my father, Taisi, passed away when I was 17. i never heard from him during all those years; i couldn’t tell you what he smelled like, how his voice sounded, or what his embrace might've felt like. My mother did a great job of protecting his image in my eyes, and as an adult and knowing how much there is to despise him for, I will hold great respect for the career he had in the army and the moments of joy he sparked in the marriage with my mother. I hold respect for a man that never did me any favors or gave anything to me other than my own life.
glenda, my mother, is everything to me in this world. there was nothing she didn’t independently provide for; she was there for me emotionally, spiritually, financially, physically, & mentally in my childhood and still to this day. Every father’s day, she was the first person that came to mind and it would be followed by a “happy father’s day” text, to remind her of my appreciation and admiration of raising me all on her own…I will always hope that every action I make in this life is in service to make her proud, & she never fails to mention her pride for me on a daily basis.
despite my mother’s job well done, I always had the itch to know the other half of myself. I look in the mirror everyday and I see him in my reflection. I see taisi in my face, how my nose droops the way his used to, I see it in my eyes, both sharing the same eye shape and eyelashes, and I see it in my build, standing at 5’9, broad shoulders, long legs, and my ability to build and maintain muscle; I am built like him, a samoan. I’ve always been thankful for the genetics I have been blessed with, always thinking of my own potential, in fitness and as a soldier, that was passed on to me because of a 6’5 Polynesian man. I would’ve wished to have learned all the things he loved about himself physically, learned about the traditional Samoan tattoos that decorated his body, and wished that he could bestow onto me the physical and mental toughness that he once used to have.
There is an entire culture he will not be able to teach me about. I will carry on the “Steffany Alosuesuemanogi” last name without truly knowing it’s depths and ancestral roots. There isn’t a narrative in this life that will include him and I sitting at a table, walking me through the years he had lived, sharing with me the mistakes he had made and learned from and the successes that he holds on to near and dear to his heart; there is not part of this lifetime that will include him and I ever being in each other’s presence.
I am the daughter of a Samoan chief, while this sounds cool, I have no idea what it means. I only carry the physical traits of him in my facial features and body language, and the only thing I own that once used to belong to him is a green windbreaker jacket that my mom had carried with her for over 20 years, with the intentions on one day gifting it to me when i was ready. regardless of your own personal ideology of how you feel about the after life, I will leave you with this story: The night he passed away, my mom had a dream with him in it. She dreamt that he had visited our house and had visited my room, therefore visiting me; she had not had dreams of him in many years so when she initially woke up, she found it to be strange that REM sleep had guided her into seeing her ex-husband once again. The next morning, she got the news of his passing. Between my mom and I, we believe that this was his final goodbye to me; this was his way of wishing me farewell in my journey of life as he departed from the physical world. I think of this dream from time to time, allowing it to give me the closure I had needed for a long time now, allowing it to serve as a reminder that no matter where we were in the world, I was still once his little girl despite his absence.
I wish I knew him in this lifetime, and I wish he had gotten to know me now as an adult. I wish there could’ve been a conversation of explanations from him and forgiveness from myself. I wish he could’ve seen that I am the perfect combination of him and my mom; I am my parent’s daughter. But now, he lives in the stories my mom tells of him, in the army photo scrapbook I have in my closet, and in the retellings of the small memories I do have of him that I tell the people closest to me when they ask about my father. Taisi became a father to a daughter almost 20 years ago, and I will spend the rest of this life honoring the soldier he once used to be instead of the father he never was…& that’s the way it should be.
May you rest in peace Taisi. Thank you for making me a Steffany.
with all my love,
♡steff
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