Je veux mon Papa

So, the little who wants to write this doesn’t have a large vocabulary, and also speaks mostly in French…but the rest of us are going to do our best to translate for her. (A lot of the rest of us are re-learning French, so…this will be interesting. Thankfully in-system communication allows for pictures and feelings to bleed through, so we don’t have to rely on words alone)

Also, this may go into things that some people in here are less eager to talk about…so hopefully they won’t try to delete it, or revert it to a draft or something…but I guess if they did the latter, that would be okay.

Well, here goes.

“Dad” is scary. I don’t like him. He tells me stories before bed, but it’s not the same as Papa.

Papa held me in his lap. Papa would wrap his arms around me and read aloud whatever he was reading.

Sometimes, he would pretend to be reading one of his own books, but had one of mine tucked into his.

“Dad” tells me stories. They’re not SUPPOSED to be scary, but he makes them that way.

He makes me scared of Lucy visiting Mr. Tumnus alone.

He makes me scared of Aslan.

Instead of calm, safe dreams from Papa, I get nightmares from “Dad”.

I want to go home.

But home doesn’t even have Papa anymore, even if I could find it.

There will be no more nights in Papa’s lap, listening to him read until I fall asleep.

There will be no soft, green vest I curl up against. There will be no smell of pipe tobacco lingering. There will be less ticking clocks, if any still remain.

Je veux mon Papa.

I want my Papa.

I miss him.

He would call me his “petite lapine”, but not in a scary or gross way like “Father” or “Dad”

Papa means safety.

But I don’t have anything left from him.