Guess This Means I'm a Daddy's Girl

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.

It's Just a Love/Life Thing

I’ll admit when I first saw Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood, I could not relate at all.  It was just totally unrealistic to me.  A mother and daughter who don’t get along? How pitiful!  Back then my mom was my ace.  We were not just mother and daughter we were friends.  My experience just did not allow me to relate to what I was viewing.  Well, some years have passed and I can now relate a little bit.  But only a little bit.

I have grown tremendously over the course of these last few years.  While I can’t actually say that I have enjoyed the process—I mean let’s be honest, the period of growth in our lives is usually in the moments of darkness—I can say that I appreciate the lessons.  So here’s a totally true story that illustrates just how much I’ve grown.  Since my father’s passing, my mother and I have drifted very far away from one another.  We are no longer close, and while that was initially very painful for me, I’ve come to a place of peace about it.  Her birthday happened to arrive last week.  Her husband called me the previous week to invite me to a surprise party he was throwing for her at Outriggers.  He also asked if I would sing for my mom.  I told him I’m not a singer but I would say some words if he wanted me to.  So the night of the party, as promised, I did get on the mic and say some words to my mother.  I can’t recall everything I said, but I know I said something to the effect of how grateful I am for her nurturing and caring of me throughout most of my life because I don’t know who I would be without her.  When I arrived home, my god sis (the one I mentioned in last week’s post when I said I let her into my home) asked in what seemed like shock, “Wow so where did your speech come from?”  I wasn’t actually surprised by her question, as I now know how emotional immaturity prevents people from being able to understand what I understand today.  I simply responded with “My heart”, because it was the truth.  The words I said were real and they came from my heart. 

I have never understood why people seem to think that not liking someone or not liking something someone has done to you means you have to hate them or wish bad upon them.  That’s just silly to me.  I can’t get with that.  Here’s the thing:  my mother and I are not close today.  In my very humble opinion, her actions have shown me that she doesn’t respect me, which I have decided is unacceptable for me.  I do not believe that at this point in time my mother genuinely has my best interest at heart.  And so I have made the conscious choice to love my mother from a distance.  And this choice isn’t based on hatred or anger; it’s actually grounded in Love.  Most importantly, love for myself.  I know a lot of people believe in the whole martyr syndrome which says that if you love someone, you must put them above yourself and take whatever they give you all in the name of love.  That’s how you get people staying in relationships that are detrimental to their well being and they respond with one of those dramatic “But I love him/her/them!” leaving you to ask “But do you love yourself?!” Well because I do love myself, I have deemed that it is not necessary to put myself in the line of my mother’s fire. And don’t get me wrong; I’m not saying this to say my mother is a terrible person.  Our parents are just flawed human beings, and my mother is no exception.  I once subscribed to this notion of what a mother “should” be like.  Once my mother failed to meet those standards, I became hurt, despondent, and damn near inconsolable.  But then I matured and realized that was judgment.  I was judging my mother for her failure to be who I wanted her to be.  Well I’ll be! Once I let go of the judgment, acceptance came in.  Once I was able to accept her for whom she is (and not who I made her out to be in my mind), I opened the doors for compassion.  I now have compassion for my mother because I understand that until you can see things from another’s perspective, you will remain in judgment of them.  While I personally can’t understand how a mother can mistreat their own child, I recognize that I have not had the unique experiences which my mother and many others have had which makes it possible for them to behave the way they do.  And because I have compassion, I am no longer stuck in my pain and I can release both my pain and my mother without feeling like it’s taking something away from me.

I also matured and recognized that relationships are nothing but containers for growth.  Once you outgrow a relationship, it releases itself.  I was trying like mad to hang on to a relationship that wasn’t meant to be at this time.  And I failed to see that it was ok.  I was still operating in judgment.  I would cry to myself “But we SHOULD be like this!”  I wasn’t seeing the whole picture.  I get today that my mother and I had an extremely co-dependent relationship.  If we were still in that place of co-dependency, I would never be who I am today.  My mother is only playing the part she was meant to play in the designed scheme of my life.  Had she not began to treat me the way she has, I would not have the courage to write this post, let alone my blog.  I would not be able to speak in the many arenas I have.  I would not have the courage to stop living for my parents and begin to live for myself.  It was painful to let go, but once I started to, I began to feel much better.  Hanging on only kept me in despair.  Now I am filled with peace and a hope for myself. 

And in recognizing all of this, I am not erasing what was.  Not being close to my mother today does not negate the closeness we shared throughout most of my life.  I have learned how to be grateful for all things in my life—even the unpleasant.  When I reflect on my relationship with my mom, I feel love and gratitude. I am grateful because for 30 years of my life, I felt nurtured, loved, and cared for like nobody’s business.  My ongoing joke was that my mom was the Nettie to my Celie.  And once upon a time she was.  Who knows where I’d be without her love.  It’s because of that love and bond we shared that I can genuinely look at her today with fondness.  I can genuinely open my arms and hug her without rolling my eyes or sucking my teeth.  It’s because of love that I can celebrate her birthday with her without resentment.  After all, she is worth celebrating.   She has done her job in my life.  Now since I cannot predict the future, I do not know if we will ever reconcile to the degree we once were.  But what I know is that it does not matter.  People are always in your life for a reason and a season, and when they have fulfilled their purpose, their time ends.  The end of a relationship does not mean that the love and memories have to die.  That’s the beauty of it.  You are left forever changed by the mark they imprinted upon your soul.  That’s no small feat. 

I once thought the worst thing that could ever happen to me was to lose both of my parents.  Well now I have and I know that it’s not. The worst would be if I were to lose sight of all I have because of them.