Lesson Learned from Saying Goodbye

There are many memories that I have from my childhood that I will always cherish. In fact it has been in these last two years (2009 & 2010) that has made me think back to these times with fondness. I have lost many of the people that I looked up to and depended on for guidance in these two years. It has taken me these many months to get to the point where I’ve been able to stand and try to make it through life without them. As soon as I thought I was ready it seemed I would lose another. It’s kind of crazy, and I’m sure disheartening for others, that I try to teach the youth of Oak Grove to have their own voice when all I’ve done in the past two years is dig inward and not show my real emotions and what has been going on inside my head. I’ve been hurt by what people have said and done to me and kept it to myself. I’ve kept myself from opportunities because I felt like I would be selfish for taking part in them because it would take away from the people that count on me to be there for them.
As much as I love my grandparents, including one very special one that I still have here on earth, the biggest transition for me has been the loss of my father. Now don’t get me wrong, I have a lot to say about all my grandparents and I’ll get to them, but my Dad was a man of many MANY words. But he never said anything that didn’t have a point to it. He never talked to just talk. You might not get it at the time he said it, but as the minutes, hours, days, weeks and months went by rest assured you would eventually get the picture. For those of you that have known me for my whole life you know that there were several years in there (basically all of high school) that my dad and I just didn’t get along. I was a rebellious little **** that always went rounds with him because I could. Later in life, when things were much better between us (thank you college years) Dad would joke that my success as a debate coach was because he gave me so much practice in high school. Now that I think about it, he’s probably right. It was definitely in that time period that I discovered how important it was to not only stand up for yourself with speech, but to be able to back up what you say as well.
My dad wasn’t what the world would call an educated man. That was one of the things that I never understood about him when I was younger. Being an “intellectual ass” type of student (which I know dad looks down and laughs every time one of my students pulls that attitude with me now) I would turn every dinner table topic into a debate trying to prove to him that I knew more about the subject than he did. At the time, I was just being an ass, but now as I can look back on what happened, I think it was more than that. I never thought we had much in common because in high school Dad was popular and a jock. I was an intellectual and a band geek. Dad was Student Body President, and I lost that election by six votes (yes I do remember the number after all these years). To me, my father was a conundrum. One of my favorite stories about my dad is that after his high school graduation he went to register for classes at USM, and got tired of standing in line . . . so he left. He, in a split second made a life changing decision without really even thinking about it. He went on to make a very successful career for himself, and I doubt he ever looked back at that moment thinking he made the wrong decision.
Because he didn’t.
I am so thankful that in the last few years of his life that he and I were able to reconnect and have the close relationship that I took away from him when I was younger. One of the things that I’ve always had with my dad though, is that there was this connection that I could always look in his eyes and see the truth. The number of times that he said things to me without having to say a word are numerous. It’s also the reason why, on the day that he told me he had leukemia, I knew he was going to die. I didn’t want to believe it, and I wanted to fight like hell to not believe that, but those feelings were always there. It is midnight on 1-1-11 right at this moment, and I can’t think of a better time to let go of what I’ve been holding onto since June 2009.
When my father told me that he had leukemia, he told me to go in the back of the house, cry, wipe my face, and then be strong for my mom and my sister. The one thing they didn’t need was to see me crying. He couldn’t be the rock for them at that moment and I would have to do that for him. So that was exactly what I did. I went to my old room, cried until Kristen found me, and started to shut down the tear ducts. I don’t know how I can do it, but I’ve been able to for years. I can cry on cue but I can turn it off just as fast. The problem is the only way to do it and do it successfully is you have to turn off your emotions as well.
I went to the hospital every day except for the three when I was running fever and they wouldn’t let me in. I watched my sister put a blood drive together and work so hard. I got injured at the blood drive. I became the good will police trying to make people feel better whether that meant coffee and cheeseburger runs (The last week I was there Dad gained a craving for Checker’s Bacon cheeseburgers) or showing my dad how to navigate facebook. I played my role, but I wasn’t there. I was emotionally checked out. My body was already telling me it was going to happen, and I seemed to get that same feeling from Dad as well.
