For My Friend Wanda

For My Friend Wanda 

By Andrea Tadpole-Broussard 

2/6/24

Wanda, something you posted a few days ago touched my heart and got me thinking. I remember reading a story somewhere years ago about a man who tried to change the direction of a river so it would not flow on his property in this one particular spot. I sure wish I could remember the name of the story, but I do not know it right now. What I remember is that he went through all this work and trouble for a very long time to finally get the river to flow in a different direction. At least he thought he had finally mastered it. 

The very next day, a massive rainstorm hit and the river went back to where it had always flowed in the spot he did not want. The moral of the story was that you cannot change the flow of the river. So, instead of wasting time trying to, it is better to just go with it. I translated that as accept that it is God's will, even if it makes no sense to me.

For some reason, that story has always stuck with me in my heart. I suppose it is because I am just like that man. I am always trying to change the flow of a formidable power that I can never change. I have wasted a lot of my life doing that. My continued failures at trying to have led me down some shady paths. Until I could accept things as being exactly as they are supposed to be, I did not find freedom or peace.

The second anniversary of what I call my Father's transition to the other side is coming up on February 11th. I have been remembering the months before he passed better lately. For the longest time, they were just a big blur. I tried so hard to keep him alive. I did everything I could, said every prayer I knew, chanted mantras, burnt incencse, you name it. Yet, it was not meant to be. Just like I could not change the flow of a river; I could not keep my Dad alive. 

I do not know why I am telling you this other than this has what has been on my mind lately. See, my Dad and I started out very rough in life. He was good to me when I was a baby and young child, but when I became a teenager he got vicious. I suppose when you are dealing with a rebellious teenager who is drinking, drugging and roaring through your life like a tornado all the time, one might get vicious too. All I know is that as a young person, I hated him with all my guts. There were many nights as a teenager that I would wish and pray that he would die.

Yet, when I got sober at 23 some how, some way God found a way into both of our hearts and we found forgiveness for eachother. We worked our asses off on our relationship together. It was not perfect, but we absolutely loved each other and we knew it. I have the deepest gratitude for the gift of love that God gave to me and my Dad. If you had known where we came from, you would understand what a beautiful miracle this was and still is.

The last 3 months of his life I spent the majority of it sitting every evening watching TV and holding hands with him. That is all he wanted from me. Just to sit and hold his hand. Those simple, quiet moments with him are forever etched my heart. 

When I was there to help him make his transition, I begged God not to let him die. Then, I realized again that I could not change the flow of the river he was on. The greatest gift I could give him was to let him go. When you love someone that deeply, you do what you have to do. I know you understand this.

I still talk about my Dad every day. I still tell his stories. I still talk to him every day. I feel him all around me. I see him everywhere I go. I see him in the trees and birds. I see him in the roses when they bloom outside in my yard. I feel him in the gentle breeze when I finally sit still. I see him in the things he leaves me along life's journey like quarters, pennies and feathers. They probably mean nothing to anyone but me. But they remind me that my Father is still with me even though my fleshy eyes can not see him. Most of all these things remind me that the love we shared is still alive.

I guess I am sharing this with you because I understand why you still talk about your husband. I understand why you still say his name. I understand why you still tell your stories about him. It is because the love you shared with him will never die. So, keep saying his name and telling stories about him. For it is within doing this that his love for you continues to live. 💜