I know. I know. It started about a year and a half ago. Part of me is ashamed of it. The other part is like screw other people's opinions haha.
For those of you who have blocked this boyband from your mind, this is Louis Tomlinson.
He's the oldest of the band, and I'm not entirely sure why, but he's been my favorite since I started following them.
Well, this past Wednesday, his mom Johannah/"Jay" died from leukemia. They actually kept her diagnosis private, so none of the fans knew she was sick until the press release from her husband announcing her death. And this may sound silly, but this has hit me really hard, much, much harder than I could have ever predicted.
Louis has six younger brothers and sisters, two of whom are only two years old. My heart especially hurts for them because I know what they will be going through in the future with having to rely on stories in order to know someone who is literally half of them. I know what it will be like to grieve for and miss someone you never really got to know.
And Louis. I've watched a lot of interviews with him since I became a fan of the band, and if there was one thing that was clear, it's that Jay is the most important person to him. He was the textbook description of a "mama's boy" and couldn't have been prouder of it. And if you looked at Jay's social media, you could see she was his biggest fan (as she was for all of her kids). That's the relationship I want to have with my kids one day.
Tonight, just three days after losing his mom, Louis got up on stage at The X Factor UK and performed his first solo single since 1D went on hiatus a year ago. He wrote the song, "Just Hold On," for his mom, and it was announced that it was one of her last wishes for him to continue on with this performance, so he did. This not-quite-25-year-old stood up and performed in the midst of unimaginable pain and sang his heart out for millions of people (literally millions - there was an international livestream for his performance), and it was the most beautiful thing I have seen in a long time. That immense bravery, that level of strength mixed with utter vulnerability, it's beyond comprehension to me.
Watching the video of his performance brought back some hard feelings, feelings I didn't think I'd have to deal with just because of the loss of a celebrity's mother or 17+ years into this whole grief thing. But man, this hurts. I miss my dad so freaking much, and looking at the tears in Louis's eyes after his song ended made me feel actual pain in my chest. And I get angry sometimes, wondering why some families get to stay in tact and others don't, why some good people get healed on earth and others have their bodies and minds taken and destroyed by cancer. I wonder if I'll ever let go of that question, or if it's something I'll be holding onto until I'm meeting Jesus face to face. I've never grieved for a celebrity as hard as I have for Louis's mom, and I think it's because we're about the same age and I know exactly what he's going through.
The sun goes down and it comes back up The world, it turns no matter what If it all goes wrong Darling, just hold on
Sometimes I just sit and stare at his picture. Trying to memorize his features. Hoping that maybe, if I stare long enough, I'll remember what it was like to see him in person. Wishing that pictures weren't all I have to go on for the person who is literally 50% of me. I miss him, even after 17 years. I don't think I'll ever stop, and I hope I don't, because his death is something that defined my view on the world and on relationships. I don't want to forget the little bit I have to hold on to. I can't change what happened, no matter how much I wish I could, so all I can do is hope and pray that he can see me and that I'm making him proud. I love you, Daddy. RKJ ❤️ 1-29-62 -- 6-17-99 P.S. Fuck you, cancer.
So uh, yeah, it's my birthday today. How about that?
Truth be told, I think once you get past 18 and 21, birthdays sort of lose their excitement. I mean, it's cool and all, but there isn't some special feeling about today. Today doesn't feel much different than yesterday, aside from the numerous people leaving comments on my Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram and texting me about my birthday and the cards I got from my grandma and uncle.
Anyway, yeah, it's my birthday. It's been kind of a dud, but that's okay. I've had some pretty awesome birthdays, and I'm sure I'll have some more.
Today has, surprise surprise, largely been spent taking care of Mom, but I'm thankful that her boyfriend came over for a few hours and gave me a reprieve because the pain has been very bad. Mom gave me a Percocet not long after he got here and ordered me to go to bed.
I got to talk to Matt, too, which was great because I'm pretty sure this is the first birthday of mine that we haven't spent together since we met. So that's weird, but it's life.
I did get this in the mail today. Yes, I know the mail doesn't run on Sundays. This is just the first time I remembered to check the mail in several days.
The Vespers' new CD! I bought three copies (via their Kickstarter fundraiser); let's see who I decide to give the others to.
I also decided to treat myself to this.
If I can't have an exciting birthday, at least I can have chocolate wine.
Lastly, today is a special day for a totally different reason.
I pulled out a photo album and found a photo of my dad and me that isn't the same one I've posted here multiple times before...See that grin on my face? (I was a cute kid, huh?) I was also happiest in my daddy's arms from the very beginning. The years that my birthday and Father's Day coincide are weird for me because I'm not quite sure how I'm supposed to react. It's hard to have this ache for someone I never really got the chance to know. But he was still my dad, and there are things I know. I know that he was my everything. I know that people called me "Keithina" because I was his mini-me. I know that Carter-Finley Stadium was his favorite place in the world because he so loved the Wolfpack. And I know he adored his girls more than anything. So for that, I celebrate.
I pray I can keep clinging to God in the next year, because I'm definitely going to need it.
A friend told me that he feels closest to God when he's out on a walk in nature, because it's just him and the sights and sounds around him with no distractions. I felt that tonight. It feels crazy to say it, like someone might think I'm trying a little too hard to be poetic or deep or whatever, but it's true. I felt God on my walk tonight.
I've become a little obsessed with panoramic photos (thank you, iPhone). I stopped to take this photo, and I paused for a second. I remembered all the times I've walked this path and never stopped to really look. The fall that I spent flying through here in my power chair, because I didn't have to deal with curbs. All the sunny days I saw my fellow Camels just living life. The times I nearly got whacked by footballs and Frisbees by guys who didn't notice me. Girls studying. Couples cuddling against the trees or on blankets. Running to get dinner in the pouring rain, praying I didn't slip on the bricks. All the times I did slip on the bricks, even on the dry days when I just didn't pay attention to how uneven they were. Going over to Austin's room late at night. But I never noticed just how beautiful this courtyard is.
I didn't even brush my hair before I left. Why bother, when I was putting on the softest hat I've ever seen given to me when I was in Texas? And underneath that hoodie, I had the same t-shirt I slept in. But that face, that's joy right there. And people told me I looked beautiful. Sometimes you just exude happiness, and I was more at peace tonight than I've been in a long time.
Butler Chapel.
D. Rich
Taylor
Pearson
As I walked, I thought about the first time I stepped foot on this campus, back in April 2009, and how, as I walked the same paths that I was walking tonight, I knew I was home. How I could immediately see myself living here. How I fell in love with a campus and a university that, little did I know, would completely and utterly change my life over the next few years. I stopped in front of D Rich and Pearson, places that I've spent hours upon hours learning from professors who pushed me in all the ways I needed it and friends who showed me how to love myself the way they did from the beginning. And Taylor, a building that I had two Religion classes in, and then went back to to accidentally find some brothers I didn't know I needed. And I felt God reminding me that even though I felt heartbroken when I didn't get into William & Mary, He knew all along that Buies Creek was exactly where I needed to be. It's where I belonged. And tonight, I got to see the place that I love so very much shine.
