The Corona Chronicles (Just To Be Real)

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.

The Corona Chronicles (Tragic Aftermath)



Picture provided by Naples.floridaweekly.com

Wow! Only one word seems fitting enough to totally capture this moment in history, and that's "wow." Since the outbreak of the Corona Virus, our nation alone has seen so many changes. I can only imagine what is going on in other parts of the world.

It has been said that one's true colors are shown when they are down and out. From anxiety to depression, unemployment to fear, helplessness to hopelessness, sickness to death, we are all facing some sort of angst which comes from the unknown. Its a biologic attack we had not prepared for, and its sad to say that these conditions have made victims of countless many in one way or another.

Reports have shown that the number of domestic violence cases has increased; which means the orders set in place to protect our lives, have also caused those living with an abuser further risk in losing theirs. It is a sad reality to hear a father who felt his only option was to take the lives of not only his wife, but also himself and his innocent children. Could the pressure to provide have been so overwhelming that he saw no other option?

 USA Today calls it "the other epidemic." Statistically speaking the United Kingdom reported a 700% increase in helpline calls in one day; France reported a 30% increase in domestic violence cases since the start of the quarantine, and in the United States coastal cities like Seattle, New York, Orange County and Portland have seen record numbers of reports for domestic cases.  It becomes a wonder when a Starbucks down the street from my home chose to close its doors to the public during the lockdown, but every liquor store I passed stayed open.  Liquor, one of the many options we turn to when we want to escape from reality.  It gives a feigned peace, escape, and courage that we may not have otherwise.

I've watched the affects it can have on a family's dynamic being witness to my own father's alcoholism.  There was many a time when that alcohol drove my father to the constant cycle of violence in our home against my mother. For some reason, he was never abusive to me. As a matter-of-fact, when it came to his "little one", he was very protective in the manner in which he put his hands on me; afraid he may for some reason break me.  So why my mother?  The one he claimed was the love of his life.

In no way do I believe alcohol is the cause of an abuser's strike, but it sure can provide the fuel behind it.

When the quarantine has been lifted, and everyone returns to "the new normal," there will still be a level of uncertainty.  We will be going out and facing a risk (hopefully lowered) to our own lives. The job market will take time to recover, and the economy has been damaged. Its a scary thing, not knowing the answer to the questions we will continue to have; even scarier for those who live in wonder every day:  Will this be the day?  Will I live or die? Who will take care of the children when I'm gone?

The Corona Chronicles (Reflections)

Poem provided by: frequentlyinterrupted.com


Last night I had a dream about my father's little sister, the aunt for which I was named (middle, not first name).  She used to be cool to me. I liked that even though my father had alienated himself from most of his siblings, she was still one of the few who popped in to check on him; at least before he got sick.

Being quarantined allots you plenty of time to reflect on life.  It was around this time last year that I lost my father. On April 2nd at 2:00 A. M., he took his last breath. My cousins, who had been sitting with him through the night to help out his caretaker, called screaming into the phone what I already knew.  I sat straight up in my bed, not knowing whether to join them in wailing, or keep a focused mind so that I could get the details I needed to begin making arrangements for his funeral.  I chose the latter, because though my heart was hurting, I couldn't allow those feelings to cloud my thoughts.  Besides, at that moment, Daddy didn't need me wailing.  What good was that?  It served to accomplish nothing but to put off time making plans for his final resting place.

In his final weeks, I took visits down to Louisiana to be with him, and see about his needs. I remember it being one of the most stressful moments of my life.  On top of taking care of Daddy, I had to deal with his family and their many questions on what I was going to do, as well as their many "suggestions" on what they thought I should do.

One time in particular replays itself in my head over and over, and I have to fight continuously not to hold this moment as a reason to resent the aunt for whom I'd been named. I had just driven in, and the trip had taken longer than expected.  Whether it was traffic or construction, I can't remember, I just know it had taken me five hours. As soon as I walked in to sit at my father's bed, she asked me if I knew anything about large sums of money he typically hides around the house. She said that she and my other aunt had been up all night looking for it. 

I thought the question was odd, seeing as how I'd never known my father to hide large sums of money anywhere. Also, at the time, it didn't matter to me. If he did have money, he made sure to keep it on his person or in the bank.  Besides that, he lived on a fixed income since he had long passed the age of retirement.

