Honoring my daddy's legacy

I can’t believe it’s been a year since my daddy died, and what a year it has been. There were many low points. And yet, in the midst of my grief I’ve wanted to honor my daddy’s legacy. He was a great man who taught me many things and instilled great values in me. As I seek to honor his legacy, I reflect on some of the values he instilled in me that motivate me to live my life well.

Education

From a young age, I can remember, education was always a priority in our household. As a young kid, reading was the norm and expectation at our home. I vividly remember participating in summer reading clubs at the public library and always wanting to buy more books through the scholastic book sale at school. My daddy read with me and birthed in me this love of reading. I still carry this love with me today. I can easily find myself engrossed in a book for hours. I love books and even have a problem buying more books than I have time to read, lol! I’m so grateful that he inspired in me the desire to read and helped me see how reading can open up my imagination and provide me with new knowledge.

I’m also thankful that my daddy would come to school with us. I remember when he first starting doing this and how embarrassed I was! I didn't quite understand his motivation to willingly spend an entire day at school with us. However, as I got older, I began to understand his desire to do this and it gave me a great sense of pride. I was proud that my daddy loved and cared for me enough that he wanted to sit in my classes to see what my teachers were teaching me and to understand what my school experience was truly like. I was proud to show him off to my teachers and friends. I’m thankful for him tangibly showing how much he valued my education. That value he placed in me will never go away. It inspired me to go to college, continue on for a Master’s degree, and has motivated me to stay in my PhD program.  My daddy helped me see how education could help lead to many possibilities. The value he imparted in me is one I try to share with the students I get the privilege of serving alongside on college campuses. For that I’m so grateful.

Cooking

My daddy was an AMAZING cook! As I reflect back on my childhood, no matter how tight our financial situation, we always had a good meal to eat. I am forever grateful for that. My favorite food memories are the big breakfasts he cooked for us. These included steak and gravy, cheese and eggs, grits, biscuits and orange juice. When we had these weekend breakfasts, my heart would be so happy. I still have not perfected the cheese and eggs, but hope to one day master it (hopefully my aunt Robin will share the family secret!). My daddy taught me that food is truly the way to someone’s heart and the power of food can bring people together. I have tried to honor his legacy by continuing to cook and get better at the craft. I mean I must be making some progress because I’m allowed to make the macaroni & cheese for family gatherings. In the Black community, THIS. IS. A. BIG. DEAL. I know my daddy would be proud! Being in the kitchen always makes me feel connected to him.

Family

My daddy instilled in me the importance of family. A lot of this I learned by just observing him and his interactions with his family. The way he spent time with his family and how close he was to his siblings and cousins was inspiring.The connection and bond within the Thompson /Johnson family is unbreakable. I am so grateful for this value in my life. It has shaped the way Emmanuel and I live our life and how we prioritize family. My daddy was also dedicated to preserving our family history. I’m so grateful for the many Thompson family reunions I’ve gotten to attend and the opportunity to meet so many of my cousins (shoutout to my first pen pal, cousin Joi!). This has instilled in me a desire to keep up with our family history and ensure my future kids and grandkids know the legacy they come from. I’m thankful my daddy didn’t just say family was important, but lived that way.

Poetry

My daddy’s love of poetry and ability to write poetry well has always inspired me. I love how everyone in the family always came to my daddy to write poems for other family members. It was such an honor to watch him do this. I remember the family wanted him to write a poem for Aunt Frances’ funeral, but it was his chemotherapy week & he wasn’t feeling great. He told the family he didn’t think he could do it. However, my daddy always shows up and shows out & literally finished writing the poem at viewing and was able to recite it during the funeral! He had a way with words that made it look so easy. This love of words and poetry was passed on to me. I love poetry. It is the language of my soul. It is the way I best express myself. It is my favorite genre of writing. Poetry is a part of me. I owe my love of poetry to my daddy. I’m thankful that my daddy was such a talented writer and for his willingness to share his love of writing with me. I am forever grateful for him introducing me to poetry. It has been a lifeline for me. My daddy will always be my first and favorite poet and I will honor his legacy by continuing to write poetry.

I could write a book about all my daddy has taught me. So much of who I am is because of who he was. My hope is to honor his legacy by living a great life. My daddy lived well until his dying day. My hope is that I can do the same and honor his legacy.

Living through the unimaginable

Living through the unimaginable. That’s what the past 2 years have felt like. It might seem naive, but I never thought my daddy would get cancer. It just seemed like something that would bypass him. So when we received his diagnosis of stage 4 colon cancer, I was devastated. Everything moved so fast. I never imagined it to be so bad, but it was. My daddy asked me to call his 8 siblings and a few close family members to let them know the horrific news. At first I felt like a robot, going through the motions and repeating the same script each time. But as I sat outside in front of the hospital, I remember taking a breath and sitting with the gravity of the news I was sharing. It was heart wrenching. I didn’t want to believe what I knew was true. My daddy was dying.

For 9 months I gracefully cared for my daddy as he bravely fought colon cancer. I loved being his caregiver. I loved being able to take him to most of his chemotherapy appointments. I loved him living with us & spending so much time together. I loved that he was able to teach me how to golf. I loved watching Wheel of Fortune & Jeopardy with him in the evenings. I just loved being able to love him in such tangible ways.

