March 4th

Next Saturday is March 4th. Next Saturday, I'll be enjoying a day in Kansas City with friends, attending a concert we've all been excited to attend. I'm sure it will be a day full of fun and laughter as my friends never fail to disappoint in the entertainment department. But next Saturday is March 4th. 

I've never written publicly about the significance of March 4th in my world. Only very few of my closest family members and friends know the meaning of this date and how it relates to my life. 

I ask those of you reading this to keep an open mind and heart. Because some of those that read this may view it as hurtful or confusing. And  it is not my intention to hurt or confuse. However, the purpose of this blog is to help me deal with life and to hope that it helps others, so I'm opening up in regards to a very personal subject. 

What is March 4th? March 4, 2017 would have been my father's 48th birthday. 

Now, I know what some of you are thinking. What do you mean would have been your father's 48th birthday? Your dad is still alive and well. (I am in NO way discounting the dad that raised me from the time I was 3 by writing this post - if you feel that is my intention then maybe reading this blog is not for you). 

Jesse Dwane Cantrell. Born March 4, 1969. Died August 22, 1987.

My mother named me Jessica after him. Before I was adopted by my dad, we even shared the same initials, JDC (Jessica Danielle Childers - Childers being my mom's maiden name). 

I never got the chance to meet my biological father. My mom learned she was pregnant shortly after my father's passing. It wasn't until I was ten or so that my mom told me about him. I'll never forget the details of that day, the smell of pork chops frying in the kitchen or the sadness in my mom's voice as she told me about him. 

At 14, I spent a month of my summer in North Carolina with my Grandma. I expressed to her that I wanted to visit his grave-site, not to stir up trouble or questions, but for myself. She and my Aunt Betty took me to visit. I'll never forget how I felt, walking up to a grave-site half covered by a plant, for a man that I'd never known or get the chance to know, but who is very much a part of me. 

I don't know much about my father. For years, I could hardly get my mom to open up about him (although I can't say that I blame her or would be any different given the chance to walk in her shoes). But this year, I've gotten her to provide a little insight on him and who he was. 

He was a gifted guitar player (I wore a guitar pick of his pinned to my dress as my "something old" on my wedding day). He was outgoing. My mom learned to drive a "3 on the tree" from him. She says I get my free spirit from him. My creativity, my artsyness, my ability to write. And some of my stubbornness (but let's be honest, I get a lot of that from her too). 

Some days I swear I feel his presence around me. Isn't that crazy? To feel the presence of someone I've never known? 

March 4th sneaks up on me every year. My mood the few days leading up to it is often "off." I've had a great life, blessed beyond measure, but March 4th stirs up a lot of feeling and emotion within me. 

So this year, on your birthday, I'm going to commemorate you by spending an evening with my friends, at a concert (because I know you loved music, even if you wouldn't be thrilled with my choice in it). Hope you're looking down and smiling.