©One of the funniest things about my relationship with my father how we’d just kinda … bump into each other. I mean it happened all the time and each time was simply, the right time. I’d have a notion to go out and sit on the back porch only to find him out in the yard pulling weeds or busying about.

One day, he’d be perched out front on the porch and I’d round the corner on my way to do teen stuff and stumble upon him. Before leaving I’d always stop to chat and I’m glad I did. I’m oh so glad I did because the more I live, the more I’ve come to realize he was far more interesting than any of the people or things I found myself racing to get to.

Our last visit is the one I cherish the most. Just as always, we kinda bumped into one another … but this time, it was on purpose. This time he sent an invitation without saying a word and I accepted it the same way. I knocked and there he stood. That in and of itself was a sight because our last few visits before this one, he was either sitting in a wheelchair or moving with the aid of a walker. But this time, he stood just as tall as ever.

We hugged which had become our customary greeting with his trademark pats on the back providing the soundtrack for the sweetest father-son embrace you could ever imagine. He let me go and looked deep into my eyes … “I knew you was coming, Lynn.” To the living room we went and kicked things off. We poured through album after album, story after story, laughing and loving the afternoon away.

I mostly listened and as I did, I noticed how fast he talked. My father had a normal cadence and delivery, but on this day, his voice, still strong and clear, moved with a swiftness I had never heard. It was almost as if he had somewhere to go or a special somebody to see. He spoke fast, but no matter his pace, every word he spoke slowed just enough for me to hitch a ride and bask in its joy.

We moved from topic to topic, this person to the next, the past, present, and future. Each time we departed one piece of territory and began moving to the next, he’d look my way, smile, and say, “It’s gon’ be alright Lynn.”

It’s gon’ be alright Lynn. Nothing could sooth me more than hearing my father say those five words. No matter what I was facing, hearing him utter that tiny little phrase, tiny yet mighty, was all the strength I needed. It was my shield, my armor, my sword, and my spear. The last bullet in my holster and, honestly, the only one I needed to slay whatever stood before me.

It was getting late, and he never liked any of us to drive at night. “You better be getting out there on that road”, he said. And with that we wound our visit down. He walked me to the door one last time, patted me on the back, pounding his loving imprint into me just as he had done so many times before. Saying see you later is how we always parted ways and this time was no different.

As I walked down his driveway, I could feel his eyes on me … but I didn’t look back. I didn’t look back instead choosing to focus on the picture we painted that afternoon. As I backed out, he offered one final brushstroke, framing our piece of art, making it a masterpiece as only he could do by simply saying …

“It’s gon’ be alright Lynn”.

***

This morning I got up at, “early-thirty” as my father used to call it. That means up before anyone else. I got dressed to work out, but instead I went and sat in the room I dedicated to my father. The one with all the jazz photos, albums, books, and instruments adorning the walls.

No television, books, or phone. I just sat there on what is the third anniversary of him leaving to take his place in a better place. Over to my record player I went and began playing records, some of his favorites that have become our favorites. Art Blakey, Dave Brubeck … John Coltrane … and then I felt a knock on my heart, so I answered and there my father stood, just as tall as ever.

“I knew you was coming Daddy”.

We embraced and he offered up his trademark pats on the back. Good music, make that great music was playing in the background, but make no mistake about it, those pats were once again our soundtrack.

We picked up where we left off, moving from topic to topic, this person to the next, past, present, and future. He was still talking fast, but this time I understood why. He really did have somewhere to go, somewhere better to get back to, and, in my mother, he really did have somebody special to see. His words moved swiftly but just as they had done the last time, I heard his voice; they slowed just enough for me to hitch a ride and bask in their joy.

He asked about my running shoes and when he could expect to get a pair. He reminded me to drink plenty of water, spend time with family, save a dime of every dollar, (but a quarter if you can!) and so much more. We laughed and loved the morning away as only a father and son could do.

It was early, but getting late which meant our time was coming to an end. “I best be getting out there on that road”, he said. With that we got up, embraced, and said see you later as we had done countless of times before. My heart watched his walk away and just as I had done on our last visit, his didn’t turn back. I imagine it wanted to focus on the picture we painted during our time together.

As he floated away, he offered one final brushstroke, framing our piece of art, making yet another masterpiece as only he could do by simply saying …

“It’s gon’ be alright Lynn”.