Just a Simple Confession

 Me and my dad during a family vacation to Florida 1989

I have been feeling some kind of way for the past two weeks.  It’s been weird.  I’ve been anxious, unable to sleep, and off balance.  I have vacillated between feelings of happiness and inexplicable sadness.  And if I’m not sad, I’ve been feeling like I should be.  Initially, I simply attributed my mood swings to loneliness.  My baby has been gone visiting her father so I just assumed Oh I miss her and my usual schedule is thrown off.  But she’s back home now and I still have insomnia.  I still have this weird anxious feeling.  It wasn’t until I was perusing Facebook last night that it hit me.  A friend of mine tagged me in a picture and the picture was of my father and Isaac Hayes.  The caption stated that they passed 5 years ago and they were taken way too soon. 

Today is the fifth anniversary of my father’s death.  And it’s not like I haven’t known that.  I couldn’t forget August 9 if I wanted to (and trust me there are times that I definitely want to).  I’ve even mentioned it quite a few times within the month of July.  I guess knowing and experiencing truly are two different things because now that the moment is here, I am hit with a deep sadness.  Upon his passing, a friend of mine told me, I couldn’t tell you that it gets easier, but I can tell you that it gets more manageable.  In my oh so humble opinion, she is absolutely correct.  The pain I feel isn’t any less today than it was the moment the doctor informed us (my mother and me) that he was gone.   However, the pain is no longer such a shock to my system.  It’s familiar now.  The ache and longing in my soul is no longer foreign.  It’s with me every day, as it has been for the past 5 years.  And please understand that I’m not depressed.  I’m not in a dark place.  I am healed.  I just know that the void of my father’s absence will never be filled and it’s ok.  I’m in a space where I can laugh more than I cry.  I can remember good times.  I’ve even reconciled the fact that I am so much like him (something I detested when he was alive).  I catch myself sounding just like him and I smile.  I know that as long as I live, a part of him does and that makes me so proud.  I can talk to my daughter about her grandfather with affection and pride without feeling sad that her memories are so scarce.  I can relish that he at least had the opportunity to enjoy her for a whole year and a half.   

But, I’ll admit, that I am not always able to be so up beat.  On certain days of the year, the ache feels more agonizing, the void feels deeper, my heart feels heavier, and my soul just a little more weary.  Today is one of those days.  Today is the day where I admit that one of my biggest fears is living life longer without him than I did with him (in the physical sense).  Today is the day where perspective truly takes meaning because I know that 30 years is a significant amount of time, yet I don’t feel like it was enough time with my Daddy.  Today is the day where I cry more than I usually do—not that I intend to.  It always just sort of happens.  But above all else, today is the day that I remember a little more.  I remember his smile. I remember his laughter.  I remember all the lessons.  I remember all the times he got on my nerves and wish he was here to do it again.  I remember hearing his voice and thinking, “Man does he know how to be quiet?”  I remember his face the day I told him I was pregnant, and how he cried upon hearing the news. And most importantly, I remember how much I love him.  Thankfully, I don’t have any regrets.  I know that we do the best that we can in the moments.  We both did the best we could by one another, and in my humble opinion, we did pretty damn good.  Today as they say, is just one of those day.  So because I feel this way, I usually like to do something significant.  It makes me feel good to do something really significant.  But I don’t do it because he died.  I like to do it because he lived.  And I know that because he lived, I do as well.  I guess all I’m saying is that I love and miss my Daddy. And in the words of Forrest Gump, that's all I have to say about that.

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.

The Aftermath

                                                     This is what has truly been lost

 The world is still spinning on its axis from the news of Whitney Houston’s shocking death. I didn’t know her personally, so my opinion isn't that precious, but I can attest that her presence is sorely missed.  Each time I scroll through the television channels, I can’t help but to come across a news flash, ticker, or program highlighting Ms. Houston. It’s definitely a heart wrenching moment for many, as she was definitely a true talent beloved by the world. However, loving her voice and her beauty does not give any of us the right or privilege to judge her and the life she lived.

