“TODAY WE GATHER to celebrate the life of Marcus Alexander King,” Pastor Solomon begins.
“I’m sorry,” my dad said through a shaky breath. I was curled up beside him in his bed with my head on his chest. His arm wrapped around me while he stroked my hair with his free hand.
“For what?” I asked.
“Since the day you were born, I’ve done everything I can to protect you from anything that might hurt you, but I can’t protect you from this.”
“It’s not your fault. I don’t want you to leave me, Daddy, because I won’t be able move on from this.”
“You will, baby girl. You’re a King. You’re strong.”
“I love you so much, Daddy.” I tightened my hold on him.
“I love you too, Jaybird.” He squeezed me gently and kissed the top of my head. “Do you remember what I told you?”
I nodded. “To trust my gut, follow my heart, and never, ever settle for anything less than I deserve.”
“Always.”
Lucas gives my hand a gentle squeeze, bringing me back to the present, and I turn to look at him. He jerks his chin to the large screen on the wall behind the pastor displaying photos of my dad. “Marcus was…” Pastor Solomon continues as I take in each picture.
Dad with Andrew when they were teenagers. Andrew in a faded black Motley Crue T-shirt with his arm draped over Dad’s shoulder, a pair of drumsticks in his hand. Dad in a gray Guns N’ Roses T-shirt with his arm draped over Andrew’s shoulder. Both wore wide grins. So young and innocent, completely clueless to what fate had planned for them.
“How did you know you wanted to be a rock star?” I asked him.
“Music was my first love, my true love, and, at certain times of my life, my only friend,” he said. “Music was my escape from the reality that was my crappy childhood and parents who barely remembered I existed. They didn’t abuse me physically—they just didn’t take care of me. We moved around a lot and never stayed in one place long enough for me to make any friends. I had this little Walkman with headphones that I took with me everywhere. Every time we moved, my Walkman was the first thing I grabbed. My parents didn’t mind because it kept me out of their way. Sometimes they’d hook me up with a cassette tape or batteries or a new pair of headphones.”
A photo of my parents on their wedding day appears. Just the way they’re looking at each other, you can feel their love.
“How did you guys meet?” I asked my parents one night, out of the blue, after we had just finished watching a movie about soul mates. Mom’s eyes darted to Dad and she blushed.
“We met on the airplane the day your mom left Heritage for California,” my dad answered with a knowing smile. He’d always claimed that he fell in love with her from the first moment she turned her emerald-green eyes on him. “We’ve been together ever since.”
The next picture is one of my favorites of my dad and me. A black-and-white from when I was about five years old. I was sitting on his lap. His arms wrapped around me from behind, and he was pressing a kiss to my cheek while smiling. My eyes were closed tight, my nose scrunched up because I was giggling.
I’m still lost in my memories when Pastor Solomon calls my name. I jerk my head up to see him smiling down at me. With a nod, he says, “Whenever you’re ready.”
Evangeline squeezes my hand and whispers, “I love you, JJ,” while Lucas squeezes the other and kisses the side of my head. Evangeline, Lucas, and I have had our share of arguments and fights over the years, because that’s what siblings do. And though we’re not related by blood, they’re my family.
Right now, in this moment, they’re my strength.
Taking a deep breath, I stand, and make my way up to the stage. Pastor Solomon wraps me in a hug, then moves to the side, as I stand in front of the podium. I’m a little stunned when I look out to see so many sympathetic faces blinking up at me. Hundreds. Maybe a thousand. I didn’t realize so many people were here, and it warms my heart to know that so many people cared about my dad. Mom wouldn’t allow them to be here if she didn’t believe they did.
The front row is filled with the most important people in my life—in my parents’ life—my family. And, of course, Dr. Ramos, the woman who made it possible for me to stand up here in front of all these people and talk about my dad.
I clear the lump from my throat and begin. “Thank you all for coming this morning, and for your continued love and support throughout the last few months. It means a lot to me and my family.
“I could stand up here for hours and talk about Marcus King, the incredibly talented musician, singer, songwriter, producer, and headstrong business man. But if you’re here today, then you already know those things about him.
“So, instead I want to tell you about Marcus King, my dad.” A smile pulls at my lips as so many memories come to mind. “Before he passed, my dad said to me, ‘People come into our lives for a reason, no matter how long they stay. It’s fate.’ Now, I’m not going to lie. I’m upset with God for taking him away from me—from us—but I’m also thankful to God for choosing Marcus to be my father, and I’m grateful for every single day he was in my life. I’d give anything for one more day, one more minute, but that’s not how God works. I ask God every day, ‘Why him?’ It’s not fair, but the saying is true. ‘Life isn’t fair.’ I’m sure every one of you has had those thoughts if you’ve lost someone you love. Sometimes I feel like this is all just a bad dream that, any moment now, I’ll wake up to the sound of him strumming his guitar. I keep expecting to find him in the kitchen, dancing in his boxers, and singing about making pancakes and bacon.” A mixture of laughter and sniffles drifts from the pews. “He was funny and entertaining. He was always happy. Music was his remedy for everything. If I was sleepy, he’d grab his guitar and sing me a rock-a-by. That was his version of a lullaby. If I was moody, he’d crank up the music, grab me by the hands, and we’d dance until we were breathless and laughing. There was never a dull moment in the King house. I still remember the day I wrote my first song. I’ll never forget the prideful look in his eyes, or the smile that stretched across his face when I performed it for him and my mom. That look inspired me to embrace my talent. And, in return, I was rewarded with that look often.” I pause to breathe through the knot tightening in my chest.
Movement in the back of the church draws my attention. A woman is leaning over to speak to the man beside her, but it isn’t her I’m focused on. It’s the glimpse of dark blond hair slightly curled at the ends. My chest tightens at the thought of the boy who broke my heart nearly seven months ago. That can’t be him.
My gaze moves to Dr. Ramos because she’s my anchor. When I look to the back once more, the woman has righted herself in her seat, and I can no longer see the person behind her. The person who looks a lot like Zach.
I take a breath and continue. “Marcus King was just a man who loved his family. Music was his life, but family was his everything. He was an amazing father and husband. I can only hope that one day I’ll be lucky enough to have a man love me as much as my dad loved my mom. What I’ve learned from this experience, this loss is, that at the end of the day, we’re all human. Our titles, our social status, our money—none of that stuff matters when it’s our time to go.” Understanding crosses some of the faces staring back at me.
“I know he’s in a better place, and he’s at peace. I’m relieved that he no longer feels pain. Call me selfish, but that doesn’t make me miss him any less, nor does it dull the pain I feel of having to let him go. A pain so fierce it hurts to breathe because my heart is broken.” I feel the first tear roll down my cheek and pool between my lips. Soon, there are more. I don’t care.
Dr. Ramos stands from her seat and moves to the steps, but I give her a slight shake of my head and turn to my mom. I can barely see her through the tears in my eyes. I struggle to swallow past the lump in my throat, my chest heaving as I fight to catch my breath. “I speak for my mom as well when I tell you that my dad was the moon in the night sky. The sun on a cloudy day. He was our life. Our world. He was our everything. I’ll miss you, Daddy,” I choke out the last words, and Dr. Ramos is immediately at my side, wrapping her arm around my shoulders, and guiding me back to my seat.
“That was beautiful, Jayla,” she whispers in my ear. “I have no doubt that your father is very proud of you, because I know I am.”