At the close of 2021 and in early 2022, a morbid motif flickered before me, but I wanted to ignore its ragged fragments. Eight colleagues or friends lost a parent from various causes. Two, from different families, died the same day.

As this sorrowful theme was unfolding, my friend and I went on a walk. Unsolicited, he shared he’ll be shattered when he loses his only living parent. He asked what my reaction would be if I lost my parents. I chose to block real consideration of ineludible events. 

Later that week, I had COVID-19 while visiting family (despite obtaining a negative PCR test beforehand). Due to his chronic pulmonary issues, my dad is high risk for COVID-19. It spread to most of my family.  

I could no longer defer my friend’s question. I could no longer ignore the desolate design we want to undo but can’t unravel. Uncut time will pass that torn, painful pattern to corrosively cover me. Before it splinters the sun and traps cold, instead of warmth, I want to attempt to prepare for its effect.  

To answer my friend’s question, two reactions are paramount. First, I’d want to share tectonic life events, God willing: my engagement, wedding, children, and publishing a book. Second, I’d want my parents to understand their everlasting impact, an impact that cut death’s pattern.

This is why I’m writing this—so they’ll know their impact, before it’s too late. Mom and Dad, this is for you. 

Lady, first. 

My mom tirelessly cultivated a joyful home for us. She transformed unremarkable daily details into dazzling experiences. For a small sample: she made each meal with thought and care. She cooked healthy, delicious breakfast and dinner, baked homemade bread throughout my entire childhood, packed my lunch every day (my homemade-bread sandwiches were the prize bartering item at school), and slaved over my favorite meals (homemade ribs or fried chicken — not easy) on numerous occasions. Don’t forget her sweet, encouraging notes in my lunch.

Her loving hands (now arthritic and extremely painful) sewed us one-of-a-kind outfits for school and Halloween (my costumes were always unique!), stitched my dorm room decor, and crafted pillows for my apartment. I still want her creative spirit to impact my style and decor today.

My mom introduced me to music and culture. As a musician herself, she passed along an appreciation for brilliant compositions, musicians, and shows. She took my twin sister and me to musicals in other cities, gave us piano lessons, and forced us to go to concerts we (in our ignorant, teenage judgment) sneered at but thoroughly enjoyed. 

She shared her sharp intellect, reading some classics with me in high school to discuss themes, which elevated my understanding. She read books with me in college, because she wanted to learn. We argued about these books. And, she danced around my desk when I was a zombie studying for the bar exam. She’s the smartest person I know. I was with her when we heard about 9/11 on the radio. Within seconds, she said who did it.

Growing up, every day was a learning opportunity with my mom. Her candor about life’s harsh realities and fearless curiosity saved me from harmful personal choices. She challenged me to think independently and freely, even if unfashionable or mocked.

She stood up to teachers who crossed boundaries reserved for trusted loved ones. She stood up to boys I dated in her own clever, charming way, which propelled me to stand up to men myself. 

During the several years I struggled with chronic, physical pain, she took me to (literally) dozens of appointments, asked questions I had no mental capacity for, and assumed the role of a medical scribe to help guide decisions. Over a decade later, when I cleaned out my medical records, I noticed her copious notes. I cried, because who else cares about me that much to diligently document my medical status? 

She’s been there for me when I’m too sad to share a moment with anyone else, and I just needed to cry.  

My mom made the ordinary shimmer for everyone else, but I don’t think she knows she sparkles, too. Like a gem, she refracts her circumstances into a vibrant spectrum of colors: love, wisdom, curiosity, candor, strength, and fun.

Gentleman, next. 

My dad always (always is true) believed in me, more than I believe in myself. With each difficult decision, when I didn’t know what to do, he would remind me, “You’ve made good choices. You’ll make the wise choice again.” He thinks I’ve made more good choices than I actually have. His confidence in my decision-making empowered me to make intentional, directional decisions. 

My dad instilled a strong link between decisions, consequences, and the ability to make that difference in your own life. When I was pretty young, my dad taught me: decisions determine how and where you land—whether you crash, land smoothly, in a beautiful place or in a lonely desert. Since he’s a pilot, he had a way of framing decisions with an acute sense of life’s entire horizon and gravity in mind. 

When I’ve known he’s in physical or mental pain, I never heard him complain – in my entire life. Not once. He does not give up and keeps trying, even when I know it’s extremely inconvenient or painful. 

He has the strongest work ethic I’ve ever seen. He worked as a janitor to pay for flying lessons, because he wanted to become a pilot, and he did. He studied when others partied and became #1 in his flight school class. He demonstrated by his own life that hard work takes you places. 

He is a loyal friend. On weekends growing up, he took my twin sister and me on adventures and sporting activities: bike rides, night bike rides, tennis, races, and custom-made obstacle courses (a mere handful of sports activities we played). When I was training for a marathon, he drove to where I was jogging to give me water in the southern summer heat.

With his time, he made sure I knew I was important to him. He showed up at every soccer practice and game he could, given his work schedule.  He’d practice with us at home, too. He taught me to keep my eye on the ball and not act like a sissy, which is fun to hear him say, because he says “sissy” with such disdain. 

He came to celebrate my passing the bar exam when I had just moved. He brought me flowers and took me to dinner. He once showed up on my birthday and threw rocks at my corner office window (yes, I was mortified—I was supposed to be a scholarly lawyer). Looking back, it really makes me laugh. When our work schedules allowed it, he would take me to lunch.

He gave me confidence. At an early age, he told me (and still tells me) I’m beautiful. He’s gone out of his way hundreds (if not, thousands) of times to help me and patiently listen to me think through problems. 

My dad set the standard high for men I’ve dated, because he treated me with kindness and consideration. John Mayer got it right when he sang, “So fathers be good to your daughters; daughters will love like you do. Girls become lovers who turn into mothers, so mothers be good to your daughters, too.”

For Both 

Both my parents have personal relationships with Christ and walk with Him daily.  Throughout my life, I’ve seen their walks with Jesus influence behavior, including how they treat their children. My parents know the ugliest parts of me but still treated me with grace and tough truth. 

Getting back to where I started, my entire family is healthy, thank goodness. My dad kicked COVID-19 better than the rest of us, including me.

There are no worthy words for my parents, but I needed to try to communicate their everlasting impact. They didn’t just raise me; they give me the best of themselves. My parents continue to pour into me and help me grow, just like sun, even when I want to hide from its light. 

I pray I’ll continue their legacy of breaking death’s pattern, to let His all-conquering love eternally shine through.