May 23, 2016, started as a normal day. I woke up, prayed and made my morning cup of coffee. I added a few lines to my gratitude journal as I typically would. I got dressed then headed to the gym.
I had my usual 10-minute cardio warmup on the bike. Next, I stretched- normal. Then my phone buzzed with a text from my dad, also normal. But I would’ve never expected to see the words on the screen that completely altered my normal from that day forward.
“Hey. I really, really hate to tell you guys this, but my doctor found a tumor in my kidney.”
May 23, 2016, started as a normal day and ended as the day my life took its greatest shift yet.
You never really think about what the lasts of anything will be like. The last hug. Last kiss on the forehead. The last smile. Last deep laughs that roar from a place of pure joy. Last meals, calls, texts, and conversations. The last time you hear your father’s voice—the last I love you.
Yet once those lasts come around, every passing moment has meaning. It’s as though you’re seeing for the first time; your eyes become opened to the life all around you, and within you.
My father, Lynnor, was a poet. A man of God. Strong like ebony. He was smooth, confident and wise. He would tell you how it is like it is without a second thought. He would sneak you his last $20 under the dinner table even if you didn’t ask. But his spirit is what captured the hearts of many.
My dad had a website he posted on every day for the past 3 years. He’d write a poem paired with a Bible verse to spread light and positivity. And during his last two weeks of life, he continued to post inspirational messages and videos on his website and Facebook. He even recorded a video to show the scar he had on his head post-brain-surgery, the one I told him wasn’t a scar at all, but a sign of strength.
When I visited him at the hospital, the first thing he would always ask was, “can you help me post on Facebook? I got to let everyone know today’s Word.” Although he didn’t have the motor skills to type, he still made it a priority to share inspiration. He still did what was on his heart while he had the breath to do so. And all I can remember thinking was, wow.
My father carried what many would consider the darkest point of life with a light so bright you couldn’t help but feel its warmth. Even after finding out the cancer had spread to his brain. Even after having two brain surgeries in two days to remove the tumors. Even after telling me and my sister that he was in stage 1—when he was really in stage 4—because he didn’t want us to stop pursuing our passions. Even after all of this, he remained positive, encouraging, selfless and full of life. And if that’s not the ultimate sacrifice—the ultimate love—what is?
On July 20th, 2016, I received the call, the one we never want to get.
I started to receive messages from people I’d never met before, telling me how much of an impact my father had. Strangers raving to me about the power of his voice. People showing me screenshots of words of encouragement that he said to them along the way. Coworkers praising the way his singing would flow down the hallways and into their hearts. Individuals sharing stories in paragraphs about that time my father was the one to uplift them when they needed it most. Random comments from people who had only met my father one time, expressing that he changed their lives.
The love I felt was overwhelming. This one man had touched countless souls. He used his own spirit as a beacon for those looking for light. He dedicated his life—literally—to walk in his truth the best way he knew how: by spreading love.
“Reach, always reach,” is what my dad wrote to me on my graduation a card. It’s what we have to continue to do in all situations: reach. Reach for God. Reach for our dreams. Reach for love. Reach for light, even when darkness feels close by. Especially when darkness feels close by.
My father taught me that life’s ending is just as beautiful as its beginning. He taught me that lasts are just as rewarding as firsts. After all, his voice was the first I heard when I was born. He gave me my first name. He inspired me to write my first poem. He bought me my first keyboard and jewelry set. He moved me into my very first apartment, in Brooklyn, where I still live today.
And he remains the first love of my life, my very own superhero.
This piece was inspired by Sleight, in theaters April 28th