This seems like a weird photo to take, I know, but I had good reason. You can't see it well in photos, but the snow? It sparkled. Like, it literally sparkled. It's as if God put glitter in it. I've seen snow before, but I never noticed that. Or maybe I have before, but God needed to remind me of it tonight. If God can make things like clean, soft, fluffy snow that sparkles in the light of the lamps, who am I to think He doesn't know me? That He doesn't know every last detail of who I am and the things that make my soul come alive? He knows me.
Everywhere I went, there weren't just signs of all the people who'd been out enjoying the weather over the past 24 hours. People had written about Campbell. So I wrote something of my own. Every year, every month, every week, I learn just how real the Campbell family is. And as I saw all the places that love for Campbell had been written in the snow, I couldn't help but smile. Aside from a handful of freshmen each year who seem to misunderstand what they learned about Campbell before they showed up who transfer after their first semester (but what school doesn't have freshmen like that?), I've never met anyone who was sorry that they chose Campbell. Campbell proud is more than just a phrase or a saying or a hashtag on Twitter. You step foot in the Creek, and it's everywhere.
"You know what's tripping me out? This line, between the two years. It's his whole life. Everything that happened is in that line." "What are you gonna do with your line?" - Glee (The Quarterback)
I've been thinking about this since the clock hit midnight. I don't ever forget this day, and I pray that I never do because things like this are just about all I have. I thought a lot about him on my walk, too, and wondering if he can see me. I will never know if he's in heaven or not, but the possibility of it and the hope that comes along with that is what I have to hold on to. Jesus came so that I could have hope and joy even in the midst of terrible things like cancer and girls growing up without the dad who so desperately wanted to be there. Either way, he's my dad, and it's his birthday, and I will celebrate. I know that he loved me, and every day, I pray that he's proud of who I am and where I am in life. I know that he didn't stop fighting when he was sick because he knew he had us, and I like to think I got some of my fighting spirit from him. And as I knelt down in the snow and felt the freezing cold and the wet seep through my jeans, I didn't care because I wanted to leave a couple marks for him, even if it's all going to melt away tomorrow. So Dad, that was for you. I hope you could see it. I love you. Happy birthday.
When I got back to my dorm, I didn't want to go back inside quite yet. So I went next to the dorm, in the big open space between Burkot and McCall...and I laid down. Right there in the snow. And I stared at the sky and thought about how maybe God knew I needed this walk tonight to slow down and forget everything else that has been weighing on me. The work, the questions, the stress, the fights, the heartache, the fear, nothing else really mattered as I laid there and just thanked the Lord for giving me that time to reflect on how truly blessed I am. God is right here, right now, moving to bring me to the mountaintop, if only I would just let Him carry me sometimes instead of always trying to fight through the exhaustion and make it there on my own. Most of the time He's just walked beside me, waiting for me to own up to my shortcomings, other times He's knocked me down so I could understand just how desperately I needed His help. No matter what He's doing, though, He's been here. Whether I wanted it or not, whether I realized it or not.
And tonight? Tonight, He laid with me, right there in the snow. And my whole world shined brighter than it has in a long time.
I've been working at not cussing so much. I do a lot better about it when I'm not at home, but I am working on it.
But seriously, when it comes to cancer, there really isn't another word strong enough to display how much I hate cancer with every fiber of my being.
First, there was a video that a blogger friend posted online. A girl whose dad is dying from cancer got the help of her town to set up a "last dance" with her and her dad, since he won't be there to see her get married. White dress and all.
Yeah, I should've known that was going to rip my heart out. I guess I probably did, but what I didn't know is that it would make me cry harder for the ache that losing my dad still leaves than I have in a long, long time. I literally just sat in my room sobbing for ten minutes, trying to catch my breath and not wake up anyone else.
14 years later and I'm still that little girl who just wants her daddy. And it's going to tear me apart on my wedding day when he isn't there, probably because I was always the little girl who dreamed about my wedding day, even before he got sick. I think I had myself fooled into thinking that after 14 years, it wasn't supposed to hurt this much anymore. But it's not the losing him that hurts now.
It's the void that he left. It's the knowing that the only things I know about one of the two people responsible for my creation are things other people tell me. It's all the stuff he's not here for, and the knowing he would be if he'd had any say in the matter. It's the not remembering a single thing from before the morning I found out he was dead.
And then, I read this post from my dear, sweet blog friend Mandy. Her brother is dying of cancer and is leaving behind a little boy who, like me, will live the rest of his life on nothing but other people's memories. And I feel just as angry for Devin as I do for me. Kids shouldn't have to live like this. Parents shouldn't have to bury their 21-year-old, college senior sons. Devoted spouses shouldn't have to lay alone in their bed at night being suffocated by the emptiness.
This is when I get angry with God. Not at Him, just with Him. Because I don't understand how any of this can turn out to be a good thing. Why it's in His plan for this little boy in Colorado to grow up without the dad who adores him. How Mandy and her SIL and their parents having to bury someone they love so deeply can be worth it in the end. I know I don't need to know the answers, because I do trust in who He is, but I want to, and it sucks because I can't. And Mandy can't. We have to cling to Hebrews 11:1 like it's a life raft so the grief and the anger don't suck us in and drown us. Because as maddening as it is, that's all we've got. That's all we're going to have.
Grief sucks and cancer sucks and it's impossible to imagine that it's better for Mandy's brother or my dad or everyone else taken by this stupid disease to be in heaven than be here. Thankfully, our God loves us enough to overlook a few dirty words.
Please pray for Mandy, her brother Shane, his wife Cassandra, sweet little Devin, and their whole family in the days to come.
I know that's basically the only picture I've ever put up on here of my dad, but a) it's the only one saved to my computer, and I've never taken the time to go through and get some more scanned on here, and b) I just love it. I love how you can see how much I look like him (I look more like him than Holly or Chelsea ever did/do), I love how handsome he is, I love his smile. It's simply one of my favorite pictures of us ever.
Every year, his birthday starts off with a bit of a weird feeling for me. I'm not quite sure why; I guess it's mostly just the realization that another year has passed and it's been another year that he hasn't been here. I'm not ever really necessarily sad or anything, just in a different, more reflective mood. That probably doesn't even make sense, but just go with it.
Today, though, the Lord was so faithful to fill my day with blessings that made me feel like my daddy was right here with me the entire time. I could just feel him in a way that doesn't happen all too often anymore after this many years.
I received several messages from friends who either remembered that today was his birthday or responded when they saw I posted about it on Instagram (yep, I got Instagram when I got an iPhone) and Facebook. And that made me happy to realize that other people thought about him, too.
Yesterday's worse headache seems to have been a fluke, as I woke up today with improvement again. And I felt like I could hear him whispering, "See, sweet pea? I told you everything's gonna be okay." Sweet Pea was his special nickname for me.
