I miss my dad like crazy.
I regret not writing about him because I think about him so much, but usually when I try to write about him I completely lose it, so then I just give up.
I miss him everyday, how could I not? He's my father. And he was a better father than I could have even made up in a fiction book about amazing fathers.
I've been thinking about him a lot, though.
I mean... as life goes on, the pain doesn't subside but it gets easier to manage (that's what I tell myself).
Let's go backwards...
When I was in middle school, my dad passed away. I was almost thirteen years old when this happened. It was seemingly apparent to everyone except for me that my dad was holding on to the end of his rope during his final hospital visit. In my mind, however, it didn't even occur to me that my wonderful dad- who was filled to the brim with wisdom, jokes and kindness- could ever leave this earth.
My mom even took me and my little brother aside one evening, with tears reaching her eyes but never falling, and told us that there was a chance that my dad might not make it.
We embraced her, I cried because she was crying, but I still thought, "Mom's crazy. God's going to save my dad. I'm only 12. He wouldn't die while I'm so young."
I'll go back even further...
About one to two years prior to us moving to the United States, my dad's health was deteriorating rapidly due to a medication he was put on some years prior for a health problem that he didn't have (they thought he had arthritis and they gave him Prednisone). One of the side effects of Prednisone is weakening of the immune system, but doctors aren't going to tell you that it could DESTROY your immune system completely and slowly rot you from the inside out. Plus, since your body can't fight off diseases, it is slowly weakening...and in my dad's situation (and seemingly many others) Prednisone was hard to come off of without him being left with debilitating side effects.
(I just now read about 12 reports--- on this particular website--- of people who have died with Prednisone as the suspected killer.)
Did I mention that dad didn't have arthritis? (I'm not even kidding when I say that I cannot stand being in an overly medicated era. "Oh, your pinky hurts? Take some Vicodin.")
Anyway, my dad was in the U.S for weeks (on one occasion a couple of months) at a time visiting doctors and trying to get answers (while still taking Prednisone, because they didn't immediately link it with his illness). I remember really missing him, hoping he'd be home soon; hoping the smart and well equipped American doctors could give daddy a magic pill to bring him back home to us.
Eventually the doctors sent him back to Jamaica...to pack up his family and his things and to relocate to the United States to be put on an almost full time treatment plan.
I feel like it took no time for my dad to go from sick a lot of the time to my dad being sick all of the time.
Let's go even further back one more time...
My dad was extremely athletic. He won several trophies in his youth for playing basketball, he joined the Air Force when he was in his early twenties, he loved being outside, he loved acting and modeling, play wrestling with my little brother- he did it all.
If anyone ever called my dad lazy, I would know that they are talking about the wrong Richard.
When I was a wee lass, my dad used to pick me up in one arm, pick my brother up in the other arm and walk us down to the park where we would sit and enjoy the outdoors while my dad went to shoot some hoops with his friends (I will never forget cheering on my dad).
When you play basketball for a long enough, you will probably experience some joint pain. This is not uncommon. But when my dad went in to see the doctor, the doctor jumped to the incorrect conclusion that my dad had Rheumatoid Arthritis. He also immediately decided to give my dad a strong steroid to combat his Arthritis...instead of telling him to do some stretches and rub some Bengay on the aching joints (because that would have taken care of everything).
Well, the Prednisone slowly destroyed my dad's immune system. Somehow, along the way, he developed Pulmonary Fibrosis and his heart, liver and kidneys began to fail.
When we moved to America, a few months in, my dad's heart stopped. He was in the hospital, luckily, and they tried to resuscitate him a few times before he finally came to. I was only ten when that happened, but I remember feeling like the entire world was dark. I don't know whether or not it was a rainy day or it just felt like it, but I recall it being a dark and rainy day. He survived for two more years, but it was such a painful and and constantly deteriorating existence.
Contrary to how I perceive my dad's last days on earth, if you spoke to him, in his eyes you wouldn't see the pain that he felt. My dad has to be the most positive person I've ever met.
He would be laying in a hospital bed and ask you to sit next to him to watch reruns of "In Living Color" or "The Beverly Hillbillies" (my dad liked some random stuff). We'd do candy runs for him, getting him Mike & Ikes or Snickers Bars and he always cheered up so easily. He could have just had his chest stapled together and he'd be laughing (albeit, a bit of a coarse laughter because of the condition of his lungs) and making jokes. He befriended everyone; the nurses, the doctors (probably even the janitorial staff). He rarely ever complained, but when he did, every "ouch" was followed by a positive statement.
**I'm taking a break to cry now**
Okay...
