Jun 29, 2022

Honoring My Father

Honoring My Father

By Andrea Tadpole-Broussard

6/29/22

We held my father's military burial on his 82nd birthday, June 27, 2022. It was small and private; just my stepmom, my son and his family, my husband and myself. We did not invite others in the family because of all the hatred and strife they have caused since his death in February.

One of the last things my father asked me to do in private, before he lost his voice, was to make sure his military burial was dignified and peaceful. He told me that he knew certain people would come to it and cause drama and he did not want that. So, my stepmother and I prayed about it and discussed it together. As sad as it was for us, we decided that small and intimate was the better choice. It was not an easy choice but I know in my heart, to the very core of my spirit that what we did was right in the eyes of my father and most importantly in the eyes of God. My father was honored. That is what he deserved.

We did a video of it and distributed it through my social media, texts and emails so that everyone knows where my father is buried. Even though the ceremony was beautiful in many ways and we saw the Lord's hand in all of it, it was as if the scab on my heart that was healing got ripped open again because I miss my father so much.

Since the ceremony, family members have called and said horrible, horrible things to me and about my stepmom, myself and my little family. They have sent vicious texts and messages to me. These same people were nowhere to be found when my father fought for his life for 3 months and died. It was only me and my stepmom there 24/7. We tried to get them to help. His son only showed up when I pleaded and begged with him to come and that was only a few times. Others who showed up once or twice through it all only showed up to beg  for money from my father or for a photo op. NO ONE in my extended family that lived here offered comfort or help to me or my stepmom during this nightmare we were living through.

Once my father died and the money tree died with him they were nowhere to be found. They spewed lie after lie. His own son threw away the things my father willed to him. It is on video. I cannot believe anyone would dishonor their father that way! He and all the others will have to answer to God some day for the way they acted.

When we were planning my father's memorial service in February we called and left messages with my father's twin sister, his brother and other family. They never answered. We BEGGED my father's son to help us with the memorial. He flat out refused saying if he could not control EVERYTHING including my father's money he wanted nothing to do with it. My father's other daughter told me he was dead to her 15 years ago and she wanted nothing to do with any of it.

So, my stepmom, my little family and I forged ahead ALONE. In spite of all this God brought angels to comfort us in the form of one of my father's doctor friends and his wife. I am forever grateful to them.

I am not writing all this to start more drama. I hope if you have read this far you hear the complete hurt and anguish I feel right now. I am not even angry. I am crushed in my heart and spirit. I know the lies that have circulated about me, my stepmom, my husband, my kids and grandkids.
I have stayed silent till now because I just wanted to give my father an honorable fairwell. I did that. Yet, I am very much my father's daughter and I hear him in my heart telling me to set the record straight. That is why I am writing this.

My father was my best friend, my hero, my confidant, my safe place to land in this world. I texted and spoke to him on the phone numerous times a day. We had dinner together at least once a week. We celebrated the good times and held eachother up through the hard times in life. I held his hand until he took his last breath and his heart stopped beating. My life is so dark without him. I know I will get through this but I will never get "over" it. How can I get over losing someone I loved so deeply?!

I would not change how I  did anything or the decisions we made after he died because I know I did the right thing and honored my father. He always told me, "Andrea, you are my oldest child. With that comes responsibility. Some day you will have to make decisions that piss others off, even though it is the right thing to do. You stand strong and do the right thing no matter how they act." That is what I did for my father the other day and I have no regrets.

All I can say is the truth is out now. Make your own conclusions and if you do not want to be a part of my life, so be it. Move on. I probably will not notice you are gone anyways.

Please understand that my stepmom, husband, kids, grandkids and I did not want the hatred, strife and lies that have gone on. It has not come from us but it has been viscously directed at us. IT NEEDS TO STOP! ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!!

My father is dead and all the hatred in world will not bring him back.

Let him rest in peace and leave us alone to grieve.

In closing, a note to my father...

Dear Daddy,

I am so grateful God gave you to me. You taught me that when we block out all the noise around us and focus on eachother, all that is left is the love we share with eachother. And oh what a beautiful love it was and still is!! Love never dies. That is what I hold onto now. I know you are home with God. What a beautiful place it is!! We will meet again someday.

Love,

Your Little Andi ❤️

Jun 25, 2022

My Twisted Journey Through Sobriety

My Twisted Journey Through Sobriety

By Andrea Tadpole-Broussard 

6/25/22

I am coming up on 36 years of sobriety on July 5th. I have not gotten a medallion since the pandemic started, so for at least a couple of years. I was thinking about this past 2 years and how crazy it has been. Crazy good and crazy bad.  

First I had brain surgery. Then I switched jobs to a better job. My mom had major surgery and nearly died and her husband did die from COVID. We moved her back here from Florida. I drove her home and my sister brought all her stuff back and sold her house. 

Somewhere in the middle of all that God blessed us with our own home. For the first time in years I could finally relax and breathe in my own space. Then, right after we moved into our home last November my father got an infection in his knee after surgery. My mom was living with us and I took care of her as best I could while working from home all day. I would get my work done and then take care of my father every evening. He was in and out of hospitals, mostly in. I would go sit with him and help him eat dinner and we would watch television together. He demanded that we hold hands. 

I watched my father dwindle away a little more every day. In early January this year he contracted COVID. He was quarantined for 2 weeks. I went every evening, no matter what the weather was and sat in my lawn chair outside his window and talked to him on the phone. Many evenings I was in my coat in the snow. I left him silly little signs on the window, pics of me and my stepmom, his grandkids and great grandkids. I would write we love you, we're still here, your not alone because I didn't want him to think we forgot him. When they finally released him from quarantine I took the day off and spent it with him. I just knew he was going to make it now. Sadly, COVID left his body so weak that the infection came back with a vengeance. It attacked his neck and spine and paralyzed him from the waist down. He started losing use of his hands and could barely speak.

