Daddy

I’ve always been a daddy’s girl – the kind that used to sit at the door at our home in Houston, TX waiting for my daddy to come home from work. Daddy protected me while mommy trained me. Daddy taught me while mommy at times stood up for me. Never did I ever think my daddy would become ill. When he began getting ill, he came up to the school where I was at with my husband to tell me right behind the bleachers. That was news that was very hard to swallow. I choked on that bit of news and it took about a month for me to process those thoughts that I did not want to accept. Dad’s brain was not functioning properly and I looked for every single remedy to try and fix it. I rushed around gathering papers to place the assets in a trust and I felt like I was losing it all. I went and visited a Christian counselor who shared her story with me about her journey as her dad’s caregiver and she told me that the prayer that she prayed was — Lord be MERCIFUL. That was the prayer that I prayed when mommy called me asking me to run over to help her get daddy into the shower. That was the prayer that I prayed when I began to see my daddy decline, but yet, tell him dad – you are still looking like a young buck – just like you did on the picture that you showed me when you were in the Army. There is a saying that life will throw you lemons and all you can do is make lemonade. That was one of the hardest days of my life —–those days lasted for hours and hours at a time.

Daddy taught me how to drive – he would drive me behind the Old Washington High School and let me take over the wheel. Daddy was never afraid of my driving like mom was. Daddy was tough and bold and could do anything that he wanted — in fact, daddy was amazing from my world-view and that’s all that mattered. I miss daddy so much and before he left, he wrote me a check for $25.00 that I have not cashed. Daddy was there when I fostered children. Daddy had already crossed over when God brought my son into our lives through adoption. In fact, the night that we received the call that daddy had passed, was the night when I had my little foster daughter on my stomach laying down in the living room on the sofa. I swear I heard daddy’s footsteps and I felt a breeze wash over me which told me that he was okay. It was like my dad was saying, “April – daddy is good now.” “Daddy is all better.” About one hour later, the phone rang and it was the nursing home stating that dad was gone.

That night was surreal. It was like I was alive but numb. How was I supposed to go on after that night…how was I supposed to do life after the night I saw my daddy meet Jesus. I remember it so well – he had a on a white gown that looked like it so white that it was platinum. He laid in the bed and I swear he was an angel. He appeared so pure, so white, that I wanted to get in the bed with him just to take in all of his smell. His smell – his body smell – what would I give to smell that again. He has two brothers and each time I hug them, I look for that smell. It was unique to my daddy and I cannot find it anymore.

I had no idea that when I started blogging, it would be so healing. I needed this. This is good — very good. I can take a shower, do my hair, wash my face and move forward now. There was a very powerful statement in the movie, Gladiator (2000), spoken by Djimon Hounsou’s character, Juba, to Maximus (Russell Crowe): “I will see you again…..but not yet. Not yet.” Daddy, I will see you again…..but not yet. Not yet.