Echo

Life is not free

So quickly can it be taken from me. No reimbursement or early disconnection fees

From the cell towers I hear the echo in the streets. White vans and stained seats

I wonder what he was thinking When his spirit finished sinking

To oblivion

Just a text before it was done

What can I do to lay with the sun

Never look directly into the light

until you’re ready to fight. It shines in front of closed eyes

fear keeps them shut to their purpose.

Many of us who face the plight we call life.

We need fresh air…walk outside to try and breathe but see…

Out there I can still hear the echos in the streets

The vibrations in my sleep. I can still see the white van and stained seat.

Pierced a hole in my soul. No hopes of ever being whole

again.

Pierced a hole in my soul. I hope I am made whole

again.

Lord please forgive my sins for I am angry.

I envy them all when they’re still able to crawl and cry into daddy’s shirt, play dress up in mommy’s skirt. Sit in daddy’s game day chair. No worries cuz he always there.

He and I were a great pair.

Were.

So open and closed, but close .I shared my very soul. It filled me with such comfort. Encouraged me to keep pushing through strong winds and shady kin.

Keep steps to success discreet and strike when they are sleeping on me.

The echo through the streets, and upon a clean seat

Sat a picture of me, in the hands of the one finally at peace.

In my dreams the light cradles me slow. Speaks of being free, but dangles the keys out in front of me.

Daddy can I go?

Daddy, let go.

Please let me go.

Let go.

Let go.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

It’s just another day…right?

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DADDY!!!

You would have been 50 today. Creative. Wise. Powerful and extremely loving to the lives of many. Most of whom you didn’t know you have touched. Exactly 4 months ago today around this same time 3:47 p.m, I was still in denial about you taking your last breath.

But today…oh but today, I miss you like crazzzzzzzzzzyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy and I have accepted your absence. When August first rolled around, I was writing everyone’s birthday on my calendar and wrote yours first. Since then, I have been thinking of way I could honor your memory. I thought of creating some sad ritual that I would do on all of your birthdays, but the day has actually come and I think I…we all should rejoice.

model

His model car looks something like this. Actual photo coming soon.

Last year, I gave you a kit for a model red corvette for your birthday. You hand crafted that tiny car with your stubby fingers a day after. I’m so proud of that thing. (once I get a hold of it I will post the picture here) So I figured…why not attempt to build one of those cars myself? Maybe not this year but it’s a thought!

(click here to witness Dad being a goofball)

You always told us that birthdays, holidays, and pay days are still just days. There is some truth to that because the world keeps going no matter what we may be celebrating, but Faja…I partially disagree. You were born today! Without your birth I obviously wouldn’t be here; the world would not have been graced by your presence. And even when you disagreed with me about subjects such as that, you always made sure to uplift and encourage me; you always found a way to make your baby girl laugh. I hope that one day my children will love and cherish me as much as I do you.

You taught me to value myself. You taught me how to love a man and how I should be loved. From you, I learned to keep pushing and how to “Fake it till you make it”. You were so real. You never sugar coated anything for anyone. You never changed yourself for anyone. You were 100% you, and taught me to not be ashamed of being 100% me. Thank you dad. You have been the driving force in my life. Thank you for hanging on as long as you did.

Today, I will celebrate your life. Within me, you will live forever. I love you daddy! Peace out.

-Fly (your baby girl)

Daddy!

Dad’s first ever selfie.

Feel free to reach out with suggestions, tips, and/or love!

IG: kafee1867 | Email: kafee1867@gmail.com | Twitter:@kiz_nichole | Facebook: kizzie.frank

Liar liar

Hello! How are you?

Great! How about yourself?

Gooooood, thanks for asking.

I lied 1,026 times today. Okay maybe not exactly that, but I’d say I got some where close to that number. On days I have to brave the public, I lie quite a bit. Out of formality as humans, people will say, “How you doin’? How are you? How’s your day going?” In a good percentage of these conversations, there is no conversation, as it ends with the response: “Oh I’m alright. Good. Great, thank you.” I think it’s safe to say that a good percentage of those responses are lies, or omissions of a larger, truthier part of our lives. But no one wants to hear some random Billy Sue tell us how they REALLY are when they just want to buy their coffee and go.