I felt on top of things in French and just had fun, not worrying about mistakes I made or whatever like I often do. The World Religions test wasn't nearly as bad as I expected it to be. And I felt like I could see him grinning with pride at how hard I work and how well college is working out for me. One of my mom's favorite things to remind me is that I could never cease to amaze him with the intelligent things I could say as a little girl. I want to make him proud so very much.
The most vivid, tangible example today, though? After I made up that test, I spent quite a while in the infirmary with the orthopedic doctor there looking at my foot. Because of my previous foot surgery and the fragility of the bones in my right foot, he gave me a brace but wanted me to get an X-ray just to be sure that there wasn't a stress fracture in there. Of course, there is no X-ray machine at the infirmary, so they told me I should/needed to go to this radiology clinic about 10 miles away. I tried calling several of my friends, but none of them answered, and I remembered a conversation I had had with Dr. Steegar this morning. He knew what was going on with my foot and that I'd probably need an X-ray. He told me if I couldn't find a ride to the ER (because I didn't know this radiology clinic existed until the infirmary told me), to call him and he would drive me in the 90 minute break he had between two of his classes. My only other option would have been to have Campus Safety drive me, and they charge $30 a trip, and they wouldn't wait for me which means they would have had to make two trips and cost me $60. "We need to make sure you get taken care of," as he said.
So when I finally got out of the infirmary at almost noon and couldn't get a hold of a friend, I called him. The timing worked out perfectly that I had time to get a quick lunch before his class finished. And then I met him at his office, and he drove me to get the X-ray. He sat and waited with me. He spent what I'm pretty sure was the entirety of his only opportunity to eat lunch today taking me to the doctor. And then he drove me back to my dorm so I didn't have to walk any farther than absolutely necessary. What kind of a professor does that?! An absolute God-send, I tell you. Aside from my Uncle Ed, I can't think of another man that's ever made me feel like a daughter. Dr. Steegar is a prime example of how many incredible educators there are still out there in the world, people like my mom, people who go so far above and beyond what is expected or required of them simply because they just want to help their kids.
And it was in living this out today that I realized that, while my biological father is not with me physically, he lives on in my heart and my spirit. The stories I hear of him make me want to be a better person. I see the kind of father I know he was when I look at men like Dr. Steegar. And I reminded that I don't have my dad, Keith, but the love of a father can be manifest in many different ways. (Side note: Dr. Steegar is also the father of 3 girls, and his wife passed away several years ago.) Because Dr. Steegar may not be my dad, he may be just my professor, but I felt a father's love from him today.
It's people like him, situations and days like this, that keep me aware of just how much greater the Lord's love is for me. I am His princess. He loves me more than my dad ever did or could, and because of Him, I am never alone. He keeps my dad's memory alive in my mind and in my heart. And it's that memory that will keep me searching for the man that will be my husband who will love kids with everything that he has, not just our kids, but also the kids who grew up not ever really knowing what the love of a dad is really about. I believe with everything in me that every boy and every girl should experience this kind of love at some point in their lives because maybe, just maybe, that will be what points them back to the greatest Love of them all.
I wasn't expecting to write a second part to my post from last night, but hey, that's what happens when you're blessed with wise friends who are willing to help you figure things out. Special shout out to Taylor and Laura A for stepping up, speaking the truth, but being kind about it. I needed help, and you two showed up. I'm so blessed to have you in my life.
Yeah, uh, I came to realize today that in all of my ranting last night, there's a pretty big factor I managed to leave out: I don't know for sure that anything of what I said about where my dad ended up is true.
How could I have been arrogant enough to claim to know what my dad's relationship with God was like when I don't even remember what his relationship with me was like? Yes, my mom has told me that he wasn't a practicing Christian, and that he basically never went to church when she took us girls on Sundays (but he did work constantly, so there's that to consider), but I don't know what his relationship with God was like in his head and heart, if/when he prayed. My mom couldn't have known that, either, especially since suffice it to say that she and my dad did not have a good marriage. I didn't see him in the last few months before he died. I have absolutely no recollection of my last conversations with him. I have no idea if in his heart he believed in God.
Even more than that, though, I have NO clue whatsoever as to whether God decided to bring him to heaven after he died. And it's not my job to know. I CAN'T know that. That's why God is God, and I am not. Just like my relationship with Christ is mine, my dad's relationship with Christ was his and his alone. I am honestly ashamed that I was conceited enough to think I knew the answer to a question of eternity.
I've made it no secret that as of right now, I am the only one in my family that is pursuing a relationship with Christ. During our conversation today, whether or not he intended to, Taylor pointed out that I had also, in my arrogance, assumed that I knew where my mom, sisters, and grandma are going to end up, and they're not even dead yet. As Taylor put it, God may have put me in this family for the sole purpose of bringing them on a journey to Him. For all I know, my grandma could have a religious epiphany on her deathbed. The point is I'm never going to know until it happens, just like everyone else.
But here's the important part: It's okay that I don't know. It doesn't make me clueless or stupid. I don't have to know. That's what faith is for. He knows, and that's all that matters because, in the end, His will is the only thing that is going to make things happen.
No matter what happened to my dad, I know I love him, and I know he loves me. And God loves both of us so much more. I'm going to focus on the knowledge that I was his angel, his "Sweet Pea", that I always managed to surprise him with what I would say and do as a little (and I mean little!) kid, that he loved to speed down exit ramps just to make my sisters and me scream with excitement. I'm going to focus on pictures like this.
Because they make my heart happy. And my life is too short and too miraculous to waste time on sadness.
So, uh, I don't need to inform you that yesterday was Father's Day. This year, it also happened to be the anniversary of my dad's death. They land on the same day every five or six years, 2001, 2007, and now 2012. (Father's Day also landed on my birthday in 2003 and 2008.) I still haven't quite figured out why, but the years it lands on the anniversary of his death always manage to feel a bit more intense than all of the other years.
I also probably don't need to tell you that I still miss my dad every day of my life. That kind of thing isn't something you ever get over, I don't think.
What's different about this year is that this year is the first year that I've ever had to deal with this anniversary as a real Christian, as someone who truly cares about my relationship with God. With that, I have to deal with some truths. Truths like only those who truly accept God and bring Him into their heart get to go to heaven. Truths like my dad wasn't a Christian when he died, and that means he didn't get to go to heaven.
I think for a long time, I had myself convinced that Dad was in heaven. That's what people told me, that that was where people went when they died. I mean, what else do you tell a kid whose dad died - sorry, kid, your dad's burning in the fiery pits of hell for all eternity and you're never going to see him again? Yeah, uh, no. So I just let myself believe that he was in heaven, because at least that felt happy, and that meant I'd see him again one day.
But I'm not a little kid anymore. I'm 20 years old, and I'm finally pursuing a relationship with God the way I've needed to for so long. I know what God says about heaven and who gets to go there when they die, so the truth that I have to deal with is that my dad...isn't there.