I noticed that this so-called money seemed to be her full concern throughout my visit. On occasion I would catch her staring at me out of the sides of her eyes as if she thought I was hiding something myself. For me, it was a shame.  My main focus was not on any kind of money, but on my father, who was dying right before our eyes. He was in so much pain, our conversations could barely be heard over his cries.  Any time we needed to say something important, we had to step outside on the porch. This is where my aunt and I had our biggest face-to-face confrontation.

I was tired from days of nonstop worry, work, and questioning from my family about my father's final arrangements.  I didn't have the security of my husband or children being there to help me, so in my mind, it was just me against my own flesh and blood. I thanked God every day for Daddy's caretaker.  She was the only one I felt really had his best interest at heart without a personal agenda.  She willingly helped without asking for anything in return.  For that, she was more family to me than my own.

One day, angered by my aunt's gall in her insinuations about where I should be giving his life insurance money, I told my aunt that I was here, taking care of him when I had not received the same while growing up.  As soon as I said it, I wanted to take it back, but her words kept my apology at bay. A quick flash of how I was just at my father's bedside, whispering how I would never leave him, after everyone else had left the room, played out in me mind. She kept telling me that he was my responsibility because I was his next of kin, as if I didn't already know that.  What got me, was how she refused to do anything for her brother but sit at his death bed and say how he was getting what he deserved after the life he lived.  Even as he lay there crying out in pain, she refused to learn how to administer his morphine because she didn't want to learn.  My father could hear every word.  She was under the impression that he didn't understand, but he did.  I knew this because when everyone had left, and it was just he and I, when I spoke, he replied.

After I let those dreaded words fall out of my mouth, she told me I needed to just get over it.  I told her I was, but I wanted her to know that despite my past, I had chosen to take care of my father, hoping this would help her see that nothing about what money he had kept me coming around, it was just him and our relationship.

This morning I dreamed about that exact moment on the porch with my aunt, except this time, I really let her have it.  It seems after confrontation we always look back and see what we could have said differently, and it typically bends to the side of really going off on the other person.  I woke up from the dream feeling vindicated.  After all, just before my father's funeral services my aunt had threatened my mother, telling her that if she ever were to set foot in Crowley she would cut her legs off. Mama was so shocked, because she thought they were friends. I later learned from my father's other sisters that this particular aunt had always been a bully.

Even after the funeral she continued to spread lies about me; going so far as to say I lived off my father and was a party girl.  The notion was so hilarious; no one believed it. But the knowledge of the threat to my mother didn't make me treat her any differently during the services.  I personally handed her Daddy's obituary.  She took it, and then introduced me to other members of the family I didn't know.  I could tell by the look in her eyes, she felt ashamed.  There was no need in me adding to it.  Besides, the Bible speaks very clear about how to handle people like my aunt, and though I may have been very angry, I wasn't going to allow her to have the power to ruin my father's final life celebration.

All of the drama, and wondering what I was going to do with my father's life insurance money; an inheritance he left solely to me, did not bring him back.  He had suffered a horrible death, by the end, his caretaker said his moans had gotten so loud, his body so weak, right before he took his last breath she whispered in his ears that it was okay for him to let go.  He had been forgiven and made right with God. The last of his blood poured from his colon, soaking the bed and causing his frail frame to seemingly collapse to nothing.   It was only then he let out a long drawn out exhale, and left the defeated shell of the man he used to be. He was gone, and no longer in pain.  Of that, I was relieved.

Daddy wanted to be cremated, and though I was against it, I honored his wish. I made a promise to myself that one day I would bury him in the place he'd always longed to go back to, and I will;  just not yet. For now my father is still with me, while I prepare in my heart to give his ashes to the place he loved.  I don't know what it was about Fort Worth, Texas that captured his allegiance, but its where he wanted to be, so I'll honor that wish too.

As for Daddy's family, I'll love them from a distance while I tend to my own for now. When all was said and done, I never asked them for a dime to bury my father. All those worries they had about how I would take care of everything were for nothing.  God put in my path many who didn't even know my father, but were willing to help me prepare to say good-bye. I thank them for that.  Most importantly, I thank God for his provision, because I never thought I'd have the strength to bury a parent without it.

