That One Day When I Realized Parents Don’t Live Forever

As a kid you think everyone you love is invincible. Especially your parents. As a little girl, my daddy was the tallest, biggest daddy in the whole wide world. And there was nothing you could say to convince me otherwise. He was my hero. Never once did I think I would ever have to live without him.

I was a daddy’s girl to the nth degree. Besides my older brother, he was my first interaction with a male. He set the standard. He made me feel like a princess, even while he was showing me how to bait a hook with a worm. Even while he was showing me how to clean a gun. Even (when I was a teenager) when he showed me how to fire that gun. “Evvy,” he’d say, “always treat a gun like it’s loaded.” My reply was always, “Okay, Daddy!”

“Here, Evvy,” he’d say, demonstrating how to unhook the tiny bluegill I had caught, “squeeze it’s gills to open its mouth real wide, then just take out the hook.” I’m reaching for it excitedly because I loved learning new things from my daddy, and I wanted to show him that I could do it. “Okay, Daddy!” He was always good about telling me how proud he was with just a big smile or a giant kiss on the forehead.

The last conversation I had with him, he was telling me as I was leaving the hospital to tell everybody he said hi. “Tell the Lescaults, and your mama, and…” he was just naming people until finally he said, “Just tell everybody I said hi.” Then that beautiful grin. And my faithful reply, “Okay, Daddy,” I laughed. “I love you, see you tomorrow.”

“Love you, Evvy.”

Those were the last words I heard my daddy say to me. I wish I had saved all of his voicemails so I could hear him one last time. Every time. He wasn’t supposed to leave yet. When I got the call to come to the hospital and bring the family, I operated on autopilot, making sure everyone made it to the hospital.

Though he couldn’t hear me, I said my final goodbye to my daddy on June 4, 2018, with a giant kiss on his forehead just before he took his final breath. Only 62 days before my mom passed.

Be gentle with your parents. Even when they repeat the same story over and over. Even when they check on you, ask you all kinds of questions and get on your nerves. If you have been lucky enough to have your parents into their 70s, 80s, or even 90s, count yourselves blessed. They do not live forever.

That One Day When I Realized I’m Broken and it’s Beautiful…and That Matcha is Life!

I have so many words in my head today, so this may be a long one. First, Kelly Clarkson is amazing and if you haven’t listened to Broken and Beautiful recently, do it now. I’ll wait. Okay, back to what I was saying. The words in my head…oh yes. There are so many things I need to say. I have to constantly take notes in my phone because, alas, Frankie (my MS) has stolen my brain power.

I place my fingers to the keyboard, but I am so full, I don’t know where to start. I’ll just start with the title. I am broken. My sisterfriend, Nyree always says, “No you’re not!” But I am. We all are to some extent. Broken, then mended. Broken, then mended. I shared this with my perpetual fiancé, Robert. And by perpetual, I mean, we’re never getting married. Just forever engaged. Anyway, so my brokenness is not an altogether bad thing. Unless you are extremely close to me and I trust you enough to show you, the brokenness is nearly unnoticeable.

I have been hurt a lot in my lifetime. A lot. Rejection sucks and I have experienced it more than any one person should. Yet, I see where it has formed me and made me who I am. I like me. I actually love me. Finally. It took a while, though. See? So many words and they’re fighting my brain space for a chance to be written. Hold on patient readers, while I get them in order. chill out words, you’ll all get your chance.

Okay, I’m back. Now, what was I saying…yes, I love me. And brokenness. Being broken is not the end of all things. I am talking to my warriors with chronic illness and pain. When I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, it happened so quickly, my world changed in the blink of an eye. I went from superwoman to what-in-the-whole-hell-is-happening-woman. I was depressed from being bedridden, unable to work and having to drop out of college (again?!) I was beside myself.

But wait, is that the sound of the mender coming to heal some of my brokenness? Yes! As the glue was being applied, I began to see some beauty in the break. I have loved to write for as long as I can remember. This season of nothingness gave me what I needed to start writing. Time! That elusive thing of which we never seem to have enough. So began this here blog. The place where I write. Everything. Go back to the beginning. You’ll see.

I’m gonna wrap this up and save the rest for another day. Find your beauty. It may be in the cracks of your brokenness, but it is there.

Oh and matcha!! If you have not discovered this tea of champions, go. Go forth and find this treasure. Until next time (which will probably be tomorrow because, again, the words and whatnot).