To be perfectly honest, that makes me so angry. Not angry at God, because I, of all people, understand that a relationship with Him is a matter of free will and making the choice. It makes me angry at my dad, angry that he didn't see this, angry that he made that choice after growing up in a Christian home and put himself in a position that meant I would never EVER get the chance to him. I know, it's not like he had any idea he was going to die at 37, but it wouldn't have mattered if he died at 97, I don't want death to be the end. And before I even really got the chance to get to know him in this world, the chance of having a relationship with him at all in eternity was taken away from me. This is the end. I'll never get to experience my dad in a way that I'll actually remember. I don't want to be angry at him because, by all accounts, he was a really good dad and I was his angel, but it was the choice he made that put me here, in a sense.
Coming to terms with the fact that my dad is not in heaven and I will never see him again brings around a whole new set of questions...
If he is in hell (and oh God, it pains me to think about that, let alone say it), can he still see me? Is he still watching me? Will he still be able to send me the love of my life one day (as a friend told me he would, without knowing this fact)? Does he know what's going on with me? Does he know what I've been through? Does he know how much losing him affected my teenage years?
As Michal so bluntly put it the other day, I'm pretty much a new Christian, so this is just another one of the many things I'm trying to figure out. Grappling with the truth about someone you barely knew but loved so much is a really hard thing to deal with. I've been avoiding it. I talked to Taylor this afternoon, and I told him that I was in a good mood even yesterday because I love DC that much. And I DO love DC, but I was avoiding dealing with what my newly found relationship with God has forced me to come to terms with because, well, it SUCKS. It sucks to think that for the rest of eternity I will never really know what kind of father my dad was. It sucks to think that my dad died that painful of a death and is now in infinitely times more pain because of one choice he made. But then again, as a Christian, I know that that is the ULTIMATE choice.
It's just really crappy to deal with. But like I said, this isn't changing my relationship with God. I know that God loves me and is with me, I know that God loves my dad. It hasn't made me question who God is. It's more made me question what His being who He is means for my dad. Because despite the fact that none of my family makes an impact on my destiny to spend forever with God, he's still my dad and I still never got to know him and I still miss him every day.
None of that's new. The only thing that is new is my perspective. Ever since that week in Nashville, I've been finding God and accepting God in every area of my life. I just didn't want to deal with this because it's such a huge part of me. But now, I have to.
God, please, come and heal this pain. I know You took care of my dad, and I know that the choice to not follow You was his to make. I don't want to be angry at him; it's going to get me nowhere. Please, help me find peace with this because it's something I can't change, and I don't want to live the rest of my life struggling with this. I need the peace that only You can give. This doesn't change how much I love my dad, or how much he loved me, I know that. I'm just asking you to come and free me from all of the emotional wounds that losing him caused. You are all that matters in the end, You are the ultimate Father. Keep me focused on you and please, heal my heart of the anger that I feel over this. Help me to rely on You alone.
I don't know why. I mean, I honestly miss him every day, but there are just some days, even now, almost 13 years later, that I wake up and the scar of losing my father at such a young age aches. It's not even really a painful ache, just a dull but constant soreness deep in my heart.
Part of me feels like 13 years should be enough time for this not to happen anymore, but part of me also feels like losing someone so vital to your formative years isn't something you can ever get over.
And here I am, overthinking it again.
I don't know the man, really. I have basically no memories of him, all I have are the stories various family members tell me, and I wish so badly that I could remember - remember his voice without having to watch home videos, remember his smile without having to stare at photographs, remember what it was like for him to hold me and to know that I was his princess, his "sweet pea," his baby girl. I want to remember what life was like with him, and instead, my first real memory is of waking up to find out he's gone.
I'm still growing up, you know? And every time something big happens in my life, I can't help but wonder how he'd react, if he'd be celebrating all of my victories and there to hold my hand when I'm sick or scared.
There are 24 days till I leave for DC, living in a big city all by myself and working like an adult for eight weeks. Would he be proud of me? Would he be calling to check in every day, or would he just trust that I could do it and wait for me to call him? Would he be telling all of his friends that his youngest daughter was living her dreams, boasting with pride like only a parent can?
There are 30 days till I'm no longer a teenager. And there's so much more life I have to live. What about when I finally start dating - would he be an overprotective, sort-of-seriously-threatening dad, or would he be like Mom and be a parent any of my friends can get along with? And when I meet the love of my life? He won't be there to celebrate me getting engaged. He won't be there to walk me down the aisle or dance with me at my wedding reception. He won't be there when I have kids.
Losing him still affects me every day. It affects all three of us every day. When you're a girl, growing up without a dad means you lose out on a male role model to teach you how a man is supposed to treat you. I think it's why Holly put up with that crap from Landon for so long, I think it's why Chelsea's been so promiscuous, and I'm almost certain it's why I put up with emotional abuse from guys in my past and still so desperately just want to be loved. Because we missed out on being secure in the love of our dad as we tried to figure out how to deal with the opposite sex.
To be perfectly honest, the thing that hurts me most of all is knowing that my dad wasn't a Christian. So even when I die, I'm not going to get to see him again. I still think about his death. I wonder if he was scared to face the end of his life, especially not having God to turn to, I wonder how much it hurt, I wonder if he thought of his girls when the brain tumors (the leukemia metastasized to other parts of his body at the end) didn't change him into a completely different person.
Writing this all out, it seems to be perfectly reasonable that I still miss him. I miss the memories we could have had, the lessons I could have learned, the love I could have felt.
I can't change what happened to him, to us. I can't change the cancer, or his death. Instead, I'm left living my life the best that I can figure out how and praying to God that I'm making my daddy proud.
I'm sorry if you read all of this and think it's morbid or whatever, but I had to get it out somewhere. We don't talk about him much anymore in this family, so this was the only place I knew I could go.
(After having the opportunity to share my testimony last night, I woke up this morning feeling inspired. It was like I had gotten a good smack in the face, and my focus was put back where it belongs. I've never actually written out my full testimony, with every nitty gritty detail, and after some encouragement, I decided to go ahead and do it. So here we go. I pray that if you choose to read this, you leave having learned something.)
When I was little, saying prayers was just something we did every night before bed. It wasn't a big deal, it was just a part of life. I was baptized when I was a baby, so I know the influence was there from the beginning. I don't really remember going to church and things, though I know we did because I remember seeing the old church directories, but I remember word for word the prayer Mom taught Holly, Chelsea, and me to say: "Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. God, I'm thankful for........God, I pray for.........Amen."
My parents split up in March 1997, and my mom, sisters, and I moved to Swansboro and in with my grandma until my mom could find our own house. We fell right in with the Methodist church in town, and it was nice. We still got to see my dad, who still lived in Raleigh, some weekends, and we had a routine. When my dad got diagnosed with leukemia in August 1998, my 6-year-old mind was sure that God would heal him, because that's what I was always taught God does, and healing in my mind meant I'd get to keep him. The following March, when doctors found benign tumors in my thyroid and I ended up in Duke four floors away from my dad, I didn't even really think anything of it. I was just excited that I got to talk to him on the phone.
