A Son’s Tribute To The Father He Lost…

Tribute by Sedrick Gilbert

October 13, 1990 was a Saturday. The sky was clear, the sun shining bright. Relatively mild and warm weather. My little brother and I were spending the weekend at the home of our father and stepmother, which was a rather new occurrence due to what had been a ongoing tense and volatile situation between my parents ever since their bitter split several years earlier. In fact, it had gotten so bad that my brother and at one time had not even been allowed to go to my father’s home. My brother and I had been caught in the middle of what seemed to be a never-ending battle. Being an inquisitive and sensitive kid that I was, the situation left me saddened, loving both of my parents, and wishing that things would get better. My hopes eventually finally came true, a ceasefire called in the constant battles, a truce which allowed my brother and I to be able to spend alternate weekends with my father and stepmother, and even civility between them and my mother.

Life finally was feeling peaceful and promising, all the negativity and chaos fading away. Even though it was a new normal, it was something to look forward to, perhaps a chance for a more stable life free of conflict and uncertainty. Things were looking up, and I was on top of the world. The father, the man who had encouraged, motivated, educated, protected, shielded, nurtured, indulged, and literally saved me, was back in my life with no restrictions. I had not felt that good and secure in a long time.

That morning, I was sitting in the den of my dad and stepmother’s home, working on what was then a favorite hobby, drawing buildings, while my brother watched cartoons as my stepmother cooked breakfast in the kitchen. My dad came walking through the den, laughing as he got ready to leave, going to do some weekend work. He stopped at the door, turned to us, and smiled. “I’ll see you boys later”, he said.

“Bye Daddy,” I said, feeling the warmth of his presence, the comfort that his smile brought. After all the time I had been away from him, now things had finally turned around for the better.

Everything was alright in my world.

I had no idea of how it all would shatter in the next few hours, leaving my life changed forever.

A couple of hours or so after Daddy left, there was a knock on the door. Going to answer it, I saw my grandfather standing on the other side of the door. When I opened the door and greeted him, my grandfather, his head down, asked me where my stepmother was. I told him she was in her and Daddy’s bedroom, and he quickly made his way there as my brother and I sat in the den, bewildered by his abrupt entrance. Shortly thereafter, I heard a scream coming from the bedroom.
“No! No Mr. Gilbert!”

My brother looked at me in confusion, but I did not know what to say or think. What was going on? I wondered.

Moments later, my stepmother came into the den, tears flowing from her eyes, and anguished look on her face.

‘Boys, you Daddy just got killed!” she cried, sobbing uncontrollably.

She rushed over and took us into her arms, as my grandfather stood by, solemnly quiet. He then told us to come with him. We all rode in my grandmother’s car over to my grandparent’s house, me sitting silently in the backseat with me holding my brother, shocked and confused.

The rest of the day was surreal, as family and friends began to assemble. I was in a dazed state of shock, finding it hard to believe that my father, a giant of a man, someone who once survived falling several stories off of a building, a strong and powerful force who to me seemed indestructible, was now suddenly gone. I remember my aunt, pregnant at the time, coming over to my grandparents and nearly collapsing when my grandfather told her my father was dead. My mother showed up, and I could tell, despite all the acrimony of the past few years, clearly felt a huge loss too. I kept to myself for most of the night, not knowing what to say or do, until everyone gathered around the TV when the evening news came on. Of course, the explosion that killed my father was the top story, but I do not think any of us was prepared for what it entailed.

There was an interview with a man who happened upon the scene of the accident, who said that in the aftermath of the explosion, looking to see if anyone had been hurt or injured, he had seen a boot on the ground, and, when he kicked it, realized there was a foot inside. The graphic account resulted in the most heartbreaking wail from my stepmother, a sound I will never forget.
That sent me running out of the house, into the driveway, where I stared up into the sky. What had started out as such a bright and happy day now was a dark night of incredible sorrow and loss. My world was forever changed, and I would never be the same. My Daddy was gone, my life shattered.

I did not cry for a few days, did not talk about what happened. It was hard to comprehend. How could things go so terribly wrong just when they had just gotten so much better? What would become of me without my Daddy, the man who taught me to believe in myself, who made me feel that I could do and be anything I wanted? The person I could turn to for guidance and affirmation? The man who built me up and never let me down even when I had turned my back on him? The man who said and showed that he loved me and my brother, and would always be there for us?

My heart was broken, and I never truly grieved and mourned his death until only recently. But I have been able to realize that even though he is not here with me physically, what he instilled in me will always be the power which has made me the man I am. His spirit lives within me, the seeds he planted still growing.

It has been thirty years now since he was called home, but it seems like it was just yesterday that he stopped at that door and smiled, one last reassurance of love.

Rest in Heaven Daddy. I miss and love you and dedicate the life that I live to you.