I remember one time when my dad got back home from the hospital he was ordered to be on bed-rest. He couldn't even walk down the hallway to come into my bedroom to sit and talk to me without needing to stop to catch his breath..
**Cry break #2**
At this time, my mom was obviously the only one working because my dad was so sick. I would help out around the house and help my dad to go to the restroom, get him food etc. This was really hard to do as a 11-12 year old, but I would NEVER erase any of those moments. Although I would try to help dad out, I was still young, so mom would come home after a full day of work and cook dinner for us and straighten up the house.
I remember a few times, though, sitting in my room doing homework or reading and smelling food coming from the kitchen. I would go in the kitchen and see my dad wheezing over the stove, with his oxygen tank not far behind him, making dinner. Every time this happened, I would ask, "dad, what are you doing?"
He always responded (with a smile), "Making dinner! I don't want mom to come home and have to make it."
I would want to get upset at him sometimes, because I would see how hard it is for him to just make dinner (like his absolutely delicious beer and brown sugar ribs). But I couldn't really be mad at him. He was so sweet and ridiculous. His love for my mom was so obvious and genuine. He never wanted her to be stressed and he would always, always buy her random things and write her random cards for absolutely no reason (except for the fact that he loved her so much). He was ridiculous. He was amazing. My mom loved (and loves) him very much, too. I remember going into their room and seeing mom resting on my dad watching TV. I used to come into the living room to see my dad, oxygen tank hooked up and all, massaging my mom's feet after a long day of work. I don't think I believe in soul mates, but if I did, my parents were soul mates.
**Cry break #3**
When my dad went back to the hospital that final time, he ended up basically going comatose and he needed to be put on life-support. I remember going to the hospital and seeing my dad laying there with wires and tubes hooked up to him. That is the worst way to remember someone. I want to remember that strong daddy that used to put me on his shoulders and carry me around. I want to remember that. But I keep remembering that stupid hospital. I remember...I remember holding my dad's hand when he was laying there and telling him that I loved him. He couldn't respond of course, but he squeezed my hand. That was the most loving squeeze I've ever felt. I felt his love in that little squeeze, and his eyes flinched a little bit. The nurses eventually came in the room because his heart rate started to increase after that...I know he was trying to reach me. My dad needed a lung transplant, and although they had lungs for him, he needed to be off of life support and stabilized for them to do surgery. But he never woke up. The doctors said that they didn't think that his body had the energy to function on it's own, as his liver, kidneys and heart were failing. My mom had to make the conflicting decision to take him off of life-support. I have a lot of respect and tons and tons of love for my mom. I still have no idea how she made it through my dad's passing. I found out, just last year, that she would cry in her closet for hours because she was hurting so badly. She did this for two years. She always remained strong for my brother and me.
Jordan (my brother) had nightmares and he would wake me up with his blood curdling shrieks, calling out for my dad. Mom and I would console him and after that I would go back to my room and cry myself to sleep...and I don't know for sure, but I'm almost certain that my mom did, too.
The first few years after my dad passed away were the hardest years of my life. So much of those years were a fog. It was a battle, because I wanted to be okay so badly...that I convinced myself that I was okay. But I wasn't. I'm still healing. We all are.
My dad has taught me so many things, though. If I can be a quarter of the person my dad was and a quarter of the person my mom is, I would still be a much better person than I am today.
So that this post doesn't go on for another million years, I'm going to make a concise list of what my dad has taught me (and I'm still trying to figure out how to implement these lessons):
1. Be selfless- Dad showed love to everyone, including people who were difficult to love. When he passed away, the doctors and nurses treating him were in tears. I had heard so many positive stories from the people helping him about how nice and patient he was and about how he was so selfless that he always asked them about their lives, instead of just focusing on his own.
2. Love unconditionally- I read a quote somewhere once that said something along the lines of: real love is not focused on what another person can do for you, but rather what you can do for the person you love. Love isn't a burden. My dad showed me that loving people isn't a task or a duty, you do it because you truly care about those people and you want to see them happy. It isn't even about yourself. ("Love is when the other person's happiness is more important than your own." -H. Jackson Brown, Jr.)