Then, on June 17, 1999, two days after my 7th birthday, my whole world got rocked. This day is the first vivid memory I have. I woke up that morning like a typical kid, still excited about all the presents I had received, and found my mom and one of the pastors from our church sitting in the living room. They told my sisters and me that our dad had passed away early that morning. We sat there and listened to the pastor pray, and then I ran to my room. A shot of me laying on the bottom bunk in my sister's and my room and sobbing for hours is still stuck in my head like a photograph. In the days after that, I pretty much decided I was done with God. My 7-year-old, heartbroken self couldn't rationalize how a God that was supposed to love me would take away my daddy. So that was it, there couldn't have been a God. I still went to church basically because my mother forced us all to do it, but I didn't listen to a word that was said. I blocked it out because I just didn't believe any of it could actually be true.
In 2002, when I started 6th grade, I joined the Youth Group at church. It was just what you were "supposed to do," but like before, my heart wasn't in it. I went through "Confirmation" because people told me to and because I wanted to be included in the group. This is also the time when I remember Chelsea's mental issues getting really out of control, which did nothing to change my belief that there couldn't be a God taking care of my family as I was watching it fall apart. Then, in November 2003, I went with some of the Youth Group to a weekend retreat at Camp Don Lee, a Christian camp my sisters and I had attended several summers. The Saturday night of the retreat, there on the beach in front of a campfire and a wooden cross, I broke down. I started crying and begging God to forgive me for all the mistakes I had made, for turning my back on Him. I remember one of the group leaders coming and kneeling beside me, and I asked her if I could be alone because I had to come to terms with everything that had happened in the past five years. I consider that day the day I got "saved." I told God I loved Him and wanted Him in my heart and for Him to be with me always. Afterwards, I was pretty much on top of the world. I told everyone I knew about what had happened, and I believed my life was going to be different from that day on. It just had to be. The next fall, I went back to the same retreat. I was ashamed at what I saw as all of my "failures" from the previous year, and I again promised Christ that I was going to be better this time.
Then, I started high school. High school was a whole new game for me. I had always had friends, even though I had never been popular. But in high school, the slight bullying that I had had to deal with in the past got magnified about a hundred fold. People I didn't know were spreading rumors about me. People, especially guys, that I thought were my friends only pretended to be nice to me so they could emotionally abuse me; I let them because I thought I deserved it, I believed them when they told me it was my fault. This was also the point when my health issues started getting really out of control, which only fueled the rumors about me more. This wasn't just at school, either. In the fall of 2006, there was a blow-up at church in which I found out that basically the entire youth group, kids and adults, believed I was faking my problems. So I left, without a second thought. At this point, I had sunk into such a deep depression that I completely and totally shut down. I didn't speak to anyone at school except for the one friend that always believed me (Matt, of course), ever, not a word. At home, the only times I spoke to anyone in my family were when I needed to release all the anger that had built up inside me. And I certainly didn't talk to God. I resorted back to that 7-year-old version of myself, the one that believed that a God that loved me wouldn't let my life be going the way it was. I contemplated suicide on a weekly basis, and I honestly believe that Matt is the reason I never actually attempted it. Even when he went to college and was gone for my junior and senior year, he was still the one soft place I had to land. So it's not too surprising that I completely fell in love with him. I put my entire peace of mind, my happiness, my existence on him, because I didn't believe that there was a God anymore.
A month before I graduated, I returned to school after being homebound for seven weeks. It was at this point that I realized I really didn't care what anyone in that school thought of me, and I was done trying to be who they wanted me to be. I thought I was actually turning a corner. That summer was really pretty good. I had graduation and birthday celebrations, I had Matt home for the summer, and I was focused on getting out of Swansboro and getting to experience my new life at Campbell. I was finally starting to think again that there could actually be a loving God watching over me.
If you've been a longtime reader here, you know what happened next, starting in August 2009 - six brain surgeries, several life-threatening complications, and staph pneumonia all within a three month span that caused me to miss that first semester. I spent a total of 49 days in hospital beds that fall and I don't even know how many days in bed at home, and in those 49 days, I questioned everything about the world around me. All I wanted was to go to college, to be a student, to have a regular life. I was 17, 17-year-olds weren't supposed to have to deal with stuff like this! Every time I thought I was getting better, a new complication showed up and I just got angrier and angrier. I sunk even further into the hole of depression that I had just felt myself starting to climb out of weeks before. I made everyone else believe I was still trusting in God's plan for my life and my health, but to be perfectly honest, I only kept saying that because part of me hoped if I said it enough I'd actually believe it. I never did. I was angry at the world. I was angry that God had "abandoned" me. I was angry that my mom was depressed and that her principal was trying to fire her. I was angry that I couldn't catch a break. I met a lot of amazing Christian friends through the blog world around this time, but there was nothing anyone could've said to bring me out of that. I was a master at making them all believe that I was fine and a Christian.
That following spring, in January 2010, I went to Campbell. Finally. I was weak, I was constantly exhausted, but I was finally getting to experience a taste of the life I had been dreaming of. When I went to see a podiatrist and scheduled my foot surgeries, I was actually excited because these surgeries could only make my life better! It was at this point that I finally started processing everything that had happened to me in 2009. I had to come to terms with what I'd been through, but the process was so overwhelming I didn't even know where to begin. All I knew was that I was not going to let this stop me, I was not going to be "the sick girl" and let that define my life.
I didn't even really have the time to dig into that before I hit my breaking point. In September 2010, less than two weeks after I got the cast off from my second foot surgery, I contracted a massive MRSA infection in my foot. This infection was missed by the hospital near Campbell , and thus got to the point that by the time I made it to my foot doctor, as I later found out, I was 24-48 hours from going into septic shock and probably dying. I had emergency surgery on Saturday, September 25th, to clean out the infection and laying there in that hospital bed, I told the doctors that I didn't care what had to be done, this was not, under any circumstances, going to make me miss another semester of school. And when no one was watching, I basically told God "since you apparently want to see how much I can take, how many tests you can throw at me before I break, I'll prove you wrong. I can do this." I was more determined than ever to fight. The only problem was that I had the wrong opponent in mind.
I spent two weeks at home before I went back to school. I had a PICC line in my arm for six weeks with which I was required to give myself high-dose, extremely intense IV antibiotics. I missed every other Monday of class because I had to be consistently checked by both my podiatrist and my "Infectious Disease" doctor. Going into this, I thought it would be a cake walk compared to all of the brain surgeries. I could do this, no big deal. I had no idea what I was signing up for. It was physically, emotionally, and mentally exhausting to be constantly paranoid about another infection or medical problem. But I kept going. I stayed in class, because in my eyes, I had no other choice. I wasn't going to let whoever was "doing this to me" prove that I was weak.
