Time really waits for no man. I’ve experienced a few moments in my life where it felt as
if time stood still. I’ve even
lived in a way where I was simply being still. But the thing is, time kept on
ticking. Today is a day that lets
me know just how true that is.
Today is the fourth year anniversary of my dad’s death. I can hardly believe it’s been four
years. Depending on the
perspective, four years can seem like a long time or a mere passing phase. For me, these four years seems like an
eternity. My secret fear has been
living in this world without my dad longer than I lived with him. I guess when I’m 61; I’ll be able to
know what that feels like. I
imagine that I will probably feel as I do today. While I’m grateful for all the years, the lessons, the
laughs, the fights, the memories, and all the moments I had with him, I miss my
Dad terribly. There are days where
I feel so overwhelmed and all I want is to hear his voice telling me what to
do. And I want that even though I
know that when he was here, I wouldn’t have dared “burdened” him with my
troubles, and it would have chapped my ever loving hide to have him tell me
what to do anyway. But now those
are the things I miss.
When I was 21, my dad and I were really in a combative
phase. If he said left, I was
going right. If he said dip, I
slid. I just wanted to prove him
wrong. We had a huge blowup one
day when he came to New Orleans for the Kings of Comedy Tour. I was livid and I laid into him like I
never had before. All the fear I
once had was replaced with anger and I let it loose. After I was done, I felt fine and I didn’t hesitate to tell
him that I was now done with the issue and to go have a great show. I walked away and an instant later I
realized that I was so much like him.
Talk about an epiphany! But
I didn’t like it one bit. I made
it my mission to prove just how unlike him I could be, and I epically failed. It wasn’t until he passed that I truly
made peace with how alike we were.
I recognize that fighting against who I was made my journey more
difficult than it possibly could have been had I just accepted myself. But that’s what we’re here for. We live and we learn.
There are so many things I miss about my dad. Even though I’m in a space where I can
smile more than I cry, I miss him everyday. I miss his smile. I miss his laughter.
I miss his eyes. I miss his
hands. Our hands are the
same. It still can be difficult to
look into a mirror because when I look, all I see is my dad. I wonder how my daughter would be if he
were here. She’s so much like
him. That strong masculine energy
just radiates from within.
Whenever she says something that has me speechless or in fits of
laughter, he’s the first person I want to call. But I can’t. So
I just talk aloud to him as if he’s here.
Most days it’s comforting.
But on today, it’s just not enough.
I remember feeling so alone when my dad died. There was no one who I felt understood
my pain or even cared for that matter.
It was very hard for me because of all the people that were around who
claimed to love my dad, very few of them even asked me if I was ok—my own
mother didn’t bother to comfort me.
I took that really hard. My
thinking was how can you claim to have loved him, and here I am, his flesh and
blood, his heart, and for that matter his legacy, and you just ignore me. Like I said, I took it way
personally. Today I am in a
different space. I hold no ill
feelings toward anyone. I
recognize that grief hits people in different ways. I’m not sure if it was just too hard (or maybe still is) for
most to be near me because seeing me is a reminder of him. Or maybe it’s because I’m so much like
him they assume that I’m fine.
Whatever it is, we’re all human, and everybody was navigating through
grief’s murky waters just trying to come out with some sense of normalcy.
I went through a terrible depression. I didn’t want to live. I had a suicide plan. My first plan was to go to the basement
in my parent’s home, grab one of his guns and just blow my brains out. I came close one night. I was in the basement crying and I
walked into the room where his guns were, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I thought that would be cruel to have
my mother find me that way. So my
next plan was to take my daughter to daycare, and just drive onto Interstate 57
and drive onto the Southbound traffic (which would be driving opposite me) and
just get taken out by how ever many drivers would get to me. I almost did that one too. But as soon as I got on, I thought of
Jasmine so I just kept driving.
After that I simply prayed for death. I would wake up feeling so defeated that I actually was able
to wake up. Besides my daughter, I
couldn’t find one thing about life to bring comfort or gratitude.
For a while I was angry. I was angry with God.
How could you take my father away at a time like this? (As if there is really a “good” time
for death to strike). I was
especially angry as old people.
Upon seeing an older gentleman with his family, I’d be immediately
pissed off. My first thoughts were
why does this old bastard get to live and my dad didn’t? I was mad at some relatives too. I felt like they were useless so I
questioned why were they allowed to stay here while my dad wasn’t. I was angry with grandfathers. Why did my baby have to grow up without
hers? It wasn’t fair and I was
madder than any analogy I could ever come up with about it.
It’s said that time heals all wounds and I realize today
that it isn’t true. What you do in
that time leads to healing. I
could be stuck in that very space.
I could still be angry, depressed and suffering. I could still be in a place where I
couldn’t recognize the blessing I experienced by having my dad for 30
years. I could have carried out my
suicide plan and my daughter could be motherless. But I didn’t. And I can’t take the credit for
it. God had something else in
mind. Even though the people I
expected to support me didn’t, He/She sent other people. My friends rallied around me. My daughter was my motivation to
keep going. I found a
wonderful counselor who helped me through my grief. I even met some new friends who have shown me love and acceptance,
as I never knew before. It was not all for naught. It was for a reason.
I am blessed by all of it. And
even though some things change, some things remain the same. My dad is still my compass. I still look to him to get me through
things. How could I not? He started the theme song to my life. The song may not be the same, but the
melody plays in harmony with his. And I still hope and pray for the same
thing when he sees me. I pray that
I make you proud Daddy because I’m so proud of you.
