way I could ever forgive Miriam was if she repented.

“She will never repent, or say sorry, and it’s eating you up. So you have to forgive and let go.” He would say to me.

I had such a relationship with my Papa, he knew me for being stubborn, for always sticking to my guns, for always choosing to do what I believed in. He knew that I listened to no one, especially when it came to matters of my heart, but if I was to listen, if I had to make that compromise of listening, the only person I would listen to was him.

I fell out with my Papa so many times over the issue of letting go and forgiveness, because when he finally chose to forgive Miriam, he wanted me to do the exact thing, at that very moment. I would tell him that,”Daddy if you have chosen to forgive her good for you, but you can’t expect me to forgive her because you have, not long ago you were on my case everyday telling me to get her deported, I’m the one who used to refuse because I told you I’m not that vindictive.”

Then he would always send me voice notes, speaking in this soft deep voice of pain, and he would say, “Jean mwanangu, my dying wish is that you forgive your mother. That is the only wish of your Father.” Today I still hear that voice, I hear it always, from the day he died.

In fact sometime in February this year he sent me a voice note, quite emotional he was, and he told me that he’s saying this to me for the LAST time, and whether I will listen or not, it was up to me. He told me that he wanted me to forgive and let go of any grudge or past.

I played that voice note to my husband, and I said can you believe Daddy. Like really. Little did I know It was actually the last voice note he sent me.

Then soon after that voice note he sent, something happened to me, I had some rebirth encounter and I started writing the Meghan Markle series, and as I wrote about Meghan, as my essays went viral, I couldn’t help but write about my father. I felt this overwhelming sense of gratitude for him, for all the things he ever did for me, for all the sacrifices. I felt so much gratitude, because he always blessed me, and told me that of all his children, I was the chosen one, and his Father’s blessing was on me. He called me the torch bearer. He called me the “Dreamer.”

So as I honoured him in my Meghan take downs, my husband said to me, “Eish baby, talk about using Meghan Markle to just honour your Father and put him on a pedestal, now as your articles are going viral people are reading about your father.”

Then I would say to my husband, “I’ve never felt so connected to him like I do now. I feel so grateful for him and it’s like a force that I can’t control.”

As I was writing the Meghan articles, one night I felt so emotional, I started crying thinking of Papa, and something told me he may never read the things I was writing about him, it was better I told him directly exactly how I felt, so I sent him a message and said “Daddy I just want you know, I’m so happy I’m your daughter.” And he told me I made him cry, and sadly that was my last message to him, about two weeks later he was gone.

Before he died, he was the biggest fan of my articles, he would read all my articles, and send me messages saying he was so proud of me. People would forward him my viral essays and it made him feel so good, then he would call me, and say my article was being read “world wide.” I would laugh and say “Umm Daddy, the article is only viral in Zimbabwe I think.” Then he would rebuke me and say “What are you talking about, this is a world wide article, don’t you know you are a global writer Jean?” I would get off the phone laughing, but I would feel so happy that he was proud of me, no matter how controversial the article, he would just love it!

The only time I felt a sense of success as a writer was when Daddy called me after reading any of my essays. I didn’t realise how much he boosted my confidence. Daddy would even tell me he learns from my writing.

He always had my back, even when I wrote about Zimbabwe being cursed, being the garden of Eden, being the biblical location of Ophir and all the spirituality of the land, my Daddy would say I believe you Jean. Then even Wikipedia would later change things, way after I wrote them.

Once I wrote an article and said Zimbabweans hate me so much and there was less than 20 Zimbabweans who believed in me. Then my Daddy read it, and sent me a voice note, and said “Jean, you know I have always believed in you my daughter, I’m part of the 20 you wrote about.”

When I would tell him that Daddy Zimbabweans hate me, he would say “No they don’t Jean, you are not hated, it’s just a misunderstanding. You are loved.”

My Daddy was my best friend really, I even miss arguing with him. I miss being angry with him. I miss his random voice notes about Zimbabwe. His messages about black people and black empowerment. His prophecies. I miss his passion for change. I miss him sending me pictures of the work he was doing, or his interviews or articles of him in the local paper. I miss our gossip sessions about Miriam. He wasn’t too holy, sometimes he so contradicted himself it was ridiculous. He would preach forgiveness to me and all that, but damn he would proper bitch about her and it was so funny. He had a wicked sense of humour, and it came out the most when he spoke about his ex-wife. He would write, “Jean do you have any new pictures of Miriam I need a good laugh.” Then I had to go on Facebook to see if her children had posted any recent pictures of her so I could send my Dad. Then the chats would be so brutal and hilarious, he would call her a goblin, then the next day he would start the forgiveness preaching, so sometimes I couldn’t take him seriously and I called him double minded. But today I miss those chats, he was actually my therapist, over the years talking to him about Miriam was very soothing to my wounded spirit.