The night before he died he went into tachycardia. Something told me to take off work and stay with him all night. I knew his time with us was short. My dad fought so hard to live, yet his body could not do it. I held his hand and I never let it go. I finally told him that it was okay to go home to God and I would be with him again someday. I told him do not worry about Linda (my stepmom), that I would take care of her. 

I kissed him on the cheek in a final goodbye and he squeezed my hand. Our eyes locked for what seemed like a lifetime because our whole 59 years together flashed before my eyes. Everything, the good and the bad, but especially the love we shared through it all. I remember his eyes were a gorgeous sky blue and that I had never realized how beautiful they were. First his breathing stopped and then his heartbeat. I sobbed like I have never sobbed in my life. I lost my hero, my battering ram through puberty, my voice of wisdom and my best friend as an adult. It was the most sacred, holy, horrible yet weirdly beautiful experience I have ever been through in my life. My father went to the arms of God on February 11, 2022.

I said all that to say this. It is a miracle that I have not had a drink or drug since July 5, 1986. Had I not gotten sober and been blessed with holy angels around me both in and out of the program I would not have been there for my father in his final days. I would not have been there to help him go home to God. No matter how bad I hurt without him here, I know he is so much better off being there than with me here. I also know that one drink would not fix a thing.

A few days ago I decided to order myself a medallion. I went from one online store to another. I stumbled upon a medallion that spoke to my heart and the story about described my journey through sobriety. It's not a "traditional" medallion, but at this point who cares? This medallion is called the Twisted Tree of Life Medallion. The prayer on the back of it is one I say every day. Here is the story of this medallion:
"The Tree of Life has a special meaning in recovery. It highlights how the principles of Honesty, Hope, Faith and Willingness are the sprawling roots in sobriety that lead us on a path to shaping a full and abundant life. The branches of the recovery tree highlight all the areas of our lives that we get back and how they work together to contribute to a content and meaningful existence."

I personally love that it is a twisted tree because my journey through sobriety has been pretty twisted, to say the least. I got my medallion today in the mail a few days early. I think my dad wanted it that way. 

As I look at the tree and all the twisted branches I think of all the women in recovery that have been in my life. Some planted seeds and moved on and others have stayed. I also think of 2 men, Harold Inman and George Gibbs who sat on each side of me at my homegroup meetings for 3 years and taught me how to live sober one day at a time. Without all these people I would not have been alive, much less been there for my dad. I truly owe them my life.

I know I am still here for a reason. I have 2 of the most awesome adult children, a son and daughter that make me proud. I have 4 gorgeous teenage granddaughters and a 3 year old grandson who has hung the moon for me. I have a beautiful home. I have an even better job now that I enjoy doing from home. My mom is doing better. I am still sober! What more could one want? If I had been asked to write where I would be after 36 years sober on day 1 of sobriety, I would have shortchanged myself. God is good!

Jun 24, 2022

My Thoughts on Abortion

My Thoughts on Abortion 

By Andrea Tadpole-Broussard 

June 24, 2022

I wrote this in response to another person's post about the overturn of Roe V. Wade today. I putting it out here so there's no question where I stand. If you do not like it, feel free to unfriend/block me. I probably will not notice anyway.

I have an adopted granddaughter and a granddaughter that my daughter had when she was 16. I deeply love them both and am forever grateful that they were not aborted. My world would be so gray without them. I believe that using abortion as a form of birth control is wrong and should not be allowed. Yet, there are times when it is necessary (rape, incest, life of mother).

For me personally, abortion is wrong. However, I will not stand in judgement of anyone else. I just know someday when I die, I  will meet my maker and be judged and I am grateful that this will not be on the list of things I have to answer for. Believe me, my list is long enough without that.

One other thing, my granddaughter Zoey was born on February 28, 2006. She was 18 weeks gestation. The doctors told us she was not "viable" to save. She fought for 11 minutes to live! She knew who her momma and daddy were. She grabbed their fingers. She fought so hard to live while know it all, overeducated, smug physicians literally stood there and let her die. This was in a non Christian hospital where they obviously do not honor life. Had she been at another hospital that is Catholic, where they do honor life they would have at least tried to save her. That day sealed in my heart where I stand on this issue.

I just pray that somehow God unites us all in His love. We need a way and miracle in this country and He is the Waymaker and Miracle Worker. My life is living proof of it.

Jun 11, 2022

4 Months

4 Months

By Andrea Tadpole-Broussard 

Written 6/11/22 for my Father

4 Months
17 Weeks
121 Days
2,904 Hours
174,240 Minutes
10,454,400 Seconds
Since you left and 
Went home to God

The longer you are gone
The deeper the ache
In my heart
Some days
It hurts to breathe 

Time doesn't heal
All wounds
It often makes them
Worse
At least it's that way
For me

I fight every day
To get up
Keep going
No matter the pain
I feel

I keep watching
For signs 
That you are near
That you hear
When I cry
Yet I find none

If I could only see
I know you're there
I just have to be quiet
And watch

4 months feels
Like a lifetime away
I long for you
I miss you so

Yet I know
You're only 
A breath away
So close 
But alas
So far

I know I must
Be still
Trust God
Pray
And hold on
To the hope 
That we will
Meet again
Some day
On God's 
Celestial shore


I love you Daddy,
Andi ❤️