Things would be so much simpler if we knew it was the last time we were going to see our loved ones alive. Yes, it would be more painful, but at least we would know. After wondering day after day for both my grandfathers and my dad, I promise you it would be much easier. I wish I had known for Dad. Because it was the one day that when I looked into his eyes, he lied to me. He was looking so much better and was walking around, joking and laughing. I was very worried about leaving because I had to leave town for work for an entire week. Everyone that knows me knows I coach speech and debate, and on this particular week I was taking 10 of my students to the national tournament. It was a big feat for me because only about 28 make it from the whole state so I was extremely proud to have that many from my school. My dad spent the afternoon asking me questions about the trip and what we were going to do. It calmed my nerves some, but I still asked him if I should stay at home. He, of course, told me to go and that he would be fine. When I looked into his eyes, I believed him. It calmed me down. It made me feel like it was okay to go.
I think everyone remembers what the last thing their loved ones said to them. The last thing he said to me before I left was that he loved me. But I don’t know if many people can go one more back and remember the last piece of advice they give you. I do easily. Dad had probably listened to me brag about my kids (my students) for about an hour when he said the following, “Son, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way because I know how important your students are to you, but I don’t want you to spend your whole life making sure they have a good one, and forget to have one of your own.”
At the time, the statement angered me. It actually angered me to the point that I pretty much ended the conversation there, reverted to that teenager that I used to be, looked at my watch and told both my mom and my dad that I better get going if I was going to get to Birmingham before dark. I didn’t even give him a hug goodbye. My dad and I didn’t really do that ever, but I really wish I had then. My dad had hit a nerve. Something that I’d been dealing with on my own for about two years, and not shared it with anyone. I mean I love teaching. I honestly think it was what I was put on this earth to do. I’ve had the great fortune of making a difference in so many amazing kids’ lives, and I didn’t want to give that up. This was a special week for these 10 kids. It was a big deal for them, so for Kristen, William, Christian, Blakely, Emily, Kelly, Paromita, Steven, Will, and Daniel, I planned to put my personal life to the side and make sure they had a trip to remember. It worked until Wednesday night. When I called the hospital and my mom told me dad was too tired to talk on the phone and that she was worried, I knew something was wrong, but there was nothing that I could do. It was at that point in the trip that I went from wanting to be their biggest cheerleader to resenting them because I had no way of leaving them there. I hate that I took it out on them the next day. I never formally apologized for it, but I think the moms were trying to explain to them the situation that I refused to talk about. I actually sent them home early because none made it to the later rounds and I internalized it all and felt like it was a slap in my face because of what I had given up.
On Friday, when I got the call to come home, there were only two still in Birmingham with me. I can only imagine how awkward that drive from Birmingham to Hattiesburg was for those two boys. The whole way I was stammering something about how my dad would be fine and there was nothing to worry about. I’m not going to talk about the last time I saw my dad because I still can’t put words to that moment. Nor can I hardly even remember the next two days. What I do remember is the huge testament that my father left for my sister and me. Never before have I seen people wait that long to pay their respects. I still don’t know how I made it five hours without crying. But I do remember all of my kids that came to check on me, especially the ten that I treated so horribly during that week. In fact, those were the main ones who helped me through most of the summer. There is one in particular I will never be able to repay for basically running the team through the next semester while I was on autopilot.
Now we have to fast forward to tonight. 1-1-2011. Why, you may ask? Because I have been on pause since then. I’ve played all the parts I’ve supposed to play. Not as good as I once did, but enough that most people didn’t see the difference. It is only in the last week that I’ve come to the realization that my father never meant for me to be emotionless and keep everything bottled up. In fact, looking back, when he was very passionate about something he said he would often let his emotions take over. I have actually been doing the opposite of what he wanted. I’ve been a shell of the person I once was. The person my dad raised would never have let a student or parent talk to me the way they have the last two years. The child my dad raised would never do anything halfway. The man my father raised would never settle for a partial life. He’d want me to have it all. He’d want me to experience every emotion, good and bad, because that is what life is about. Feelings. Knowing that we are alive.
So here’s to 2011! May it be the year where we learn from our pasts, live and love in the present, and let the future happen one day at a time.