Even as I loved all those things, watching him slowly die daily and then grieving his death has been awful. I never imagined that grief would rip my heart out. Nobody prepares you to grieve. Most people are uncomfortable even talking about death and grief. So here I am trying to navigate grief with no roadmap while still being a wife, PhD student, sibling, and friend. I’m convinced I still haven’t figured it out even though most people see me being seemingly functional. However, most people don’t see it all.

What people don’t see are the days I don’t get out of bed. The ways in which depression plagued me for most of the summer.

What people don’t see is the depth of the grief I experience. The grip of grief is so tight that at moments I feel like I can’t breathe.

What people don’t see are the many moments I’ve cried in the kitchen. As I’m preparing a meal and remember all the dishes my daddy taught me how to prepare.

What people don’t see is the fog that grief has produced in my life. The thick fog that makes me slower at every task and makes everything blurry.

What people don’t see is that my mind is never fully present. Because no matter where I’m at, something always reminds me of my daddy.

What people don’t see is that I carry my grief with me everyday. Sometimes the weight of it is too much to bear and other days it feels light. However, it’s always with me.

There are so many things people don’t see, can’t understand, and won’t experience because they thankfully have not experienced the devastating pain of losing one or both parents. Even those who have lost one or both of their parents can’t fully understand my experience because each of us are different and grieve in different ways.

So, I wrote my way out.

I wrote my out of the shame of talking about my daddy too much. I will protect his legacy. I will write about him. I will talk about him. And if that’s too much for people, then that’s their baggage to deal with, not mine.

I wrote my out of despair. Wondering what I want my life to be about, who I want to be in the world, and what I want my legacy to be.

I wrote my out of silence. Vowing to not grieve in isolation. Knowing I’m not the only one who experienced loss and that my words might empower someone else to speak their own.

I wrote my way out. Many entries no other eyes but mine will ever see.

And sometimes I couldn't write, because as the lyrics from Lin-Manuel Miranda’s hit musical, Hamilton, so eloquently says, “There are moments that the words don't reach, there is suffering too terrible to name”. There were moments where my grief had me trapped, took my voice, and left me speechless. Because when you live through the unimaginable, there will never be enough words to describe your pain.

And yet, my faith reminds me that Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal. I know Earth was never my daddy’s home. I know he is with Jesus in heaven. And even in the comfort of this truth, my heart still breaks and my soul still weeps.

Remembering

You know when your mind is racing and it won’t stop? Or when you want to shut off your brain but instead it keeps replaying moments over and over again? That’s been my last 2 weeks.

It started around Christmas, but amplified when I couldn’t fall asleep on New Year’s Eve into New Year’s Day. It wasn’t that I couldn’t sleep because I was out partying or doing anything worthwhile (I was watching a marathon of Law & Order: SVU #TeamOliviaBenson). I was wide awake because my thoughts were occupied with the last 2 weeks of my daddy’s life.

I remembered that a year ago we were driving my daddy to the emergency room because he had been in pain all day. He had been crying, squirming, and feeling miserable.

I remember sitting on the basement steps for hours while he was in pain. Giving him medicine, waiting to see if the medicine would kick in, keeping track of the intervals between doses, praying God would relieve him of his pain and bring healing to him on earth.

I remember sitting on the basement steps just watching him. Not knowing what else to do. Wondering why this had to happen to him.

I remember seeing him finally fall asleep for a few hours, while the pain subsided. I would go right above his face to make sure he was still breathing. Feeling a moment of relief because finally he was getting a reprieve from the pain, but it was only short lived before the pain returned and we did this dance over again. I didn’t realize that would be his last time in our basement.

That night at the hospital was hard to watch. I’d seen my daddy in pain before, but nothing like this. I felt like I was pleading with the nurse to hurry and administer the meds, to have the doctor come soon, to do anything to make his pain subside. It felt like everything was happening in slow motion.

And I was scared.  Scared that this was the beginning of the end. I had no clue we were so close to saying goodbye. This hospital trip was the first time the doctor mentioned hospice. I was taken aback. But you wouldn’t have known because my job as my daddy’s caregiver and POA was to be clear minded, take all the notes down to then share with my family, and advocate for my daddy. There was no time to feel. To sit with the weight of goodbye. No time  to sit with the weight of goodbye...No time  to sit with the weight of goodbye...

As I remember his last 2 weeks of life, I’m replaying every moment. Wishing I would have said more and did more. I wish I would have known we only had days not months left with my daddy.

I traveled to Chicago for work last week. I took this same work trip a year ago and sat with those memories of last year.  The day I returned from my work trip last year was when we met with the hospice folks and made the decision for him to begin hospice care. I knew my daddy wouldn't make the decision without me there. I knew this was a hard but necessary decision for him. I knew the end was getting closer and that realization was heartbreaking.

The last picture I have of my daddy alive is from the Saturday before he passed away. He’s in his hospice bed at home. He is on his phone, mindlessly scrolling through Facebook. He doesn’t even know I took the picture because I’m in the dining room. It’s the quiet before the storm. Just him and I at the house before it’s filled with family saying their goodbyes. Because although he wouldn’t die for another 5 days, this day is his last true one. The last one where he was himself. Surrounded by those who loved him, my daddy being the life of the party. Just as he would want to be remembered.

That Saturday is etched in my heart forever. I remember his smile. I remember his jokes. I remember his positive attitude. But most importantly, I remember his love. His love that helps mend my broken heart. His love that helps dry my sad tears. His love that helps heal my devastated soul. I’ll forever remember my daddy.