Wednesday, August 06, 2014
Don't Cry II
"Louder?" I asked.
"Yes. You're holding back. Let it out."
I sniffled some more, wiped my nose and then said, "I don't know how." I spoke about this 5 years ago on this previous article and it mentions more about how Mom always told me, "Don't cry, mama - don't cry." I told Jeffrey about it and how my father did the same thing. They both wanted to see all of their kids happy. Crying meant that they were 100% unhappy with everything. So, even if you were crying over a heartbreak, it meant somehow, you weren't happy with the life they provided for you. It has a lot to do with overall happiness, rather than circumstantial. I explained to Jeffrey a story that my father always used to tell, even during his last days here with us.
"Don't cry baby, don't cry."
"B-b-b-but why not?" as I sniffled and coughed in his direction.
"Because if you cry, you won't be able to breathe at all!"
As I finally succumbed to it and remained as quiet as possible, until the tears started flowing harder.
"Just a little bit," as I measured an inch between my thumb and pointer finger, "Just a little bit?"
You could see the amusement in my father's face as he said, "Okay, just one more minute and that's it."
Back in 2011, I was going through a turbulent time. I thought Dad was inside sleeping off the oxycontin, when all of the sudden, I see him running out from his bedroom with his arms stretched out heading toward me - nephrostomy tubes n' all.
"What's wrong? Don't cry baby! Don't cry!" He hugged me so tight and then said, "I hate seeing you cry! Don't cry!"
On one of Dad's last days here, before hospice shuffled him up to the hospital to his final resting days, (aka 'drugged up coma') - we got to say goodbye to him. He was awake and fully aware. Each family member got to go in and say something, give him a kiss and make sure he knew we all loved him. As I cried my eyes out in the other room, I heard, "Deb! Deb! Come in here, Dad wants a kiss from you."
I sucked it up, dried my eyes and went in…with humor. That's the only way I can cope with things. As I approached his ashen colored body just lying there, it took all of me to 'hold it together' and…not cry.
"This is gonna cost you, you know."
He laughed and nodded, he couldn't say very many words at this point. I kissed him on the forehead and said, "I love you, Dad."
He cracked another smile, as I rubbed his silver hair. As I got up before I started crying my eyes out, I mumbled, "Don't think I won't pickpocket you on the way out."
I got another laugh, possibly the last laugh he ever let out before he passed on.
I miss him calling out my nickname with his loud n' boisterous voice, "Debit!!!" And I'd reply with a louder yelp, "Poppayyyy!" We did that every time we saw one another. It started when I was a kid, sucking every bit of change and dollar bills right out of his pocket. So the name remained, "Debit".
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