Daddy allowed me to write about my mother, he would say “I know you have written all that was in your heart my daughter, believe you me, those I talk to who read your blog know she’s the most wicked mother in the world, here in Zimbabwe she’s a disgrace Jean, but now for my sake, for the sake of peace and good order let it go and just forgive your mother.”

Then I would say, “She is not my mother Daddy, I don’t have all the answers but my spirit tells me she’s not even my mother.”

I had so many questions, that even my Daddy couldn’t answer. He told me bits here and there, and left such a big puzzle in my heart I was even angry that he died with some information. His death was traumatic for me. He was that man who understood me so much, yet he left such a void and unanswered questions.

After he died, his beautiful wife told me that as my father was wooing her, when they first met, he said to her, “I have a daughter, she’s so brave and outspoken. My daughter Jean is so like me.”

My Father’s wife told me how much he spoke about me, that I was his pride and honour. His friends called me and told me Daddy was always bragging about me. He used to buy himself clothes, plasma TVs, cars and big things and literally lie to people that I bought him those things, because he wanted people to believe I’m the kind of daughter who buys him things. Honestly it was so sad, because he was the one who actually used to give me money here in the UK from Zimbabwe. Each time I went to Zimbabwe he would take the family on luxury holidays then tell his friends that I was the one who paid for the holiday.

His love for me was so sacrificial, so much he was desperate for me to be applauded for things I never did.

So even today his death feels like a sacrifice for me, like he has died for me to be free. His death was like my death, part of me died with him. The unforgiveness and pain of my mother has DIED with him.

His words of his dying wish, that I forgive my mother, all the things I disagreed with him and fought with him became so raw in my spirit the moment he died. I tried so hard to fight it but I couldn’t.

When he was alive I told him he’s too forgiving. He would always come to me each time his other children bullied him and were so mean to him. When his other son had a wedding, he told me that he would be a fool to attend that wedding. This son used to insult him, try to kill him, always taking him to court, this son grieved him so much he was often reduced to tears. So when he told me he was not going to his son’s wedding, I applauded him for standing up for himself. Then two days before the wedding he went quiet on me. Then I called him on the day of the wedding and he was acting all funny, then he told me he would call me back. He couldn’t even tell me the truth that he had changed his mind and he was now going to the wedding he was calling a complete joke to me.

I was then to see his pictures at the wedding on Facebook. Then I sent him the pictures and said nothing. Then he felt so embarrassed, and called me explaining why he had to go to the wedding, saying he did it for family peace and good order. He said it was a last minute thing and relatives forced him to go to the wedding and as a father he couldn’t say no.

I was so angry with him for a good while, and he would try to win be back. I told him he was too kind and forgiving for his own good. I told him he kept forgiving people who took him for a fool. People who hated him and didn’t deserve his love and mercy.

Then he said to me, “My daughter, let them take me for a fool, but the Almighty will vindicate me, because one day the truth will be revealed.”

My Dad often spoke in mysterious words. After his death all the words he said to me became alive in my spirit.

My healing began when I started connecting to nature. I came to one of my husband’s cottages, and behold a bird nest with beautiful black chicks was in my backyard. I felt this strong connection to Daddy like he was telling me something.

Then I got two pet hens, Ruby and Dory, and I felt this healing from them.

I’m very squeamish by nature. I can not even look at an open wound without feeling some sort of panic and fear. I suffer from terrible nervous disposition. I get anxious and terrified very quickly. I’m afraid of heights so much I can’t fly unless I have to, hence I don’t go on holidays abroad. The last time I was on a flight I suffered a severe panic attack I had to be attended to. This side of me is sadly a result of my mother’s treatment of me as a child.

My children understand me, and when they are hurt and are bleeding they don’t even come to me because my panic and fear makes things worse than they actually are.

My oldest daughter always tells me it’s a miracle I’m not a drug addict, an alcoholic or in a mental hospital because she says my life story and what I’ve been through is way too deep for me to come out of it all “normal”. She says she has friends with mums who have so many issues, and her friends are always complaining about their mothers so when she compares me to her friends mothers, she marvels at how “normal” I am.

My oldest daughter believes me being a normal loving mother is a “miracle”.

As a child, my mother forced me to kill chickens and I used to be so traumatised, my hands would be shaking as the fear was paralysing, yet in that state I was forced to cut the throats of chickens. When I wrote about this years ago Zimbabweans even laughed at me and said killing chickens was part of Zimbabwe culture.

Today I get so much comfort from my two hens, I love them so.

