Last week, I wrote about not waiting until the last minute to voice concerns to your local politicians, well, this week, I’d like to remind everyone about not taking advantage of time with your loved ones.
My stepdad passed away Sunday, March 6 of a massive stroke. Without going into too many details, this man came into my life when I was a teenager. He rose to the challenge of being a step-in parent at one of the most tumultuous times possible. And he did it with such a calm assurance.
He never raised his voice to me or seemed to be overwhelmed at all my demanding schedules in high school or when I needed things from the store and was less than gracious about asking.
We just clicked. We’d watch Alabama football together. He taught me about Bama’s legacy of just running it up the middle. We’d talk about who was going to be the dynamic players for the year. We’d go in on agreement and out-vote my mother forcing her to have Taco Casa (a local fast food Mexican place in Tuscaloosa) more times than she’d like because we couldn’t get enough of it.
We’d go to Alabama games together, and he’s ultimately the one who would have to calm down people around us because I got carried away with my heckling.
Then I moved to Tuscaloosa to attend Bama. When those college years became difficult, and I felt like there was no one else I could talk to, he’d always make time to meet me in Tuscaloosa to talk (usually at the 15th Street Taco Casa). We’d sit for hours as he listened to high-strung emotions of my heart pour out.
He was always willing to leave work or take a phone call whenever I had vehicle problems. He even coached me down when I called panicked because my brakes went out while I was in the middle of McFarland Boulevard traffic on a Saturday. When I got engaged, and searched for the perfect dress, I found it, but dismissed it because of the cost. He bought it for me.
When my nerves hit on my wedding day, and I didn’t want to come out of the locked bathroom, everyone else gave up and became silent as I hysterically cried. Then, I heard the jangling of keys just outside the door. It was his voice that said, “If you want to go, we’ll all take the get-away car right now.” And when I stopped laughing, he and my Grandpa, walked me down the aisle that day.
He was the one who helped pack up my college apartment and move me into my first adult home in Ocean Springs. He held my babies when they were born and looked at them as his grandchildren.
Even after things didn’t work out with my mother, he continued to stay apart of our lives- all of our lives. So many million little moments are now just memories. Little flashes of laughter at when he’d turn his ball cap to the side and pretend to be a weird version of Ray Stevens just to make us smile.
The time he bought me an industrial-sized bottle of Ranch so I would have enough to make it through the “day”.
The time he spoiled me with the full line of Taco Casa souvenirs when I lived out-of-state and was homesick.
Then I got busy. My own divorce happened, and I got busy. Too busy to stay in touch, as pathetic as that sounds now.
Now, I’ll never have the opportunity to tell him how much he meant to me. I’ll never be able to hear his laugh when I tell him about my kid’s latest antics.
So he wasn’t a father by blood, but he was the father I needed. Take my advice, don’t wait to call the ones you love.
Since the funeral, people have told me he knew how much he meant to me and my kids, but trust me, it still sucks knowing I could have made the time to tell him myself.