As of right now, my primary place of work is in retail. Common customer service in a place of business requires the employee to greet customers and occassionally make small talk. So, in addition to the auto pilot encounters I have everyday, it is multiplied by the amount of customer service I provide for a living. If you knew me well enough, you would know that I am not a big fan of small talk. I like to get to the nitty gritty. The real stuff. Yes,  I realize everything is not that deep or thought provoking, but I realized something new today:

When I don’t get to talk, I find myself deeply submerged in my own thoughts. Every “hello, how are you?” triggers something in my brain that makes me think a million miles a minute.

I have had to stop myself from unleashing the information kraken on Billy Sues on many occasions.

It occurred to me that my dad passed away about 3 months ago and it feels like just yesterday. When I get a moment to sit and think about telling him about my day on my lunch break, or helping him “work his email”, I begin to feel a vast emptiness in my heart. A burning hole of questions and scattered memories.

Senior Prom 2009/Most important picture of Papa Smurf and I

I am tired all the time. I lack motivation most of the times, but I remember my dad telling me,” You came all this way, why stop now?”

I relied on my dad’s reassurance, his verbal encouragement. No on can coax a daddy’s girl, but her daddy. I foolishly gave myself a deadline. Like…girl, this ain’t journalism. There is no plan or timeline for grieving.

I was told this wouldn’t be easy, but I thought I was getting to a point where thinking of his absence wouldn’t pierce my chest. I thought I could smile and truly mean it. I am certainly not “gooooood” (insert half smile here). I’ve realized that in this process I need to be okay with telling myself that “I am not fine.” I know I will eventually get there, but for now, I can’t pretend it any longer.

God, I miss my dad.

-Fly

Daddy’s girl: Ode to Papa Smurf

IMG_20150511_223159

Football girl (me) and Papa Smurf

Firstly, happy father’s day to all of the daddy’s out there spoiling their baby girls and little boys into adulthood and so forth. In the eyes of a child, mom and dad are gods. Right? They watch you. They learn from you. Your little cheerleaders are proud of you.

My dad ,aka Papa Smurf or Faja, left his earthly body April 25th a little after 3 a.m. I’d get into detail, but you don’t know me that well yet. A few months before he passed, he asked me, “Baby girl I need you to write a character letter for me.” I didn’t just want to write a letter. I wanted to tell a story about him. I wanted to paint the most vivid image onto a clean canvass. A tribute to my dad. As he so deserved. So I feel comfortable sharing this with you guys. After he read the letter he said, and I’m paraphrasing: “You are my sweet angel. Please read this at my funeral. And save this. I love you.” Through text of course. He was never good at face to face mushy stuff. He would get emotional. I knew that. Anyways, through tears and sniffles I ended up eulogizing him at his funeral. I’m absolutely positive that I did him proud. Without further ado, my Ode to Papa Smurf.

I stood at the podium in Shady Acres Church of Christ with my brother’s and sister behind me. Looking out into the full house, I began to speak.

Fly: In the eyes of a child, parents are immortal. Parents are the protectors, confidants. They strip all worry from the child. Dad did a wonderful job of this. For those of you who may be unsure of who all these big head kids up here are…I am the eldest daughter of Mary and Orain Frank. Mary’s right over there (looks over at mom) Say hi mom. This gorgeous young man next to me is (brother’s names), and this is my little homie, baby sister, (name)

Now my dad ran into trouble. Legal troubles, before he passed so he asked a few of us to write him a letter for court. He said, baby girl you keep this and read it when I’m gone. He told me he liked to brag about his babies so, I might as well brag for him. Right? Being that I’m basically a professional: Graduate of Sam Houston State University. Dean’s list. Honors, journalist, editor, server…I wear many hats. Anyway , here’s my letter. 

