There is this moment that we see so eloquently portrayed on TV and in movies. It's a scene where a person is on their death bed and they pull their loved in close, and tell them that they love them, and how proud of them that they are. And it's beautiful. It's one last moment together. A moment that that person clings on to forever. Whenever they miss their loved one they think of that moment. And I'm sure it happens in real life. I'm positive it does. But in my own personal story, it went nothing like that.
After days of my Dad being in a medically induced coma as he laid in his ICU bed, he started to come around. He moved his fingers, opened his eyes. He even began to talk to us. There were previously a few days that I wasn't sure if I would ever get to hear his voice again. But we did, it wasn't the same voice we were used to, it was small and broken. Feeble, and barely comprehendible. It did get better as the days went on.
One morning I showed up to the hospital in Little Rock and someone came down to tell me that my Dad wanted to speak with me and not to bring Dexter up to the room yet. I had this feeling like I was in trouble. Like I had had all those years when life wasn't going so well and I would get a text or a voice mail from my Mom saying to call her back I always knew I was in trouble. This time I had my life together. I quit all the partying. I had a family. I didn't know what was making me feel so nervous. I knew that Dad probably wanted a moment together to tell me something before he died. That in itself was worrisome enough, but there was shame attached to the sorrow of hearing what he had to say to me before he was gone.
As I got to the room the atmosphere was heavy. My Dad called me over to his side and told me something that only a Father could say to a child. My Father, my hero, made a decision to speak to each one of us kids and to tell us something he wanted to make sure we knew before he died.
He said things to me that stung. They made me angry and full of terrible pride. Made me resentful towards people. They made me cry myself to sleep on so many occasions. And they make me cry now. But, they made me a better person.
He told me that I needed to watch what I say to people. And how I talk to them, because nobody liked me.
I hear those raspy words in my ear a lot. "Nobody likes you..."
And I know that he didn't mean it in a literal sense, but he was letting me know that my disposition towards other people was ugly, and people didn't really care to be around me because of it. I had become such an ugly person on the inside. Judgmental. Mouthy. Negative. I knew what he was talking about. I knew that it was true. Me, the person with the positive vibes tattoo was one of the most toxically negative people he knew.
Not a day goes by that I don't think about it. It hurts to know that I was so putrid that he chose to say those words to me instead of the words we often think we'll hear in a moment like that. He did tell me that he loved me. He told me over and over again, but I already knew that. What I was unaware of was who I had become, and that my ugliness was evident to so many people.
It took me a long time to swallow my pride and use his words to inspire me. I knew I had become someone I didn't like but I didn't think that I deserved to lose what should have been such a special moment and get slammed instead. It still hurts, a lot. But I have finally gotten to the point where when I start to gossip a voice pops up in my head and says, "is this what your Dad would want to hear?' At first my pride pushed that away and I continued gossiping and belittling other people. But then I knew I had to change. I had to make myself change.
I still make mistakes and I still find my self saying things that my Dad might not be too thrilled about. But I'm a work in progress. I try my hardest every day to be positive and uplifting, or sometimes, to just keep my mouth shut.
As hard as it is to think about that day and how hard it was to hear that, I just try to think of the day when I see him in Heaven and he hugs me and tells me the strong voice that I remember,
"I saw the things that you've done since I left. And I am so proud of you."
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