The Corona Chronicles (Pt. 1)

photo provided by abc12.com


World-wide pandemics are nothing new. The world is paying attention now because we are in the middle of yet another one. This one is an enemy we knew would come, but did little to prepare for.

Lockdown for the United States began on March 23rd, 2020. The "year of vision" quickly became one that was suddenly so cloudy we could not see a clear way out. Questions quickly swirled among citizens about how we could not have known the seriousness behind the deadly COVID-19 spread before it got out of hand? 

There have been many viruses throughout the ages, but the one most resembling today's was what American's called "The Spanish Flu" of 1918.  The word "Spanish" is in parenthesis because historians are unclear whether the disease even got its start in any Latin countries.  It is widely believed to have started right here in the United States at a military base during the time of World War 1.  An army private on a Kansas military base exhibited signs of the flu, and by the end of the day, 100 soldiers on the same base had fallen ill as well.

When it was all said and done, 500 million people were infected world wide, and the death toll was approximately 54 million.  This was a third of the world's population at the time.  It is known as the deadliest virus in recent history, and even then, the American government was eager to get back to what they believed to be "normal."

Before the Corona virus breakout, the world knew of the seriousness a virus like the flu could cause, but its a definite possibility that they thought our government, the CDC, and modern technology had a better handle on it. There was a quarantine back then as well, and people became restless with time not spent making money to support their families, and being confined to their homes.  Not only that, but businesses struggled to stay afloat, and the economy suffered tremendously. 

The affect of the "Spanish Flu" on the American economy may have even been a contributing factor to the Great Depression in the early 20th century. After all, in order to keep the economy stimulated, workers have to work, earn money, and then pour that money back into society so our country can continue to operate successfully.

Life today is reflecting history, not only in the rapid spread of the disease, and the rising death toll, but also in the government's eagerness to save the economy.   Trey Hollingsworth, a Republican government official, has been reported to have said that he'd much rather save the American economy than to save more lives because it was the "lesser of two evils." And now, just as then (in 1918) government is getting set to reopen businesses previously closed during quarantine, at limited access.

The fear is, will our outcome be the same?  Will the virus mutate in this reopening and affect even more people than it did at the beginning? It all remains to be seen. America's death toll has already surpassed the projected number, and during the time of the "Spanish Flu" government noticed the curve start to flatten, got excited, open the country before the virus totally went away, and lost in greater mass than before.

We are now in a position where history is repeating itself, and we have not learned from it. How can an economy be stimulated if its workers are sick, or dead? A warning in the words of Sir Winston Churchill should not be taken lightly in this case.  "This is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end, but it is perhaps the end of the beginning." We are just getting started. March 23rd, 2020 to now was only the practice run.

Poetic Love

picture provided by: www.darkreading.com

I want a Poetic Love

Yeah, that's what I want

The kind that makes you toss

And turn at night

Then snuggle into security

That once in a life time opportunity

To connect with someone on a level so deeply

I am set free

More free than an innocent man,

Locked up, and wrongly accused

But the injustice system turns on itself,

Behaving justly, and setting that innocent man loose

Oh, what a feeling, oh so sweet!

I want that feeling for me

A love that never fails like Corinthians 13

And covers a multitude of my flaws

As if they'd never been seen

Wrapping its arms around my weaknesses

To give them strength

Succulently seasoned

Like Heaven on earth

A demonstration of how Christ

Gave away all His selfish desires

For His bride

The church

A Poetic love that will flow

Through the cascades of time

Loyally refusing to leave my side

History Repeats

Picture provided by: creationok.com/the-fall-of-man/

'There is nothing new under the sun.  What has been done will be done again.  History merely repeats itself.'  These are the words of King Solomon, considered to be the wisest man who ever lived, written in the book of Ecclesiastes verse 1:9 of the Bible.  I pondered on this as I sat and watched a documentary hosted by Duck Dynasty's patriarch, Phil Robertson, called Torch Bearer.

In this film, which premiered at the Cannes film festival last year, he brings to light the debauchery resulting from mankind's own self focus.  The film shows us a time line of warfare, and the fall of man, dating back to:  Adam and Eve, The Roman Empire, Christ's death, burial, and resurrection, the genocide of the Jews during Hitler's rule, the Civil Rights Movement, and on into the recent wars we've suffered through in today's society.

