My father died a year ago today and I have not had a chance to grieve. If you are familiar with the Greek tragedy Antigone, the character Creon does not have a moment to grieve the loss of loved ones because he is forced to carry out the King’s duties. This is a role that not only he is not fit to serve, the perils of the kingdom are also his fault. Regarding my plight a year ago, I was nearing the end of my PhD in Literary Criticism. I should have defended my dissertation before spring 20. However—like many PhD students—I played respectability politics to not derail my progress with my committee. However, I will NOT go into detail concerning that. Yet, my motivation was intertwined with a mantra my father instilled in me during my formative years. He would ask, “Who are you doing this for?” I would reply, “I’m doing this for myself.” This call and response would be the soundtrack of my youth. Little did I know that it would foreshadow the last moments I had with my father and the end of my PhD journey.
Riddled with thoughts of Imposter Syndrome, I honestly did not believe I was capable of the degree until AFTER I achieved the goal. My parents were supportive of my interests and provided my brothers and I a better life than they received as children. This is not uncommon within African American families. Many parents aspire to provide for their offspring what they did not have. Essentially, they are living vicariously through their children. In some instances, this is counterproductive. In others, it is the African American dream. Concerning this, I recall my father saying many times during my youth, “You have it better than I did.” There was no resentment. He was happy to enlighten me on how far “we” matriculated. Any and everything I have I owe to the sacrifices of my family—with my mother and father being chief among them. I have never been an imposter and I believe that my parents knew this. Specifically, for the purpose of this text, my father wholeheartedly believed it.
When I began my program, I did it 100% for me. Yet, I still wanted my parents an opportunity to bask in the achievement. This journey took so long that I began to think that they doubted me and my ability. When I neared completion, I saw that my father was frequenting the hospital. I knew the end was nearing. As much as I wanted to, I could NOT deny this. Also, as a child, my dad CONSTANTLY reminded me that he would not be here forever. I did not think of this in a morbid way. Even THEN it made sense to me; he was preparing me. I did not know the day nor hour, but I knew it was getting closer. Though my father was moving around with the greatest of ease, if the wind blew hard enough, he was going back to the hospital. He endured two heart attacks in his life and “went over” the Grim Reaper with two underdog victories, 7 years apart. Simply stated, the man was tougher than 10-penny nails, but he was far worse for wear after these bouts. During his last days, my defense was delayed due to for a lack of better term, “academic politics.” As productive as I was—routinely—staying up to 3am to get edits to my committee as soon as I possibly could, there was no microwaving this Thanksgiving turkey.
Concerning my 8am-3am workdays, I retired from a night of editing on the morning of April 2, 2020 shortly after 3am. At 4:30am, my phone rang. It was my brother. He told me that my father belonged to the ages. I was almost immediately instilled with anger. After the call, I emailed my dissertation chair to notify him of this horrific occurrence. If nothing else, I needed him to know that my father would NOT see me achieve this goal.
My father died alone. Due to COVID-19’s onset, my family could not see him during his last days. I was the last person allowed to visit him. During my visit, I sat with him for 40 minutes. While there, a replay of The University of Michigan— The University of Iowa game aired on CBS. I recall explaining to my father that the pandemic cancelled all sports and that this was from earlier in the season. I was terribly afraid. Then, COVID-19 seemed like the onset of the Zombie Apocalypse. I did not know if I had it or could infect my father. I distanced myself during that visit. Also, I was distracted. I honestly was obsessed with my dissertation. I wanted my father to know I did it. My literal last words to him were, “DD, I will be a doctor next month. It is happening. I love you.” He replied, “I love you Jerry.” I replied, “I will see you soon; I love you.” The next time I saw him was at his gravesite funeral. The interment did not match the magnitude or impact of my father’s life. However, considering the circumstances, we were blessed to have any ceremony.
My father died a year ago today and this is how I am expressing my grief. Like Creon, I was forced to deal with impending matters. This was a requirement as my father’s life and his aspirations would not, nor could not be in vain. A month later, I became a doctor. Post my defense, my chair opened with, “Today your father would be proud. I immediately cried, but this was not grief. This was not a joyous cry either. The tears were tears of frustration. At the time, I was frustrated that my father’s cold body was 5 hours away and I would not be able to call him to tell him the “good news.” I immediately drove home to tell my mother; it was the first time I saw her post my father’s funeral. I had time to reflect on the mantra my father instilled in me during my 5-hour journey home. As a child, my father CONSTANTLY reminded me that he would not be here forever. He would ask, “Who are you doing this for?” I would reply, “I’m doing this for myself.”
This was for me. He told me before it was so.