Dory is my favourite, she’s so cheeky and a go getter like me.

Well, on Monday something miraculous happened to me, I met this horse as I was walking in the country. He came to me, and I looked into his eyes, and I felt this overwhelming sense of healing and peace. I felt connected to my Papa as I talked with the horse.

My father loved animals. He loved nature so much he made headlines in Zimbabwe by taking the Government to court over deforestation. He spent his own money on the case, because as a farmer he was so pained at the rate of deforestation in Zimbabwe. My mother mocked him so much, calling him a lunatic. But he was a man of passion, and stood up for what he believed in. He wanted there to be a law in Zimbabwe that protects indigenous trees. My Daddy was so way ahead of his people, third world Zimbabwe could not understand his love for nature, but here in the first world, even the bird’s nests are actually protected by the law. Daddy wanted something similar for Zimbabwe’s indigenous trees.

My father wanted nature in Zimbabwe to be protected by the law.

As a child I used to steal flowers from a church garden, then I would plant them at home. I used to create little gardens, and play with grasshoppers, ants and chameleons. My father would see me planting my little stolen flowers in my little garden and he would be so happy, say things like God was going to bless me because he saw passion and a hard worker in me. Nature was my friend as a child, but when I moved to England, I lost touch with nature.

But in my father’s death, I’ve returned to innocence and my healing has manifested through nature. When I talk to the hens, or to Tilly the bird, or the horse that runs to me, I feel so connected to Daddy.

As I was talking to my husband on the phone in the course of the week, he said to me “You sound so much better sweetheart, tell me what would make you happy?”

“A horse.” I told him, “I want a horse.”

Then he laughed so hard, then said “You will be surprised to know I love horses more than you, so much I’m looking at horse prices.”

My Father’s death has birthed something in me. I don’t know how and why, but I feel his sudden untimely death, as traumatic as it was, was the sacrifice for my healing. I’m now able to look at his picture I drew of him and laugh and dance with him.

A few days ago, Samantha Markle said something to me, after I was so upset with how my father died and how his children chose not to tell me about anything, so much I found out he died on Facebook. Samantha said, “Hang on to your father’s love, he didn’t tell you he was dying because he loved you Jean. He believed it was the best decision and he did it out of love. As for your siblings, for the sake of your father just let it go. Whatever is happening now, or what they choose to do to your father’s body and grave, is their own Karma. You drew a picture of him and gave him the highest honour and today he is in heaven, smiling at you.”

One of my dearest friends in USA said to me “It’s not worth it. (Hanging onto the pain and grudge).Be Mary-Tamar, go for a walk, write, look after your children, do what makes you happy.”

My husband said to me, “You want answers from your mother, but it’s not going to happen sweetheart, she doesn’t care. In fact if she knows you are hurting it makes her happy.”

I came to that place of accepting things I can not change. Yes I’m hated by my own family, but I can’t change it, I have to accept it and let it go.

So last week I came to that place of letting go. It’s been a long journey, a very long journey, my legs have bled on this journey but I’m no longer hurting or angry anymore with my mother. I’m no longer hurting or angry with my siblings. The only thing that connected me to them was my father, now that he’s gone I have no need to carry this burden anymore. In Zimbabwe they say “Sango rinopa waneta.” A proverb which means nature or the forest rewards he who has walked the longest, and worked the hardest.

Last week one of my amazing followers, a very talented black British artist called Eugene Ankomah whom I love so much as a brother wrote on my Instagram a comment that confirmed exactly what I was feeling after I had posted about my husband looking for a mansion for me.

I’m tired of the pain and the anger, I just want to look up and touch the sky and see my Daddy.

Sango rinopa waneta.

I’ve let go of the pain. I am free from my mother.

I have chosen to fulfil my Father’s dying wish.

My Daddy loved nature, and today in nature I’ve found my healing.
In nature, I feel my Daddy walking besides me.

Daddy, wherever ever you are, smile so wide, because I’ve done it. I’ve forgiven, something I swore to you I will never do. I’ve even written it on my blog, so you can read it in heaven, and call me like you used to, and tell me how proud you are of me. I want the birds to tell you Papa, that your baby girl has done it. Whether I will touch the sky or not I don’t know Daddy, well you promised me that I would if I forgive, but what’s important is that Mother doesn’t have a hold in my heart and spirit anymore, I’ve let her go.

So thank you Daddy, for teaching me to let go, for teaching me to forgive through your own actions. I can not change my past, but I can surely change my future. I can not enter the Northern Kingdom carrying the burden of my past.

A new Mary-Tamar stands tall as the Queen of the North.

The Genesis of the Revelation by

Mary-Tamar was Jean

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