Thoughts on The Lion King: After

Mufasa: Simba, let me tell you something my father told me. Look at the stars. The great kings of the past look down on us from those stars. 

Young Simba: Really? 

Mufasa: Yes. So whenever you feel alone, just remember that those kings will always be there to guide you. And so will I. 

Today, as part of our training requirements, we had a movie night in our town. We planned to watch Frozen, but a few things went wrong and we ended up watching The Lion King.

Almost immediately, I started getting emotional. (Note: for me, emotional means feeling a tightness in my chest, remaining stoic, and shedding approximately zero tears.) I realized how long it had been since I’d seen this movie. I can’t pinpoint a day, month, or year, but I immediately, overwhelmingly realized that the last time I’d seen it was before Dad’s death.

(Remember how my life feels divided into Before and After? The after continues to be confuse me daily.)

Watching The Lion King today—after—I was hyper aware of any and all connections I had to the story. 

Like Mufasa, Dad scolded us very, very rarely and he was always quick to forgive. He had a strong, silent presence that I miss constantly.

When Mufasa died, I almost left the room. (And by that I mean I considered going outside but stayed firmly planted in my chair, eyes stinging but dry, and forced myself to confront my feelings, but my friends likely had no idea that I was having a silent breakdown.)

The way Simba runs to his father’s body, touches him, urges him to wake up, and feels extreme guilt for his father’s death…I’m not saying that’s autobiographical…actually, fuck it, yes I am.

It was a Wednesday. I’d been planning to see him that morning at 11. At 10:45, I missed three calls from Bev. I called back and Uncle Greg answered and said we’d talk when I got there.

I sped. I called Jasmine when I got to the roundabout and left her a voicemail, and then she called me back and I told her that I was driving to Dad’s but that I thought something was wrong. I didn’t know exactly what, but I felt like I needed to prepare her. She’d been planning on coming back home to see him in two days, and I thought maybe he’d gone into a coma. Maybe she’d never hear his voice again.

I got to his house, and people hugged me and comforted me, even though nobody had told me what happened. I went into his bedroom and sat in the same spot I’d occupied the night before. I held his hand as I had before, but everything was different. Now was after.

That was my moment after the stampede, and the silence was excruciating. It was just me and him…actually, maybe it was just me. There were no sounds of his breathing. No rustling of blankets as he turned in his sleep. He wasn’t going to wake up and say, “Hey, baby.” There were no sounds of old westerns playing on the TV. It was too quiet, life without him. Life after him.

I held it together for a minute, and then I sobbed, because I knew I had to call Jasmine. I didn’t beg him to wake up—at least not out loud—but I felt like he should just be able to open his eyes at any moment and give us—give Jasmine—one more day with him.

And then I felt crushing, crushing guilt, not because I felt responsible for his death, but because I’d led Jasmine to believe that there was more time. On Monday, I’d told her I had a feeling she should come home soon, but that of course she didn’t need to get on the train that night. Of course she could wait until Friday.

I called Jasmine and somehow the words “Dad died” left my mouth. I remember almost nothing else, except that I apologized to her over and over and she just kept saying “it’s not your fault.” She was so calm in that moment—she managed to save her breakdown until after she hung up—and I was sitting in his house and the funeral home hadn’t come to pick up his body and I felt the enormous weight of life After Dad. The rest of the world was going on the same as it had before, and I had to call Jasmine and Mom and I had to tell my boss that I wouldn’t be coming back to work yet, that my early lunch break had turned into a long weekend.

When my brother called and asked “How’s Dad?” I had to break the news.

I had to tell friends in St. Louis that I needed to drive up there and sit on their couch and wait for Jasmine’s train to come.

All I wanted to do was run away by myself, pick Jasmine up from the train station, and listen to Jimi Hendrix and Gil Scott-Heron on repeat. 

(To this day, when I need to feel calm, and especially during literal storms, I sing “All Along the Watchtower.” Over and over and over.)

I told Dad’s family that I was planning to go get Jasmine, and they all insisted that I take someone with me. That they could go with me. I said that I was fine, but obviously Mom and Daddy Mike and sisters and all the people who love me weren’t about to let me cry-drive into a telephone pole, so Mom drove me. I didn’t cry for the rest of the day.

Okay honestly I didn’t mean to go into that much detail about my equivalent of the post-stampede scene, and I am sobbing in my room and I gave myself a headache so I’m moving on.

(Mark your calendars, y’all: on October 8, 2016, Jade had her first cry in Nicaragua. I think the first since Dad’s birthday week, actually.)