I know a little something about experiencing the loss of a celebrity.  It has been almost 4 years since my father passed away. And I can honestly say that has been the most devastating moment in my life.  I wish I didn’t remember the exact moment as well as I do.  He passed away in the middle of the night before 3 am.  By the time my mom and I made it back to my parents’ home,it was all over the news.  Every channel was broadcasting the news of his death, along with other celebrity’s reactions.  The phone rang off the hook with every publication wanting an official family statement. Throughout my dad’s career, we’d never been harassed by paparazzi, yet on that day there they were camped out across the street from my parents’ home. It was such a surreal experience.  Never before in my life had I become so aware of the phenomenon of celebrity as it pertained to my father. He was always simply Daddy, and it was so awkward to have to publicly grieve, and deal with the petty remarks and opinions of others. I remember watching Larry King debate Ashton Kutcher over whether or not my dad was a good actor and I remember thinking “Who the hell cares?!  He’s now dead! Do you think I care if you thought he could act or not? No, I just care that I lost my father!”  There were rumors that he died of AIDS. It pissed me off because I felt like I had to do crowd control instead of simply grieve the loss of my dad. Then there were the people who would come up to me and tell me things like “You’re not grieving alone. We lost him too.” Depending on the day, I would find comfort in those words, and other days I would want to pull a Roland Martin and smack the ish out of them.  No you didn’t lose him! You didn’t even know him! I, on the other hand, am the only person in this world who lost Bernie Mac . . . her father!   I know that those people meant well, but they had no idea how I really felt. 

I really do get that they were fans and when it comes to celebrities who we invite into our homes through their music, jokes, movies,shows, etc. we begin to feel like we know them. They become to a certain extent, an extension of our families. We talk about them during family get togethers, over the dinner table, at social functions. And we do it as if we’re talking about another family member.So when they show us just how human they are—especially by doing something as human as dying—we’re left feeling the emptiness their death has left us.  However, we need to remember that the person was more than a celebrity. They are, in my father’s wise words, ordinary people with extraordinary jobs.  What you miss is the fact that you’ll never hear them tell a new joke, or sing a new song, or sing your favorite song again.  You miss that there will never be a new movie with your favorite actor.  You don’t miss the person.  How could you? You didn’t even know them.  Which is why you have no business making any kind of judgment about the way they lived their life. 

That is why I feel so for all of Whitney’s loved ones who have been left to tend to their gaping wounds so openly—particularly her daughter, Bobbi Kristina.  I was 30 years old when I lost my dad and it utterly devastated me.  But at least I had grown into adulthood and was able to share in some major milestones with him. This young lady is only 18 and has to deal with the loss of her mom.  On the day she gets married, her mother will not be there.She will not be able to go to her mom for advice during her pregnancy or watch her mother joyfully play with her grandchildren.  When she graduates from college, gets her first job, has a bad day, she can no longer call upon her mom to help her through.  Essentially, each new experience in her life will be a constant and painful reminder of what she is missing.  She’ll of course begin to heal a bit,but the pain will never ever go away. And she has to endure this pain publicly.  Now people want to criticize Whitney for her drug addiction,her friends, Bobby Brown, and anyone else they can just to be able to blame someone.  Blame is a monstrous beast that only increases an already existing problem. It never takes into account that at any given moment, most of us in this world are really doing the very best that we can.  Ms. Houston is no exception. 

I get it though. That’s part of the deal when you become a celebrity. Opening yourself to the public makes them privy to details of your life, which wouldn’t be open for discussion if you were the average citizen.  And since you will make more money than most will ever see in their lives, you’ll get very little sympathy when you complain about your lack of privacy or empathy from the world.  Fame is a most titillating yet harsh suitor.  It is proof that every single thing is both a blessing and a curse.  People love you as long as you do what they want.  However, they’ll rip you to shreds when you have the audacity to show your human-ness.  I said this the other day, and I'll say it again. I really wish we understood that death is not a punishment that is solely dispensed to those who are imperfect or act in what we consider the more heinous of ways.  We are no better than a person simply because they reached the end of their earthly journey before we did.  One dying at what we deem an early age is not indicative of them being a terrible person.  It is simply a symptom of being human.  Whitney Houston is more than her drug addictions. She is more than a golden voice. She is more than a troubled singer. She is a mother, daughter, girlfriend, cousin, best friend, lover, and human being who just completed her human journey. She has left behind a host of fans, but more importantly, loved ones who are forever scarred by the painful loss of her life. Let’s try to remember that when we remember her.