At least, that was until I hit my breaking point. Sometime right at the end of that 6-week period, I broke. I completely and utterly shattered. I felt like I was suffocating and there had to be a way out. I had no choice but to accept the fact that if I kept trying to do this on my own, I was going to kill myself, whether I intended to or not. I had an epiphany of sorts, in that I realized that God didn't cause my problems; instead, He saved me from them by letting me cheat death more than half a dozen times. I was tired of fighting by myself. I had no worldly comfort or support, as my relationships with my mom and sisters were basically non-existent and Matt and I had our own rollercoaster ride. Somehow, I just knew that if I was going to make it through this, there had to be a God that was taking care of me, that gave me the strength to get through it, because clearly, the strength I felt by myself wasn't enough.
This is when I decided to take that same stubbornness I had felt before, the determination to "prove God wrong", and use it for something good. Something in my gut just told me that I wouldn't have gone through all of this pain and suffering for no reason, that a God who saved my life so many times wouldn't let it all be for nothing. There had to be a reason I was still here because, according to every doctor I saw, I should've been dead. And so I started praying that God would show me the reason for this, that God would show me why my life was the way it was, and what He wanted me to do with it. I prayed that I could make a positive difference in someone's life with what I had learned; then, I would feel like it had a purpose, like I had a purpose.
Months later, those prayers already started getting answered. I got diagnosed with Bell's Palsy in January, and it went away after 16 days instead of the 3-6 months all the doctors told me. I joined my first Bible study. I made real friends at school for the first time, and those friends started confiding in me the things they had learned from watching me and my struggles. That was when I finally got it. God was using me to teach others. I had been so caught up in my self-pity before that I didn't see it, but my life was (and is!) part of a much bigger purpose. It was my job to show the world the miracles that had been performed in my life, and to therefore tell them of the miracles that He can perform in theirs. I'll never forget the first time Ryann told me she appreciated her life and her health more because of me, or when I sat at lunch and poured out my entire story to Bruno the day I first met The Vespers and he told me that I was going to do big things with my testimony, "bigger things than [he]'ll ever do."
Life is hard. There is no way to prepare someone for it. It's just hard. It's frustrating, and scary, and overwhelming, and sad at times. But you can get through this. I am a living, breathing testimony to the power of God, to His unending love and grace, to the fact there is no limit on the number or magnitude of miracles He can perform in your life. Don't give up. Please. Because once you're on the other side, you will see the purpose. It may not be immediate, it may not even be until you're in Heaven (that's frankly when I was expecting to find out the purpose for everything in my life), but you will see it. Everything that happens is for His will, and He will redeem every bit of pain and suffering you have faced if you let Him. I promise.
I may not be sure of many things in life, but the one thing I am 1000% positive of is that giving your life to the God that loves each of us more than we will ever understand is a decision that you can never regret.
If you'd like to talk privately with me, my email is malloryannjones@gmail.com
I don't think anything makes me happier or feel more fulfilled than when I get the opportunity to "be there" for someone else. I love knowing that I have made someone's day brighter, that I have made a difference to someone in some way. I don't care if it's helping someone study, or just listening to them vent about a problem, or anything else, I just want to be doing something.
I told a friend in a conversation one day that if I can die knowing that I made a difference to even ONE person, then I can die feeling as if I have succeeded.
Case in point: There are only two guys in my Water Aerobics class. I'm not gonna lie, getting to watch two good-looking guys work out is a part of the reason why I like this class. ;) Their names are Blake and Kerry. I don't remember ever seeing Blake before, but I vividly remember seeing Kerry all over campus many many times over the past two years, I just never had a good reason to talk to him before because I don't think we've ever had class together.
Well, today after class, those two and Chelsea and I were all leaving the pool at the same time. They both waited and held the doors open for us, which was an automatic point in my book because I feel like I don't see that very often anymore. :) We talked for a minute as we headed out and it was kind of funny because when I asked them their names, they asked mine and Chelsea's, and then Blake said, "Nice to meet you. Well, that sounds weird, being in class together 3 weeks and saying 'nice to meet you.' I guess, nice to know your name." Sorry, I guess you had to be there.
Anyway, I promise I'm getting to the relevant part. When I got back to my room and sat down to cool off for a minute (70+ degrees on February 1st, welcome to NC), I remembered Blake's last name from hearing Mr. Burckhardt call roll, so I looked him up on Facebook (isn't that what everyone does nowadays? hello, social media age), found Kerry on his friends list because I knew they were friends and added him, too. They both relatively quickly accepted the requests (which was nice because for a minute I was afraid it'd come off weird), and I did the also-usual reading of their Facebook profiles. That was when I noticed something on Kerry's.
He lost his dad in the not too distant past. Almost immediately, something in my head said "Reach out to him." It may have been God, it may not, who knows, but I did it. Because I know how quiet people can keep subjects like this, how lonely it can feel, how it's something that you can't totally understand unless you've been through it. So I sent him a simple Facebook message.
"hey :) thanks for accepting the friend request. I was looking around at your facebook and saw that you lost your dad not too long ago. so I just wanted to tell you that I've been there, I lost my dad several years ago and his birthday was actually on sunday, and if you ever need to talk to someone who gets it, I love to listen to people. I mean, I know that guys usually don't like to talk about their feelings and such, but this is a really crappy situation, and I know how hard the pain can be, so I just thought I'd put the offer out there that I'm here if you ever do need someone. have a good day. :)"
He literally INSTANTLY wrote back a thank you, saying that he'd "definitely keep that in mind".
Who knows if he'll need me. That's not what I care about. What I care about is knowing that I simply offered. Because I was so young when my dad passed away, I don't think I really started processing it all till a few years later, when I hit that awkward pre-teen/teenage stage when I didn't want to talk to my family, and I had no friends, and I often wished I had someone who would listen to how much the grief sucked.
Part of me feels like I wouldn't have been doing my dad and the story losing him has given me justice if I hadn't said anything. Does that sound crazy? I guess what I mean is that I'm trying to make something good out of it, and helping people is what I know I can always do, or at least offer to do.
So yeah, that's the highlight of my day. Or at least the only recap-worthy part of it.
P.S. I'm not gonna lie. My love language is words of affirmation. I like knowing someone needs me. That's probably a tad selfish, but I think it ties back in to the whole "I want to make a difference to people" thing. I don't know. I'm going to bed.
If you've got 10 minutes to spare, watch that video.
CUW was actually useful today.
It was about this "I Am Second" campaign. They played that video from a rapper named LeCrae, whom I don't think I'd heard of before today, and another one from Bethany Hamilton, the pro surfer who came back after a shark attack, and at first I was confused as to what was going on.
Then, I was enthralled. It was a very good lesson for me that you can't judge a book by its cover. But more importantly than that, I was inspired. Inspired to REALLY make myself second. To start really practicing what I preach. To start completely freefalling into God (I'm scared of heights! ;)) without looking back. To stop worrying about me and what makes my life better.
I've been trying to do all of these things to a much greater extent this year, but it's not enough.
