21 Years

The number twenty-one. It is how long some studies show in days, that it takes to practice anything enough for it to become habit. An instant change in the way people conduct their daily lives can be wrapped up in less than a full month. 

Twenty-one years. I was that old when my father stepped back into my life on a more permanent basis. At first I struggled with believing he would stick around; but he did. And although we had a number of bumps along the way, he never left me alone. 

 I was gifted twenty-one more years with him before he left this world and entered the next. In April,on the second day of the month, at 2:00a.m., in the year 2019, at exactly one-half and one month of my life; me and my father's chapter of togetherness ended. God gave me time to say good-bye. It wasn't easy, but it was a gift. I was spared from the outcome of the shock in a sudden death of a parent. Still, although I had time to prepare, there was no clue in my head of how I would go about burying him. I just didn't know how to do it, let alone want to. 

In the years my father and I had consistently spent together, I had grown so close to him. His raspy voice, coarse from years of smoking, was also crowned in what could have easily been mistaken for a lion's roar. Yet it held for me a sense of security. I knew I could count on being his "little girl" who he wanted to protect from even the most darkest of days. He had become my hero; someone I believe every woman should have in her first example of how to be loved. 

Finally, I had received what was a never-ending search over a lifetime of disappointment. Oh how I miss my daddy. I fight myself not to grieve, trying and continually failing to be a strong tower. The question has always been.... "How can I miss him SO much when he didn't raise me?" Am I even worthy of the pain in my heart; the same held by those whose fathers had departed this earth as well, but had also raised them since birth?

 I've recently learned that, along with the many other acronyms, short hands, or message slangs, the number twenty-one means "to quit," as in done, or over. Maybe God knew I would get all I had been searching for in my life prior to, inside the span of twenty-one years. It certainly changed me, my outlook on life, men, relationships and the constant search for approval from others who were not my father. 

 I've learned to appreciate the man beyond his faults. The man who gave me his heart and sensitivity. The man who, despite never being grand in stature, carried himself like a mountain. The man who was so intelligent, he was the first in his family to be accepted into college, and excel there during a time when segregation & the country's biggest blot called racism, thrived in & through our legal system. The man who was so brave, he left college to fight on the very front line in infantry, combating against those set to kill him, while saving the lives of his fellow men at arms along the way. The man whose brave acts during war earned him the honors of the Bronze Star & Purple Heart. The man who gave love so freely, the outer core of his heart had to be fortified to keep it from breaking. 

 I would say I'm better now. As a person; as a woman. Under the divine orchestration of God, into the stretch of twenty-one years, I have finally found what I had been looking for. Thank you Daddy.