To the Man who showed me what type of Man to Marry: I wrote a letter to you in the Sand of Puerto Rico.
As I opened the patio door of the hotel room in San Juan, Puerto Rico, a rush reached the pit of my stomach. A little peace mixed with a tummy ache. I looked down and saw a woman standing on her tippy toes, her arms out and the wind recklessly blowing her hair. The woman was standing in picture ready position with a turquoise two-piece that matched the scenery of the water and sky behind her. I watched intensely as her hands with from above her head, to on her waist, to on her backside. I wanted to shout, "Go awf Sis." But I knew she couldn't hear me. I knew she could only hear the waves crashing behind her. And then suddenly the pit of my stomach felt peaceful. In that moment, I grabbed my notebook and rushed down the steps to sit closer to the crashing waves.
I stood. I could not sit. There was an energy from the earth was closing in on my body. Thoughts came crashing to my mind like the blue and white waves crashing on the desolated rocks.
Uncle Jeff is really gone. Did he really die? Oh, no. Or did he just go on vacation? Did all of that really just happen? Sara. Yes it did. They said he would not make it through the night. They pronounced him dead by 9pm on Wednesday. I don't like the word dead. He passed away, Sara. Uncle Jeff passed away.
The thoughts continued to crash my mind with no ending close. More questions than answers. More rationalizations for comfort. The tightness in my stomach got tighter, like someone was playing tug and war with my stomach. Tears flowed down my eyes in a stremic fashion, slower than the waves were coming in but fast enough for my chest to catch the drips. Drips like a broken faucet. I looked deeper into the ocean. Deep enough that I found where the blueish-gray sky and the blueish-green ocean met and kissed. In that moment, the tears stopped. An energy released out my body as I exhaled. I sat and wrote.
Dear Uncle Jeff (The Man who showed me what type of Man to marry):
Thank you for teaching me what a man is.
Thank you for teaching me that a man should be a boss in his own right.
That a man should pursue, provide, and protect me.
That a man should treatment like the princess that I am.
That a man should make me laugh.
That I am the prize.
Thank you for never taking it easy on any man I dated.
Thank you for putting the fear in me that you would clown any man who did not live up to your standards.
Thank you for talking to Scooter and I when we were teenagers.
Thank you for telling us to wait for marriage and kids.
Thank you for telling us to enjoy our youth and have fun.
Thank you for letting me drink at your house even though I was underage.
Thank you for letting us pop the most expensive bottles.
Thank you for all the shots of ciroc.
Thank you for all the shots of tequila.
Thank you for buying Angry Orchards because you knew it was Scooter and I "beer."
Thank you for partying with us.
Thank you for saying it aint a thing but a chicken wing
Anytime I wanted something.
Thank you for being present.
Thank you for all the presents.
Thank you for your presence.
I could see the sky and the sea separating. The blueish gray sky is now blue with a orange tint. The reflection of the blue and orange hits the sea and create a picture perfect landscape. God is ever more real in this moment. The refreshing sound of the calmed waves and the entanglement of the wind on my body creates a tranquil feeling within my heart. The tightness of my stomach is released and the memories flood the front of my mind. I smile. I open place the pen to the paper.
Dear Jeff Cofield,
I can hear you say, "I'm Jeff Cofield and Ima die Jeff Cofield shorty." And those words have never rang truer than today. You lived and died true to your name. You etched your name in the hearts of many and your legacy will carry on for the next generations of the Cofield family. You reminded us daily that you came from poverty and built a million-dollar company brick by brick. "Ima survivor baby" is the words you repeated to us. But, Jeff Cofield wasn't just a survivor. He was a thriver. You thrived beyond your own imagination and became all our hero. You broke generational curses and inspired us all.
The sky and the sea kiss again. The blueish-black sky and dark blue waves merge together as one. Although the sound of the waves crashing into the earth is overwhelming, I hear laughter in a distance. I see shadows walking in a distance and heads falling back with white teeth glowing to the sky. I'm not sure what the two guys are laughing about but I chuckle to myself. And write one last note.
To the playa from the Himalayas,
How could I leave out how much of a jokester you were
We all were the butt of your jokes at one point
We all knew you watched Martin too much
You was always stompin' with tha big dogs
or saying "you go girl"
You turned pained to laughs
And added a little champagne.
Well a lot of champagne.
I'll see you soon Uncle Jeff
Our pop eyes will meet again in Paradise
And Jordan
So for your classic Martin ending
One love, Uncle Jeff.
(And I know, you don't do social media. Don't worry, everybody looking for you now)