It will never be enough when I have a free ride to a beautiful university and my Compassion son and his country are dealing with torrential rains and deadly floods without a quarter of the resources we Americans have to deal with natural disasters.
I have to do more for others. End of discussion.
Also at this CUW, a guy I know from my History class, got up on stage and spoke for a minute. We'd said hi in passing, and we've been Facebook friends for a short while, but I didn't know much about him other than his name is Gabe and he's dating a girl named Audrey. Well, Gabe got up to announce that he and Audrey went to church on Sunday and they heard about a 4th grader from a nearby town who was just diagnosed with leukemia, so they were selling hot chocolate outside to raise money to help her family. He shared, he said for the first time in public, that last year on his birthday, his mom was diagnosed with breast cancer and all he wanted was someone who understood; his mom is cancer-free now, but he felt he had to help this little girl out.
It was about all I could do not to cry right there. But I made it through CUW, and thankfully it ended with a few minutes to spare so I could go to the hot chocolate table outside before my 11:00 class. I gave them $5, then asked him to talk for a minute, and when we walked a few steps away from the small group of people at the table, I thanked him for sharing that. One of the hardest things about losing my dad is how much of a secret people think they need to keep scary things like cancer and death. And the fact that he got up and shared that with 700 people, even though his mom is fine, meant a lot to me. He was so sweet about it, he even teared up while I was talking, which I certainly didn't intend to do, but it showed how much he cared. I'm just glad he couldn't tell my legs were shaking. I don't know why talking bothered me this time, but it did.
Then, later, I heard him tell a friend that he and Audrey were trying to figure out when they could go visit her, and I asked if I could come. So hopefully he keeps me updated with when that will be. I will be honored to brighten this girl's day even just a little bit.
Today has been a good day. A day of conviction. Conviction I needed. From this day on, I am REALLY living for Christ. I am making myself second in all things.
That's why I cling to Matt. Because I'm desperate to feel like someone hears me, to feel like I matter to someone in this world. And lately he's been the only one who's given me even a bit of that feeling.
I just want someone to tellshow me that I really matter to them. I talk a big talk about how I'm totally happy without a boyfriend, and part of me is. But part of me sees all the girls I know around my age who have boyfriends and get treated like queens and just wants to be loved like them.
Deep down, I'm still the little girl who grew up without a dad and is still reeling from the "daddy issues". I've never had a man, not even uncles or grandfathers, around to show me how I really deserve to be treated or to protect me from guys who only paid attention to me so they could abuse me. I fall too hard too quickly for all the wrong people because I just want to be loved. I know, I know, every girl wants that. But as hard as it is for the average teenage girl growing up and getting used to relationships, I am so much more unprepared for this because of losing my dad. Add into that my self-esteem issues and the fact that my entire life I've been a target for bullies, and I feel so terribly unheard by everyone.
I know my mom loves me, I've never doubted that. But for some time now, it has felt like I'm only allowed to really need her if it's a medical issue. Like she just can't deal with me any other time because she's so stressed out. And I get that, but I'm still growing up and sometimes I just need my mom. I get so frustrated not being able to show my emotions because I have to be the one who is "okay" all the time.
I hope and think things will be different when I get back to school because I do have people there now who will be there for me, but right now, I feel like I'm being suffocated. I thought Matt was here for me, to listen to me about all of this, but he is a guy. Something is changing between us, and it's been made abundantly clear that I can't rely on that/him anymore. All I can rely on is God and myself, my heart, my soul, my knowledge of who I really am and what really matters.
I've had Journey songs in my head all day. Specifically "Don't Stop Believin'". Specifically this video.
Journey was my dad's favorite band so they'll always have a special place in my heart. And the guy that sings "Open Arms" in that video? *swoon*
My US History teacher was sick again! Plus side: I got up at 8:30 instead of 7:30. Negative side: I still don't know what my test grade is!
I went to Bible Study again tonight. I adore these girls already. Two nights of meeting and I am already so, so blessed and at ease.
Yesterday, I had another study/tutoring session with Tyler and Ian. I'm totally serious - I don't think I have ever laughed so hard doing homework. Those guys really are awesome. And Tyler has never again mentioned all the stuff he told me on Facebook about how "dangerous" he is, so I'm just trying not to think about it. He's never done anything bad to me, so the least I can do is be there for him.
I CANNOT WAIT TO GO HOME. I miss Blake's cute little face so bad! :) I can't believe his birthday is in TEN days!!! Mom's baking his cake, apparently, just like she did for us girls when we were little, so I think that's adorable. They cannot get sick again, though! Seriously, the dorms close for Spring Break so I really do have to go home!
I hope I don't have another nightmare about SVU tonight. Last Wednesday night, I had nightmares about the creeper from that night's episode all. night. long. So I'd really prefer for that not to happen again. I'd also prefer that I actually wake up to go to class this time.
I added Landon (Holly's ex) on Facebook tonight, and we had about a 45-minute chat afterwards. For a while now, we've sent random messages back and forth, despite my mom going ballistic about it, but for one, he's a good guy at heart and it's been two years, so it really pisses me off when I have to listen to my mom STILL talk about how much he messed her up and blah blah blah, so I guess I just feel like being defiant, and two, Holly basically never gets on Facebook anymore. ;) But really, though, it was a good talk. And I truly do love that kid, and consider him a friend, and so talking to him and meeting with the Bible Study girls just made my night awesome. :)
Today was good. And I've run out of things to say, so.....good night!
One, because I woke up to Matt having accepted my "family" request on Facebook. We're facebook-official siblings. :) It makes me happy. I just can't stop smiling today. Yes, I'm still thrilled about last night. And I got rejected. Amazing, huh? This peace...it must be coming from God. I think that talk was exactly what I needed. And I have to say, I'm super proud of myself for not chickening out and just telling him everything. I have my best friend, and I have no more secrets. Therefore, I am good. :)
Two, because the Facebook pirate lanuage? It's AWESOME! Seriously, try it out. It's hysterical. I may never go back to English ever again.
This weekend is fantastic. Hope you're having a wonderful weekend, as well!
Today would be my dad's 49th birthday. RIP Daddy. I love you. 49 doesn't seem so old when the person isn't here to experience it...
I forgot to tell a funny story Carmen told us at dinner on Monday. She's a nanny, and this is something her boss, Jamie, told her.
Jamie's friend Heather has a sort of special needs, but functioning, 14-year-old son. There's about an hour between the time that he gets home from school and Heather gets home from work. Every day, Heather calls at the same time to make sure that he got home safely. Well, one day she called, and the son picked up whispering, "Mom, Mom, you'll never believe this! I caught a troll!" She thought he was joking around, so she went along with it, but he then said, "I gotta go, Mom! He's trying to get out! I gotta keep the troll in!" Well, here's what happened...
