It's okay to cry

I got the call last night but first I got a voicemail. When I listened to the voicemail I knew what I would hear when I called back and I didn’t want to do it. I said, “I didn’t like the sound of her voice,” and continued to slowly dialed the number. She told me he was gone but I already knew that. It’s unbelievable what you can tell from just somebody’s voice when you’re waiting to hear bad news. I cried a few tears but I sucked them back in. I was gonna be strong, ya know? I wasn’t gonna break down. I wasn’t gonna cry even if I wanted to. The ball was stuck in my throat all night but a tear I wouldn’t let fall. She told me he wasn’t hurting anymore but I could tell she was. My rock for as long as I can remember and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d heard her cry the way I did on the phone last night. She’s exactly like I remember her Mama to be: Independent, straight-forward and unbelievably strong. 

I woke up to sunshine and birds chirping. I had turned my phone off so I turned it back on and checked Facebook to see how my family was feeling today and a heavy wave of sadness overwhelmed me. It hit me like a ton of bricks. He really was gone. I wouldn’t hear him laugh again. I wouldn’t drink another Bud Light with him. I wouldn’t ride in his truck. I wouldn’t get to hear stories from long ago while we sat outside the hotel at the Marlow Reunion, something that had become a tradition. I would never again be able to hug him. And that hurt the most. God it hurt. A wound that hadn’t quite healed was once again ripped wide open. Why does death make us so vulnerable?

My heart is heavy and if I said I was being strong today that would be an outright lie. I couldn’t even wash the dishes without crying. It hurts. It really, really hurts.

 

I’m trying to remember that he isn’t hurting anymore because we all knew he was in pain. I’m trying to believe that Nany needed him in Heaven more than we needed him down here but it’s so hard to think that way. We lost her so why did we lose him? It’s a question that will never be answered and only time can heal the wounds we all carry. 

My heart hurts for us all. We have such a big family and he touched so many hearts that weren’t family and that amazes me. He was such an incredible lover. He didn’t care what you did, he loved you. He didn’t hold grudges. He didn’t speak mean words. But if you were being an ass, you’re damn right you’d get a hard smack on the back of the head. The signature Uncle David move. 

Most people don’t know but I loved him like I love my own Dad. He taught me how to drive (even if I’m not very good, he was). He was one of the few that didn’t care if I messed his truck up. He tossed me the keys and said, “Get in.” He told me to keep the line in the middle of the windshield at all times…  “NOT LITERALLY!”  I heard. I laugh now thinking about it. When we were growing up he put us to work on their land but when I think back, I’m thankful because it taught me what tough love was and I admire that. I admire his ability to see past many faults and only see the good. I like to believe we all gained that trait from my Aunt Wilma. He was one of the first who let me drink. He said I was with him and it was alright. I was one of the hunting buddies for a night and let me tell you, I will never forget that night. He surrounded himself with countless wonderful men. I instantly fell in love with the hunting club. He’s one of the few who could get me to break away from the cell phone and turn it off (shocker, I know). 

When I saw him on his 59th birthday he laughed with us. We talked about the Braves and that I definitely didn't want to work at Turner Field because watching the games was much more enjoyable than any money I would receive from working there. I like to believe he was proud of me and I’ll continue to believe so. 

I write because it’s how I cope. Even if I’m crying while typing, I’m coping. I’ll see him in the sunshine. I’ll see him when I fish. I’ll see him when I ride golf carts. I’ll see him at the Marlow reunion. I’ll see him in every country song I listen to. I’ll see him in every beer I drink. I’ll see him in everything for the rest of my days and that comforts me, even if it’s just a little.

It’s gonna take a long time for this to feel real and for me to accept it but everything takes time. I’ll continue to avoid the question ‘Why?’ and settle with, “It’s just how God wanted it.” I’ll continue to pray for our peace and that my little cousin not hurt for long. And although it might be selfish, I pray to God that my rock not be taken away from me for a very, very long time because I really don’t think I could ever live without her. I owe so much to her and she’ll never fully know how much I admire her, love her and look up to her. She’s the ultimate role model and my family would be nothing without her here. I hope she knows we love her. 

As we mourn, or celebrate his life, however we look at it, I know one thing is true: We'll be here for each other always. Through every heartache, celebration, tears, laughter and memories we never falter from loving each other. And I thank God for that and the angels watching us from above because I know their smiling at us all. 

“But I'd long ago learned not to be picky in farewells. They weren't guaranteed or promised. You were lucky, more than blessed, if you got a good-bye at all.”