3. Feed the poor, give to those in need- My parents have always been so good at helping people who needed help...simply for the sake of helping them. When I was growing up, my parents always took me to orphanages and homeless shelters to volunteer. I don't even remember the first time I went. Dad used to always keep a bag of snacks and drinks (like CapriSun) in the car- if we ever saw a homeless person, he would pull over and give them some food and drink and then (if we weren't on the way to someplace) he would make conversation with them. If he didn't have snacks but had money in his wallet, he would give them money. I remember being about ten or eleven saying to my dad (after he had just given money to a homeless man), "What if they use the money you give them to buy drugs?" My dad responded with something like, "God tells us to give to the poor. He doesn't say to monitor what they do with the money, or only give to them if they are going to buy food. He just says to give. He could use the money to buy drugs, but he could also use the money to buy himself some food or medication. I'm not going to not help him because of the negative things he could do with the money, I'm going to help him because he could do some good." I will never forget that. My parents also picked up homeless women and children in the rain to prevent them from getting wet. When we lived in Jamaica, my parents picked up a little girl from the streets (she was probably about 6 or so). They called the police but...this is Jamaica (no offense to Jamaica, but sort of offense to the Jamaican police system). She didn't know where she lived and she didn't even know her own home phone number (parents, please teach your children your phone numbers or write it somewhere that they can find it--- though, in this case, it may have been good that we didn't have it). My parents kept her overnight (if I'm not mistaken) and fed her, bathed her and clothed her. When my mom helped her in the bath, she realized that the little girl had a lot of bruises and scars. My parents took care of her and then personally took the girl to the police station so that they could help the little girl and put her in the system. Anyway, many people wouldn't continuously go above and beyond like that, but I feel like my parents did.
4. Love God- This is the hardest one for me, honestly. Even though I am a Christian, faith doesn't come easy to me like it used to. Sometimes, I doubt...a lot. I doubt a lot of things, I get angry, I get confused. I have to research to see the history and make sure I'm not following something blindly. I will find things that confuse me and then I don't know whether or not I love God. And that is frustrating (but it is also liberating whenever I come to a place where I know I've done my research and I can still believe). My dad loved God so much and trusted God so much, at some points after he passed away, I thought "My dad was crazy." I have honestly thought, "How can God have put my dad through so much when all my dad did was trust Him? Why did my dad trust God so much?" I mean, sometimes it didn't seem to make sense. He would just be smiling in his hospital room after a surgery or something and be beaming about how good God is. I know it's cliche to say that God has a plan, but I do believe it. I just don't ever think I'll know what that plan is or why...and I can't say that is always cool with me. But I have to learn to trust Him. When I would see the genuine happiness that my dad had writing or praying or reading spiritual books/the Bible, something was so real there that even in the days when I've doubted the most, I've really never thought that relationship that my dad had with God could have been all in his head (plus, despite my father's passing, God did answer a lot of his prayers). I have learned a lot from both of my parents trusting and loving God through really difficult situations and I hope to be like them one of these days.
5. Be Positive- When life hands you lemons...
Sometimes, life is rough. And I am not even kind of good at seeing the silver lining. I frequently just jump to the worst conclusion or I'll get sucked into this "woe is me" sort of state. My dad was SO POSITIVE. I mean, just... the most. He would be in pain and still be smiling. He would have a hard time breathing and be making jokes. He would have to ask someone to do something that he used to be able to do easily and seem so carefree about it. I know that my dad had some really difficult days. I recently read something that he wrote about some of the pain and frustration he was feeling at one point and I just sat there and bawled. If I were in that much pain, ever, I would have probably been the biggest grump about it. I would probably sit in my hospital bed and get fat and high off of pain medication (okay, maybe not the latter). But I would have seriously NEVER known that my dad was in that much pain because he was really just so incredibly cheerful. He knew that being negative wouldn't help the situation nor would it change it. Negative energy would have only made his sick environment worse, I'm sure of it. He always saw the good in things; if something went wrong at least it wasn't as bad as something else...
You make lemonade.
I could literally write about my dad everyday and probably continue to come up with new life lessons and write about how much he inspired me.
Of course my dad had his flaws, he wasn't perfect (though, most days I like to pretend he was). There were several areas in my dad's life that he could have changed to make him a better man. But no one is perfect, so I couldn't expect him to be. He was such and incredible father, though, and I honestly wouldn't have changed a single thing about him.
I miss him so, so much and it hurts to think about everything that he went through. But I know that he is still with me. He's never far away and I can feel his love whenever I miss him.
Today, 12/5 (or 5/12 for pretty much everyone outside of the U.S) would have been my Daddy's 53rd birthday...so happy birthday, dadday!
I'm glad I wrote this. If you got this far, congratulations! You win my love and admiration!
Also, Ebony Magazine retweeted a picture of my parents that I put up today. In the 80's, my parents modeled together and the ad they were in was featured in Ebony Magazine! I put up the picture today on my twitter page and they retweeted it! I thought that was pretty cool.
:)
xoxo
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