My family has always made the best of unfortunate circumstances. Throughout my life, I have never lived in a place more than three years: I guess one could say my family liked the nomadic life—from Africa in 2004 to Georgia during my senior year of high school, a move that was awful, but thankfully, I had my family by my side. My dad, especially, always knew when to provide one of his giant bear hugs that could always squeeze the worry away. Yet, as always, this changed too quickly.
I woke on an early summer morning to lips on my forehead, and my dad’s whisper that he would see me in a few days. I hugged his neck goodbye and sleepily proclaimed my love for him, as always. He was off to the hospital for a routine surgery to remove polyps in his colon that would claim his life within three short days. I spent those three days in utter fear. It was a constant battle to fix the many things that seemed to continue to go wrong. I sat at his bedside late on Friday night, a parade of surgeons and nurses continuously interrupting his fitful sleep. He reminded me of a young boy, so frightened. I sang “This Little Light of Mine” to him—a song he once sang to me as a young girl—as tears streamed down both of our faces. We didn’t say it, but I think we both knew this would be the last time. Nurses came in to usher my sister and I out because my dad was having trouble breathing, and they decided to intubate him. My sister reached over and squeezed his hand and reassured him that it would be all right, and we were going to see him soon. All I could do was rub his arm. I meant to say “I love you”, but it never came out, the words stuck in my throat as I sobbed in the hospital hallway. Not even an hour later, my dad had died from what the medical staff assumed was cardiac arrest. I can honestly say that was the worst night of my life.
It sucked the breath out of me; my dad was such a huge part of my life. I struggled all summer long not just with the loss of him, but also in my decision to return to Mercer University for my sophomore year after the summer break. I was not sure if it was still right for me. Every time I think of Mercer, my mind instantly goes back to my dad, who was so ridiculously proud to see me off on move-in day at Mercer. He was my rock; he always cheered me on no matter how hard things got during that first year when I, the baby of the family, decided to branch out on my own. He would send me care packages and call me just to make me laugh if I was having a rough week. I was the first of my family to leave home to attend college, and I couldn’t imagine returning to Mercer without him there on the other end of the phone, or without his making random trips to Mercer just to take me out to dinner and a movie. I still remember the giant smile on his face when he got in the car to return home after helping me move in: it was even bigger than when he learned that I had earned a 4.0 my senior year of high school and my first semester of college, even bigger than his smile on the night of my high school graduation. It was brighter than the sun and made of pure joy, like he knew I would be happy there.
I weighed the pros and cons for returning to college. On the one hand, I could stay home in Georgia with my family and would have nothing to do but play house all day if I did not return to Mercer. On the other hand, I could return to Mercer and throw myself into my studies, as well as surround myself with the amazing group of people I had met my freshman year. On both sides, I had an incredible support group, which is what I really needed. After conversations with my mom and sisters, I decided to return to Mercer. I felt like I owed it to my dad. He helped me decide that Mercer was my dream school and pushed me when I need reassurance that I was doing the right thing. When I had doubts, he was the one I called. It was almost as if he had a script to all the right words on the other side of the phone. It was one of the best choices I could have made, even if it would be hard without him.
I’m not going to lie: it has not been easy. There are times that it becomes hard to bear, and I want nothing more than to just go home and curl up in bed and never leave. Even worse is when I pick up the phone and start to look for my dad’s number and only just remember the one I have doesn’t reach him where he is. I have to remember to take it one day at a time. Every day, there is a choice to be made: am I going to smile or am I going to cry? It’s a really challenging question to answer because half the time, I don’t even know until I am halfway through the day. Despite this loss, I consider myself to be really lucky: I have my friends and family that keep me laughing and keep me sane. They push me and refuse to let me fall; even if I do they would be right next to me, picking up the pieces.
My roommate has been one of my saviors at college. I met her my first day at Mercer during my freshman year, and she was the first person I called after my dad passed. I remember saying, “I’m sorry, hun; I’m probably going to be the world’s worst roommate this year.” She then proceeded to tell me that none of that mattered at all. She was at my house over the summer practically every day, bringing her cheery face and spirit to my family and me. When I returned to college I had more than just the support of my roommate, family, and immediate friends. I felt as though all across campus I had someone behind me, including my professors. Despite all of this support, I found it really helpful to find a professional to talk to, and I am proud to say I talk on a weekly basis with a counselor. I have to say the hardest and weirdest part of this whole situation is telling people about my dad: some people hug me, some ask about my family, and some people brace themselves for a flood of tears. Yet overall they give me a look not of pity, but of amazement, like they can’t believe I am still standing.
My dad’s passing has given me a whole new perspective on life. He taught me a lot, and as unfortunate as it is, I could not see it until he was gone. My dad had such a huge impact on my life; it is really hard to believe that he has been gone for nearly eight months. All my life, he fought for my dreams, and he was rarely selfish with his time, love, or words. He took my 3am calls just as graciously as my 3pm ones. With him gone, there is a hole in my heart, but now it’s filled with all memories of him. I am a very lucky girl to have grown up with my dad. He taught me to find my purpose: he always said everyone had a place to fill, and people they are meant to share their lives with. That is why I returned to Mercer: I have found my place and my people. Mercer is just the beginning.