When Simba asks Rafiki, “You knew my father?” and Rafiki responds, “Correction: I know your father,” I felt a tightness in my chest. When I speak English, I almost always, on instinct, refer to Dad in the present tense. Even eight months later, he feels present.

When Rafiki makes Simba look at his reflection to see his father, he says, “He lives in you.” That seems like such an obvious statement, but some days I need the reminder. I think if you’d asked Dad at any point during the last 2+ decades, “what are you proudest of?” he would have responded, “my girls.” Are we his legacy?

The weight of a legacy can feel really heavy when people have high expectations of you, but I never felt like Dad expected us to do great things; he simply knew we would. He has no Pride Rock. I don’t think he’d ever see my life as an extension of his, as something that he started and left me to finish. He just…sees me and believes in me. He sees me completely differently than I see myself.

He wrote that I’m a wonderful daughter.

That I’m warm.



Everything that one could ask for in a daughter.

I feel that I think pretty highly of myself, but for years, I’ve described myself negatively in the following ways:

Bad daughter. Cold and unemotional. Rude. Unfriendly. Selfish.

But damn it. He loves me. Loved me. Loves me. He’s never blamed me. He sees me for all the things I’ve done right, and he forgives all the things I’ve done wrong. And I’ve done a lot of things wrong. I feel like I did fine when I was a kid, but as soon as I got a whiff of independence, I spent a decade being a shitty daughter. Then two years being an okay daughter.

All he sees is wonderful. Everything one could ask for in a daughter. Can that part of him live in me? I want it to. I want to forgive. I want to see the best and let go of the worst.

Sometimes (often) I’m angry that I have to live the rest of my life without him, that I didn’t have more time to do better with him. That I didn’t do better with the time I had with him.

Sometimes I feel like I’m growing into a new person and he can’t witness it. Maybe…hopefully…hopefully I’m becoming the person he always saw. Maybe I can become more like him in all the right ways.

Funny without trying. Patient. Calm. Forgiving. 

(Okay this post used to be about The Lion King and now that I’ve stopped crying I think it’s gone waaaaay downhill and also it feels sooooo loooooong.)

It’s hard to compare much of my experience to The Lion King because Simba ran away in a way that I really haven’t, and he came back in a way that I haven’t needed to. (I’ve actually been pretty open with my feelings since Dad’s death. Mostly with Jasmine, but that still counts.)

I do see myself in Simba’s guilt, and even though I know none of this is my fault, I will probably always feel some regret. 

Maybe I should try to tie this up with one last cheesy Lion King reference about facing your feelings head on? (And maybe crying more than once in six months, you robot.)

Maybe I could say something about confronting your past (confronting years of guilt over being a bad daughter) and kicking it into the fire and allowing life to continue and flourish without the burden of that negativity?

SORRY Y’ALL, I’m tired and my comparisons fell flat a long time ago but this has been cathartic. Goodnight.

13 thoughts on “Thoughts on The Lion King: After

  1. Allyson Handley October 9, 2016 / 2:00 pm

    You are wonderful, and he knew it. I didn’t have the pleasure of meeting your father, but I too lost a dad who thought I was amazing even though I am, in my own estimation, awful. I also have a young daughter. I guarantee you that your parents know the shine of your soul.

    We’re all imperfect, and we all go through particularly unloveable times when the worst of us is on display. It doesn’t matter to dads like ours — they’re the non-twin version of the twin sibling. He’s one-half of the love, the work, the determination that gave you the force to build on your foundations. You and your family did him proud, I am sure. Parents ask for no more because they knew their version of blindingly awesome children when they see it.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Restabrook15 October 9, 2016 / 2:40 pm

    I don’t have any words, just thinking about you.


  3. Jackie October 9, 2016 / 2:48 pm

    Now I am feeling that tight feeling in my chest. We love you so much. You are all the wonderful and beautiful things your dad saw in you. I know I can’t begin to relate to how it feels to lose a parent, but I do understand those moments in your life that mark a before and after. Sometimes living in the after makes you feel guilty for moving beyond that turning point in your life. But your dad would be so proud of you for thriving in your new adventure. ❤️

    PS our couch is always open. Well, metaphorically, since we are couchless currently. But thanks for letting me awkward hug you that day, because I didn’t know what to do other than awkward hug you and repeatedly offer hot beverages haha

    Liked by 1 person

    • Jade October 9, 2016 / 2:51 pm

      You’re the best. I was thinking of that hug earlier. It was definitely needed even though all my tears had dried up. I was so glad I got to see you guys that day.


