I wanted to write about two topics on my mind, but I have lost one of them. It will come to me soon enough.

Right now I am trying to look inward and like a detective, try to understand what is going on.

After a freak fall down stairs, my {kind of former} father in law suffered a fatal head injury. We all knew that his health was deteriorating, with the onset of dementia and recent heart attack. The details are sketchy for me because its all second hand information through my kids, of course.

When my marriage ended, it was only the relationship with my husband that terminated. Since then I have been sincerely wishing to speak to, communicate with and even see my second family. After all, I was 18 when I left home to join theirs. What I lacked here I gained there- a father who was proud of me, a brother who I could connect to on an intellectual level, a sister who was diplomatic, but also genuine and happen to parent similarly to me, and then another older sister who treated me like a daughter and unconditionally took care of me. These personalities never ever seen me as an outsider, as someone who didn’t know their culture and language. That was irrelevant and they made me feel part of their family instantly. Unlike the one who actually brought me there and his mother.

So when the split happened, as well as grieving a heartbreak, dealing with trauma of domestic abuse, both mine and my kids, my sorrow extended to the loss of an extended family who I had come to see as my own. I would argue that my marriage wasn’t a failure because I married a Pashtun. I loath stereotypes and prejudice arrogance. This couldn’t be true because I felt at home with majority of the people there.

They called Dad Kuka {kuka-a}, the Pashtun word, me included. The grandkids called him Oba. It was a status of respect as head of the household. One would think that in a conservative culture such as think the patriarch would be more dominating, involved and overshadowing. But not here.

When I arrived to this new, alien household, I was often confused to see how he was treated by wife and sons. Like a spare part fed and watered then put to a side while they discuss pertinent family politics. Family politics was beyond me too, which later came back to bite. It was like his presence as an inconvenience, simultaneously tokenistic. The real ring leader, or brain behind familial decision making was matriarch. One would be forgiven to be optimistic at this prospect, however this could have been great had she not been misogynist and sexist, with the excuse of culture ingrained as a free pass to raise a narcissist. Thankfully, only one though. The rest didn’t get the opportunity.

Anyway, Kuka was very very fixed in his routine for food, tea, going out, cleaning and clothes. Everything was fixed and should be in order. He had a love for order, looking decent, and having each day look the same. He wasn’t involved in diplomatic decision making unless the tokenistic male head of household voice was required for the gain of the rest. One time I cooked his green tea on the hob for too long and he was so angry at me that he made me taste it. It was super bitter, but having just been introduced to the dry leaf tea under year or so ago, I was unaware of the taste. He taught me that lesson surely, never to be repeated. Looking back I don’t think he would have done that had he not seen me as one of his own. There was formality between us but then there wasn’t. I wasn’t allowed to share personal thoughts with him, but he got to know my personality through my actions, reactions, housekeeping, uni results and then parenting. He seen me as an achiever, as someone who clicked on to his likes and routines and upheld his values of education, progression and all things in order!

It was only when I was going through my son’s autism assessment and made it my area of deep focus and obsession that I started connecting the dots. When I began to understand that autistic people are hugely different from one another, even in the same family, that I began analysing, comparing and contrasting the members of this family. Every time tea or dinner was ready before being, I was met with delight and appreciation. It wasn’t that hard for me to gain these brownie points to be honest because he was literally like clockwork. I enjoyed taking time out and listening to stories, insights and points of interest while some others around us scoffed mockingly. I had a need to for tidy and clean areas so I was constantly cleaning and scrubbing when I visited. More easy brownie points. And that’s how my relationship with Kuka developed. He not only valued what I had to say, but also what I wanted. He encouraged my further education, proud of my career and my children’s development, all the while his son would put me down and down play any of my strengths claiming credit. He even disliked his brother holding me in worth and respect.

You will have guessed by now, Kuka was autistic, like me, like my boys.

Losing him knowing this has added to my grief. Because we had a different connection on an autistic level, where he didn’t have to communicate with me on a personal level to understand me, value and even admonish his son for me. He was an ally for me but one that I called upon very late on in the tormenting relationship. Had I exposed his son’s truth years earlier, maybe our outcome would be different. He promised me that his son will no longer study for yet another degree and will commit to work to provide for his family. It hurt me more that he broke his father’s promise than going behind my back to continue his selfish pursuits.

Fourteen months after losing my original father figure, I lost my second. Neither of whom I had blood ties, but the bond of security, pride, protection and unconditional selfless support.

The big gap missing a father just got bigger.