How did he die?

HOW DID HE DIE?

When asked about my father’s death, I usually just tell friends or acquaintances that he was diabetic. Even after I knew what the real cause of death was, my story was always the same. My mother was a very private woman, so I wasn’t allowed to talk to freely about my father’s illness. He had pneumonia before he passed away, in which was part of the diabetes.

My father was still young when he died; he was only 32. He stayed with my grandmother for a while, but then her health began to fail. She needed care herself, so my father had to move into a convalescent home. He begged my mother to let him move back in with her, but she couldn’t let him. My mom’s already had too much on her plate.

It was real embarrassing for me to know that my father lived in a place where most the patients there were double his age. I don’t know how he felt about it, though. He seemed okay at times.

I remember the night my father died. My mother came home with a huge plastic bag. It had my father’s radio, CD’s and some other stuff in it. I was up kind of late that day; I was waiting for mama to come home. She walked in the door kind of slow. I looked up at her; I already knew what was up. “He’s gone,” I asked.

My mother nodded her head yes.

I don’t recall shedding any tears at his funeral. He died, we had a funeral, and we eventually went on with life. I know that sounds a bit rash, but I didn’t have too many good memories about my father. I did miss him and I loved him, but I couldn’t shed a tear. I did cry later on, though.

After his death, my mother told my siblings and I that he died because of his diabetes. That’s all I knew for awhile. Then, six months later, I found out the real cause of death.

I had turned 14 and I remember it was around Mother’s Day. I was working on a skit; it wasn’t for school, just something to do. I had always loved to write since I was 11. My mother had been on the phone with my aunt for a while. I could hear pieces of what she was saying, but I didn’t pay it any attention.

Later on that day, my mother called my siblings and me to her room. We had a long talk about her relationship with our father. I will say that my mother and father’s marriage was not the greatest. My mother suffered long years of pain and abuse from my father. But the story she told us that day was much deeper than what I had witnessed as a young girl. There were things that had happened between my parents that I never knew about. My mother never told us before because she was afraid that we’d grow up hating our father.

There were a lot of things Mama told us that day, including the real cause of my father’s death. Although the story was painful, I have learned to forgive and move on. Holding on to the past only stunts growth for character and maturity.

My mother, Desiree Jackson*, is alive and doing well. She has a job at a local heath clinic as a health counselor. She also does community service off and on. She keeps GOD in everything she does and continues to prosper.

As for me, I got bored of the working and studying routine, so I joined the military. Sometimes I wonder if that was the right thing to do. I have learned a lot in the military, but I’ve turned 27 and I am still confused about my life. I usually wonder what life would be like if my father was still alive…

Written by Christine Nelson, 06Oct17 11:36p.m.