  4. Anna October 9, 2016 / 3:50 pm

    Ohhh man. Okay yeah, I had tears streaming down my dumb face while reading this. I love you so much.

    You are the best daughter, you are the best daughter, you are the best daughter. I know we’ve talked about mutually feeling that ~shitty daughter~ thing before, so I know what it’s like to have that guilt trail you around. But you were there for him. You were there with him. And he’s still with you.

    Also what the actual hell, two nights ago Julia and I fell down a Disney songs wormhole, cause we used to have those Disney Hits Volume 1/2/3 etc as kids that we’d listen to on our portable CD players. Well “He Lives In You” from TLK on Broadway came on, and that was one of my all time favorites, and it SLAYED ME. I instantly knew I’ll be getting “he lives in you” tattooed on me.

    I miss you so much. I wish I’d been with you in that room, dying silently over The Lion King.


    Liked by 1 person

  5. Nicole October 9, 2016 / 4:01 pm

    I also had that bad few years where I still feel horribly guilty about how I treated my dad. My dad continues to say the same to me, and I’m certain all dads would, they love and always forgive. Thank you for sharing this with us. Love and hugs, friend.


  6. Gramps October 9, 2016 / 4:27 pm

    Jade, as I sit at Brad & Kathy’s reading your post a number of thoughts & emotions run thru my mind ranging from giving advice to reaching out and giving you a big hug. After reflecting on the post a moment or two I think the best course is sending a big HUG full of love & admiration!! Having said that, and I suspect you know I will feel compelled to say something additional, let me share a couple added observations.

    Life happens. Our goal should be to make our best effort as life occurs. Looking back on those efforts…. reflecting on the outcomes… can be productive when analyzing how to improve…..but…. one must not be too reflective and beat oneself up with thoughts of negativity. Make no mistake about it….. you are an admirable person filled with good works and the capacity to make this world a better place for others. Just ask the good lord to help you recognize the path you are supposed to follow when you can’t see around the corners. That’s where faith carries you thru the rough spots.

    I am so glad you have the courage to openly write about your feelings. That is extremely healthy. Isn’t it neat that emotions near & dear to our heart can be triggered by books such as Harry Potter & films such as The Lion King?

    Love, Gramps


    • Jade October 10, 2016 / 5:47 pm

      Thank you for the hug and for your words of wisdom. Most days, I feel like I have let go of any guilt, and I feel very very lucky to be so loved despite my flaws. I am definitely doing what I can to better myself day by day, and I generally try to live without regrets, but negative thoughts sometimes have a way of sneaking in.
      Love you!


  7. Jasmine Johnson October 9, 2016 / 6:32 pm

    The Lion King messes me up so bad. For some reason I’ve associated The Lion King with Dad since long before he died. I haven’t watched it since, but it’ll probably wreck me. You know I have the same struggles re: daughterhood, so I can’t help much there. But for me, that’s why I was so set on doing that eulogy. That was a sort of cleansing, a request to the universe to absolution. I thought that I had something to prove–to myself, at least–and I felt that I owed him. And it was enough. I felt the slate wipng clean that day. That isn’t to say that I don’t still feel twinges of regret, or that there’s nothing I’d no differently. But I feel like I’ve been absolved, and that he heard me and knew.

    Liked by 2 people

  8. Andrew October 10, 2016 / 5:41 pm

    Wow. So beautiful, and powerful, and rambly, and sincere. Thank you so much for sharing, and for posting on FB so I learn you have a blog 😉


    Liked by 1 person

    • Jade October 11, 2016 / 12:48 pm

      Rambly is my specialty 😁


  9. Aunt Lindi October 10, 2016 / 9:08 pm

    Wow! How I admire your writing! I wish I could write my feelings like this yet I hate writing. Never a forte of mine. I struggle with that type off thing yet know how powerful it is for healing the inner soul.
    Its so interesting how we see ourselves differently than how anyone else or God sees us. The best part is God gets us through the storms of life as we trust in Him. I recently read a book called Unashamed by Christine Caine and in it says” The journey from shame (guilt, mistrust, fears, etc) to freedom and a full life in Christ must be a blatantly honest, nothing-hidden voyage…what we dont reveal cant be healed. Our wounds need treatment, and the only way they’ll be healed is if we acknowledge them, uncover them, and hold them up to the One who can help.” As you continue on this journey, working through your feelings, allowing God to heal your inner soul, know that you will be a blessing to others. I love you Jade! You are a blessing, an exceptional, smart, young lady and am glad you are in my life!
    I have a wonderful memory of taking you and Jasmine to The Lion King. That and Spirit are two of my favorite movies probably because of those messages it sends out.


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