The People Who Built Me: Poppy

This is a hard one to write.

My Poppy passed away in 2021. He had only been in my life since November of 2018, but that didn't make losing him any easier. We may not have had the same kind of relationship my cousins or my little brother had with him, but that doesn't change what he meant to me. The time we had was enough for him to leave fingerprints on the person I'm still becoming. That's what hurts the most—knowing we didn't have the time together that I would've had if I'd known him as a kid or even as a teenager.

If I'm being completely honest, one of my biggest regrets is not making more trips to Washington to see him. I always thought I'd have more time.

That's one of the hardest lessons he unknowingly taught me.

We spend so much of our lives saying, I'll go next month. I'll call next week. I'll make time when life slows down.

We get too caught up to check on family. Some of us spend too much time on our phones, assuming there will always be another holiday, another birthday, another visit.

Then one day, there isn't another chance.

Poppy was always the first one to call on my birthday and on Christmas. Usually around 12:00 a.m. his time—1:00 a.m. mine.

Even now, I still wake up on those mornings almost expecting to see a missed call from him on my phone. For just a second, before reality catches up, part of me still thinks he's going to call.

I still catch myself wanting to text him, "Happy Father's Day," or "Happy Birthday."

Grief is funny like that. It doesn't always show up as tears. Sometimes it shows up as reaching for a phone call that will never come, or waking up hoping to see a missed call from someone you'll never hear from again.

When he went into the hospital, I was touring beauty schools and filling out applications.

The morning he passed away was the same morning I got accepted.

I found out I had been accepted before I found out I had lost him.

I remember trying to call his phone because I hadn't heard from him. There was no answer.

That wasn't like him.

Then I got the call.

I was shattered.

The last thing Poppy ever said to me was, "One way or another, you'll get in. I'll pray and do what I can."

Those words never left me.

Later, I learned I had gotten the very last spot in that class.

I don't believe the same way Poppy did. Our faiths were different.

But I believe his prayers helped open that door.

Maybe some people would call it coincidence.

I don't.

I believe he prayed with everything he had, and somehow, one way or another, those prayers reached exactly where they needed to. I've never been able to separate getting that last spot from the promise he made me.

For a long time, I carried those words with me.

I started beauty school believing I had to finish because he believed in me. But after six months, I was miserable. Every day felt heavier than the one before. I wanted nothing more than to pick up the phone and tell Poppy how hard it was.

Except I couldn't.

I remember thinking that if I quit, I'd be letting him down. So I pushed myself for another month. I tried to convince myself I could stick it out.

Eventually, I had to admit that walking away wasn't failure—it was choosing a different path. Looking back now, I don't think Poppy would've been disappointed in me at all. I think he would've wanted me to find the place where I truly belonged.

And somehow...

I did.

Not in a salon.

But in people's homes.

Still taking care of others.

Still listening to their stories.

Still building relationships that matter.

Poppy was a man of faith. Even though I don't share the same beliefs, I admired the way he lived them. He believed in people. He prayed for them. He loved quietly, but deeply.

His faith wasn't something he used to impress anyone. It was simply who he was.

I still think about him more often than people probably realize. Certain mornings. Certain holidays. Certain moments when life gets hard and I wish I could hear his voice one more time.

The time we had together wasn't long.

But it was enough.

Enough for him to teach me not to wait to love people.

Enough for him to remind me that encouragement can stay with someone long after you're gone.

Enough for him to show me that believing in someone can change the course of their life.

Enough for him to become one of the people who helped build me.

I just wish I would've told him that while he was here.

I love you, Poppy.

Happy Heavenly Birthday Poppy,

Love,

Mickey / Meeka