Have you ever felt like the wind has been knocked out of you? Or you just can’t breathe? That’s how I felt, being in the room, seeing my father’s lifeless body, after seven months of watching him suffer and fight for his life- for us. It's something that you cannot prepare for. You always have hope in a miracle and denial is a major thing in this equation, because you know how strong your loved one is and always have been. But God's will is HIS. And it shall be done. I considered writing about this weeks ago but then I reconsidered and considered it one last time. It could inspire or help other people, who may be going through the same agony. The amount of love and support that my family is shown, is so amazing and I am forever grateful for all of you.
My Daddy, born in Great Lakes, outside of Chicago, lived in San Diego until the age of 12, but grew up in the city of Wellston, Missouri. His father was a Navy Veteran and mother a teacher. So organically, he was a scholar with many talents, that I later learned of. But I never knew those things, before knowing he was ‘my Daddy’. All of my life, he was there. Even when my parents separated for two, short years, he wrote my sister and I every week— sometimes even more than once.
I have so many great memories that outweigh the bad, man! From holding his back pocket to cross the street, walking into the grocery store, riding around with him wherever I could. Be it work, running errands, my Granny's house, the bank, laying on his chest as a baby, pretending to be in a band..just so many. He would wake up early in the morning, still dark, to start the day. I had to be to daycare, then Quinda had to be to school, Mom to work and him last. He worked so hard to take care of us, and was there for every event, if time permitted him to be. I was always an expressive child and my parents let us be, but when it got out of hand, they let us know that too. {Lol.} And with Dad being the disciplinary and a policeman, most of my early childhood, I was scared to fuck up. The whoopings he gave?! Whew! I knew I’d get a great lecture or ass whooping, depending on the crime. Now, those punishments make sense to me when back then, some didn’t. Like apologizing, when I wasn't in the wrong for what I said, but how it was said. My 'thank yous' are endless...I was the baby of 4 siblings, so I got away with a lot- probably way more than I should've. Both my Mom and Dad spoiled us, but taught us about value and the importance of having morals and humility. My childhood was dope! And all because of them and their sacrifices they made daily. Daddy taught me how to cook, sew, think of others and do good deeds, save money, be independent and work hard for what I wanted in life- never use people for what they can do for you, among other things. But one thing I don't think he ever realized that he was teaching me, was how to love. He was my first love. The first man I ever met and growing up having him? I never knew just how lucky I really was back then! If I saw him disappointed, sad or angry, I wanted to fix it just so I could see him smile. If he didn't feel like cooking, I wanted to. And I think knowing that my father gave so much, with no expectations and gave more, showed me a lot. No speaking necessary. He was an emotional hot head but proud and stubborn. He was a protector of others, but very sensitive. He loved music, and DJing at parties, or just whenever he felt like it. Any genre, but especially Old School. From The Gap Band, Frankie Beverly & Maze, Stevie Wonder, James Brown to Usher or Uncle Luke and Too Short! {Lol.} He was funny as hell too, and he taught us how to laugh. To sometimes laugh at ourselves when we fuck up.
When Daddy was diagnosed with lung cancer in 2016, he beat it with flying colors, so when we got news about the pancreatic cancer, it honestly took me a while to digest and accept it. Especially since his own father, struggled with the same illness. It was and still is all surreal. You grow up and watch someone be the toughest, strongest person, and watch this 'thing' just come and interrupt their life and make them so weak and literally deteriorate their bodies. It took away his freedom, his physical abilities, all too fast. He was diagnosed in Nov. 2018 and passed June 22, 2019. At just 55! You couldn't have told any of us that this would be our reality. As a kid, I would picture my parents being old and gray together. And joke with them and say, "Y'all gonna look so cute when you're old as hell, on the porch, in a rocking chair!" Since cancer runs so prominent on both my paternal grandparents sides, he made it known that I needed to get a genetic testing, being that I was approaching 30 this year. And I did just that. It was nerve wracking and I still have a ways to go with the process, but I have started. I promised him that I'd learn as much as I possibly can about this terrible disease and hopefully one day become an advocate for victims and their families. Honestly, I don't have faith in cancer "societies" or campaigns, fundraisers. I just feel like it's all bullshit, being that there's a cure for this disease, but the U.S is so fucked up, they don't care to make it accessible to our people. But rich people with HIV and other illnesses, are getting treatment or aid, so quickly. Chemo and radiation are all poisonous and do tremendous harm to your organs and trigger so many different side effects, but people have so much hope in medicine and these doctor's 'promises', that they would risk it all just to be here with their families. It broke my heart to see my father go through stent, after stent placement, chemotherapy, lose his sense of touch, taste, his laugh, his bright spirit everyday. *Shaking my head* But one thing that never left, was his admirable strength. Nothing could take that away. -not even CANCER! That was something so special about all of this— through hospital visits, scans, procedures, chemo, the pain of this disease, he never complained. He never cried in front of us or showed weakness, but ALWAYS concern for us or his loved ones. I would watch him still care if I ate or not, cooking over a stove, struggle to stay awake so we could spend time with him. He'd still golf, plant flowers and different plants for the neighbors. Omg. Just an amazing soul and that will NEVER die! He possessed many badges of honor. But one that remains forever threaded in my heart, is HIM. Just being his 'babygirl' or as he would call me his "Wuca" and inheriting those
Kendreth David Ray... even typing that brought tears to my eyes, because it’s so unreal that he isn’t here on this earth any longer. Seeing his initials in his handwriting, or belongings will make me cry. The feeling of anger, and sadness takeover often times. Especially in the morning or right before I doze off to sleep. He’s the first thought when I wake and the last before bed. And only I can change my feelings or actions, beginning and ending my day, but it is a struggle. What pushes me is knowing for a fact that he’d tell me to 'get my ass up! I can hear his voice, saying, “Aye B! You gotta take care of yourself!..take care of those kids.”Because he would always say that to deflect the attention off of him. And I would respond, "Daddy, had it not been for you, I wouldn't be blessed enough to be their Mom. And I love you, so I will always worry about or try to take care of you too." I always told him how much I loved him and I made sure I apologized for all of those times I broke his heart or disappointed him. And thanking him for saving my life so many times. Usually, he was laying down and I'd lay next to him, hold his hand and say these things, but I'd get no response. But I knew he was listening and I know he's listening now.
My father was a legend not a role model. But many loved him and do refer to him as such. And I'm honored to be an extension of him.
Love you to the moon & back and beyond, Daddy!
*To those affected by this horrible disease, I am with you in spirit and I'm rooting for you all.
