Y'all, I am MISSING my father. Just to be 100% real, it gets hard sometimes. Since he left us last year, life has seemed to go full speed ahead. Honestly, its been hurdle after hurdle, and once I get over the last one, the next one comes and seems even bigger. But God slowed me and the world down with this quarantine. Its given me much time to reflect and reset.
Typically, I fight myself. Images of his face try and pop into my mind constantly. I work hard to remove those images because I'm not yet ready to deal with the burden that follows them. His smile, his voice. There are times in those twenty-one consistent years we had together, that I felt he was the only one I could turn to who would understand me. Our relationship had become so special, I didn't realize how much I'd come to rely on it until he was gone. We usually take for granted the fact that one day our parents will leave us. I spent so many years speaking negatively about my father because of things I felt he'd done wrong, now as I look back, I see that I should have been honoring the fact that he'd spent all of twenty-one years doing the best he could to be a consistent father to me, and grandfather to my children.
I ache, but to keep myself from totally crumbling, I avoid thinking of him too long, avoid looking at pictures of him too hard. I even stopped calling his phone just to hear his voice on his answering machine, for fear it might be disconnected by now, leaving me utterly devastated. Then I'm faced with the unknown. My dream was to walk my daddy (while he was alive) down the hallway of the sanctuary in church, and to the alter where he would give his life over to Christ. That never happened. Instead, his caretaker told me she prayed the sinner's prayer with him, and after much rejection, he finally accepted Christ. I pray he was genuine. Daddy knew about God, even telling me he attended church in his own way in front of his television on Sunday morning. I believed him. Still, I am afraid when all is said and done, will I see him in heaven when I get there? The thought that I may not is unbearable, so I choose to constantly remind myself of his caretaker's words to him before he left this earth. She said," Gerald, its ok. You can go now. You have made your peace with God, and He's forgiven you. Go on Gerald, its ok."
Before she spoke those words, Daddy fought daily not to go anywhere. Even as he lay dying in so much pain all he could cry out was, "NO!" He stuck around for me, but when she said those words, he finally let go.
In the past week I've watched one of my friends bury her father who died unexpectantly, and then another lose her mother to cancer. They are under the heavy weight of sorrow right along with many others who don't have the benefit of saying goodbye at a proper burial surrounded by family and friends. At least I was gifted that. Although Daddy was called "mean," the church was full on the day of his funeral, and everyone who came was there to pay their respects, not to insure he was dead. It made my heart glad.
Every night though, while I'm in the shower, I typically have a mini concert; singing hymns and praises to God, not only cleansing my body, but giving my soul a good scrub too. When I'm in there, crying just comes natural. I don't have to hide behind the façade of momentary strength, and I can totally let go without being bothered.
Death is all around us now. To be honest, I feel guilt when I even think to grieve my father. There is so many others who need comfort, and since I understand pain, I want to provide it.
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