Sitting on the sofa, in my living room, with my family and watching this documentary,  I realized the things I see on the nightly news today should not necessarily be so shocking that they are burdensome to my inner peace.  Looking over time shows these things are to be expected because man has not changed since the beginning of his fall. Phil Robertson said that "man left to himself begins to turn inwardly and eventually becomes his own god." I remembered then, a book I read about the life of Adolf Hitler, who was raised by a strictly religious mother, but eventually grew away from the faith he had been guided to follow, and claimed himself to be the "Messiah," at the height of his rule.

Adolf Hitler truly believed himself to be a sort of divine being simply because he was a man who had no one to contest him in his proclamation.

In the Garden of Eden, Eve believed she could eat from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, and know as much as God in Heaven. In other words, though God had strictly forbidden she and Adam not to eat the fruit of this tree, she wanted to be her own type of god by following her own desires.  She too, did not have Adam to contest her decision to commit the first sin, therefore; setting in motion the process of mankind's consistent downward spiral.

Osama Bin Laden felt he was actually doing the work of God by eliminating as many American lives as his resources allowed during the attack on the two towers of the World Trade Center, and the Pentagon on September 11th, 2001. Having much support from his followers in a terrorist group called the Al Quaida, Bin Laden felt uncontested in his deadly efforts.  By taking it upon himself to determine the fate of many American lives, and saying they no longer mattered enough to continue living, he made himself into a sort of god.

We honor people like Christopher Columbus with a holiday set aside to remember his contributions, as if he were some sort of hero.  If you really take a look at Mr. Columbus, and the evils he committed, which have been deliberately swept under the rug, you will see that he was not a person of such honorable character.  Yes, indeed Columbus decided to become his own type of god in a sense, and determine the destiny of the natives living in America at the time of his "so-called" discovery. He went as far as to kill infant children by taking them by the legs and bashing their bodies against the stones. We all know that America was overtaken by Columbus and his country, even after being given a welcome to come in and share from the natives.  They believed no land should be owned by man because it belonged to everyone.   In history it is said that the land was colonized with his arrival, but how is a country colonized when there are already citizens who have established the it?

Its been said in every generation from old to young, children no longer respect the authority given to help keep them in line.  My mother told me this, and now I tell it to my own children.  I want to ensure they don't adopt the "entitlement" attitude I see demonstrated in many of the students at my school, because I know where it can lead.  As a whole, we need discipline, and that need doesn't go away when we become adults. If we are not held accountable to our actions, we are liable to eventually self-destruct.

There are many in this world who have the potential to self-destruct, though they may not have done the things identical to the aforementioned people in this article. Those who would rather weed out the ones in their lives who push them to do better by telling them things they may not necessarily always want to hear, have a tendency to govern themselves, and decide what rules they want to follow.  Usually these rules are judged on a curve because we always give ourselves more allowances than we do others. But why hold everyone else to a higher standard than we do ourselves?

Man, left alone to the depravity of his mind, will turn back to the ways of his nature.  This natural way of doing things is sadly comparable to a beast in the wild. We need others who will help to keep us accountable to our actions, and encourage us to push through our fears. If we don't have these people we are otherwise destined to self-destruct.

Pride & Insignificance

Picture provided by: Pintrest.com

You came in drunk last night
And I let you down talk me
Like a fool, I took it
But like a saint, I held my tongue
Keeping inside those things I may regret

I'm weighted down
By the anvils of misery you impose
I want to run
But the strength of my devotion
Keeps me anchored to you
Why?

I dredge through the sludge of sorrow
You seem to promise
Trying to save you,
But hoping you'll turn around
And save me too

The pain inflicted by your words
Seeps down into my every pore
I can feel them bleeding tears of agony
Every time you remind me
How you view my presence so insignificantly

Pride is a powerful tool
And its taken over your mind
But I'm bound to the man you used to be
Hoping he'll show up at any time
I guess this is the anchor which keeps me by your side

One day though,
This well of tears will wash up
Then go dry
And everything I hold back
Will come out
From the places they hide