Begin letter

As a kid I always noticed a steady flow in our household. Waking up to mom cooking breakfast and giving my brother the evil eye for touching her China Cabinet (all that China is broken now. Smh) Dad would be off to work. Dad was always the primary provider. As long as he could provide for us and spend time with us, he was happy; before my mother got sick that is. When I was about 9 years old, I remember getting up and dressed for school. I found my mom in the bathroom on the floor. She wouldn’t respond to me. My dad sent me school, not to worry I assumed. When school was out, my life had changed dramatically under my nose. Mom was…different…Doctors found a golf ball sized tumor on her brain. She had to take these pills everyday. At some point she stopped taking them, or they stopped working. 

At my grandmother’s house I remember my dad rushing upstairs. Mom was on the floor again. This time she was shaking. (I later understood later that she was seizing) It was the first time I looked in my dad’s face and saw sadness. He looked like everything had been taken from him. Mom was never same from that moment. She started going blind. Doctors found the tumor had come back.

It becomes fuzzy after that, but mom eventually had a stroke (due to malpractice) losing her ability to speak clearly and it limited her motor skills on the right side of her body; she now has all of that and hallucinations.

I speak so vividly about my mother’s condition to paint a picture of what Orain Frank, My father, went through while mom was in and out of the hospital. I could see my dad losing his drive, but he put on a good face for his kids. He encouraged me daily. He kept me going in college when I wanted to drop out. My dad had to fill in for mom. He became a providing, protecting, inspiring, dad-mom and friend to me.

I have the highest respect for Mr. Frank. He has never left us. I’m proud of him and thankful to God that he stayed with mom and us, continuing to provide.

Without the support of my mother, dad seemed to be falling apart. Momma was the glue of our family. I know it was so much pressure on dad. I wish I could take his pain and feel it for him, but we are all broken, mourning momma everyday. She is present, but absent at the same time.

We all confide in dad and he provides us with strength. He forgot how to be strong for himself. He poured his strength into us, running low on his own emotion.

It wasn’t until he was pulled over that night that he realized this. I hadn’t spoken to dad a few days when my grandmother called to tell me that he was in jail. I thought “Dad wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize his or our futures.” There must have been some mistake. Or has he finally made a mistake himself? Dad knew he didn’t make the best decision that night and expected the worst. I knew my dad wasn’t perfect, but no human is.

I visited him about a week after the incident. That day, for the first time in 23 years, I saw my dad cry. This sight ripped me apart, but it was beautiful. He finally let his colors fly. I saw a man with a flaw. Broken, just like me.

A few weeks later, dad goes and has a mild stroke. Doctors say it was due to stress. Dad went from jail in October to a hospital bed in December. Unable to do what he loves, work to provide, he is crippled. In a pickle, if you will.

I am [25] years old and I live about an hour and a half away from (insert location here), where my dad is. But there are still three kids in the house: my sister and two baby brothers. One of my younger brothers (name here), 18, was diagnosed with ADHD and has trouble with the real world. Dad worries about him. My older brother, married, 26, had a little girl, my niece (name) who my dad loves deeply. (Daddy called her bubbles ^_^)

Dad deserves a second chance like all of us. His eyes are open and I now respect him more for finding strength after all he’s gone through. I view him the same; he is my backbone and my best friend.

-End letter

 When you leave here today, I don’t want you to pity us. I want you to be excited for us. And pray that God will allow us to continue pushing toward greatness. I plan to make us rich one day yall. In material things. Sure…that’d be nice, but more importantly, we will be rich in support and love that I’ve already felt. My heart swells at the thought of daddy. Love you all. Like old man used to say “Peace Out”

I looked up from my notes and everyone was standing, clapping widely, and cheering. I didn’t expect this, nor did I expect all the compliments about what I said for my dad. It was my duty and I carried it out. If you got this far in my post (I appreciate that son) thank you for reading and walking another day with me, and I hope that I have sparked something in you that will help you create something! (Make sure you check out my very first post “Walk with Me” for a little info about this blog)

Daddy, my emotional ROCK. I love you. More than words could ever say in any ode, poem, song, dance…you get it. You looked so peaceful last time I saw you. I hope you’re that same way now. Peace Out.

20150423_182556 (1)

Momma and Papa Smurf: Something like Pimps