While the son was home alone, a man saying he was a Census Bureau worker came to the door. He walked in the house, which is something Census Bureau workers can't do. As it turns out, he was a man working for the Republican Party checking for illegals. This man was a midget, which was what made the kid think he was a troll. When he walked in the house, the kid started chasing him around. He got so freaked out that he barricaded himself in one of their closets. When Heather got home, she found a pile of Skittles in front of the door as the kid showed her where the "troll" was. He had been sliding Skittles under the door to "keep the troll alive."
That may be one of the greatest things I've heard in a very long time. :)
Got my hair trimmed yesterday. It looks a lot better.
It is blistering hot outside. That makes it not very fun for me to go outside. So aside from the haircut, I've done nothing. And it's good.
On a more serious note, today is the 11th anniversary of my dad's death. RIP Daddy <3
I normally love snow. In Swansboro, it's such a rarity that, all my life, I freaked out whenever snow came because it was so exciting.
But right now? I'm mad at snow.
It's already started snowing, solidifying the fact that I will not get to see my mom tomorrow.
It probably seems stupid to all of you, but I am seriously homesick right now and I got so excited that she was gonna come and see me so that I didn't have to wait till February 19th to go home and see her (and everyone else).
So, yes, I am mad at snow.
Stupid snow. You couldn't have waited till Sunday?
I told you how I went to see my grandma (my dad's mom) on Saturday. Something came up in the conversation that I can't get off my mind.
Right after my dad died, his best friend and his coworkers at UPS got together and raised money for my sisters and me. (I mentioned this a long time ago, in this post.) Randomly, my grandma mentioned that we need to call him and ask for that money because he's saving it until we call and ask for it. My mom and I tried convincing her that we've talked to him many, many times in the past ten years, and we still haven't gotten the money that we should have had from day one. My grandma and he are divorced, and after all the lies he's told her in the past 50 years, she still honestly believes that he's held on to that money.
I don't buy it. Neither does my mom. He spent that money the day he got it. I just know it in my gut. He just wants an excuse to get credit, the same way he was when he waited five years to send us the original copies of the letters my dad wrote us before he died. He had nothing to do with those letters, and he still kept them from us, just like he hid this money.
My mom told me something on the car ride home from that visit, when we were still fuming about what my grandma said. She said that at my dad's funeral, he told us, "Children are resilient. You'll be fine. You can't imagine the pain I'm in." Who says that to three young kids who just lost their father? And now my grandma expects us to go to him and kiss up so we can get money that is ours? No way.
Yes, I have too much pride. I will be on welfare before I go crawling to him for that money, and my mom and Holly are the same way. Chelsea, on the other hand, actually agreed to call him. She thinks she can make him feel guilty. My mom, who knows him much better than we do, told her, "You can't make a man with an ice-cold heart, incapable of remorse, feel guilty."
Yes, I probably should forgive him. But I'm not there yet. I don't even think he wants forgiveness. My cousins on my dad's side don't understand why we honestly hate him. But that's because we're expected to keep quiet about the horrible things he's said and done to us over the past 10 years. Like the time he beat Holly. Or the times when he told my mom that she was a horrible mother because she didn't take my sisters and me to see my dad in the hospital, when that was a decision that she and my dad made together. Or when his new wife (number 4) would smoke in the car with the windows rolled up, even after we told her about my bad asthma.
My cousin, Melissa, had a baby last February. I still haven't met him, because she hates us. At my dad's funeral, she got all the attention like she was the daughter (this is the one thing I remember), while we sat off to the side barely getting noticed. His wife and children were barely noticed. How screwed up is that? Yes, one of my dad's brothers and his wife, Mark and Heather, have come around and talk to us, but not my "uncle" Mike and "aunt" Cindy. And it used to hurt. But now I just don't care anymore. We didn't deserve to be ostracized like this.
God, I ask you to please change me. Change my heart and rid it of the resentment, hurt and anger I hold. Open my grandfather's heart to treat us like his grandchildren again. Help me be okay with the situation, even if I never hear from him again. I know that anger does not honor You, and I long to give forgiveness in the way that Your Son did. Amen.
Richard Keith Jones. January 29, 1962 - June 17, 1999.
My dad.
Forgive me if I'm not the same person I usually am. It feels so hard to try and find the words to express what today means, what he means. I feel like I could never do him justice. Why? Because I know this man, but I don't know him. He was diagnosed with leukemia in August 1998, and was gone ten months later. When something this big happens all by your seventh birthday, it's hard to remember, I suppose. I have the stories that my mom tells me, but it still feels so impersonal, and that kills me, even now after ten years.
I want to remember so badly. I want to know what it was like to have my daddy hold me and tell me he loves me. I want to have good memories of time I got to spend with him, not have the first thing I remember to be waking up two days after my birthday to find my mom and pastor sitting in my living room. As much as I love my mom for all the sacrifices she's made, I constantly feel like something is missing. And I feel like no one understands how I feel because my sisters were old enough to remember what he was like.
He drove a delivery truck for UPS (United Parcel Service), and he delivered to the Ty Beanie Baby Company. The people there loved him so much that they frequently gave him beanie babies to take home to my sisters and me. Thanks to Chelsea allowing her friends to steal the gold necklace that I got from him for Christmas in 1998, those beanie babies are all I have left.
His death made me grow up faster than any seven-year-old should have to. I was afraid to show any emotion. I quickly figured out that if I was strong, I could help my mom. Even though she and my dad were separated and trying to get a divorce when he died, I think she was sad because she saw what losing him did to my sisters and me. That was when Chelsea's problems really started, and me? I'm not proud of it, but I refused to go to church, or even believe in God, for four years because my heart was hurting so horribly, and my young mind couldn't understand how a God that was supposed to love me could take away my father. I never "got over it" but I did come to terms with it. The beautiful thing about God is that He loves us even when we turn our backs on Him.
One of my favorite stories that my mom tells me is that in March of 1999, when I was at Duke having half my thyroid removed, my daddy was there, too, four floors above me. He called me every day that I was in recovery, and no matter how much pain I was in, my face always lit up at hearing his voice. I don't remember what I said. But that's not the important part. The important part to me is that he was my favorite person. I was Daddy's Princess. As my mom put it, I never ceased to amaze him or make him laugh with all the smart things I could say from a very young age. Now? I just hope I've made him proud. Family tells me that there's no way I couldn't have done that, but still. It just hurts to know that I'll never know.
This post wasn't easy for me. I was scared I'd never find the words to introduce him to you. I just wanted to get this off my chest and show the world the man who helped give me life.
Rest In Peace, Daddy. I miss and love you so much.
thanks for accepting the friend request. I was looking around at your facebook and saw that you lost your dad not too long ago. so I just wanted to tell you that I've been there, I lost my dad several years ago and his birthday was actually on sunday, and if you ever need to talk to someone who gets it, I love to listen to people. I mean, I know that guys usually don't like to talk about their feelings and such, but this is a really crappy situation, and I know how hard the pain can be, so I just thought I'd put the offer out there that I'm here if you ever do need someone. have a good day. 
