Poppa Mack

Richard "P​ Mack" is the father I never had.

I make this statement, not to shame or blame absentee parents, but to highlight and honor a man who far exceeded his role as a substitute.

I​t was September 2011, the beginning of my sophomore year at John Jay College, the school of my dreams. 'd watched my fair share of "Law & Order: SVU" episodes and was certain I would be the next Olivia Benson! This was my shot.

Freshman year of college was more like the 13th grade, a subtle transition from high school. Sophomore year was when the pace began to pick up. But as soon as I was starting to adjust to college life, my home life was crumbling.

An eviction that was pending for months had gone into full , leaving my family and I at the mercy of the cold, unkind, streets of New York City.

I was 18 years old, so in the eyes of the law, I was an "adult". And although it's not uncommon for an 18-year old to be pressured to leave their homes, this was different: I wasn't pressured, I was forced out.

Vulnerable and afraid of the real threat of being homeless, I turned to an organization where I knew I could get help.

Safe Space was a drop-in center for youth and a place where I spent most of my after school hours during my high school years. I shared my circumstances with one of the staff that I trusted. He told me about a transitional living program for youth called "" and put me in contact with the Program Coordinator, Richard .

R​ , or Mack for short, is the embodiment of what a "stand up guy" .

The moment I first spoke to him, I knew I could trust him and I believed that everything would be okay. the reassurance in his tone, the kindness and compassion. I could actually hear him smile through the phone!

He said to me ", don't worry, you're gonna be fine. I got you, hang tight"

What I didn't know about the process was, before securing a room at , required that each youth goes through what's known as a "crisis shelter". This place was called Covenant House.

On any given night, there were over 300 homeless youth, each floor separated by gender and status (the length of time a youth had been living there).

The 20 bedrooms on the girls unit held at least 6-8 girls per room, all strangers. As you may imagine, there were constant fights, arguments, theft, broken rules and restrictions; chaotic.

Most youth spend a months in the crisis shelter and although I stayed for two weeks, it felt like the longest two weeks of my life! I called Mack EVERY single day, and each time he would answer in his reassuring tone saying, " Don't worry , I got you". And he kept his word, as I was out of in less than a month.

E​ was a new and unfamiliar experience for me, , much calmer and welcoming than the crisis shelter. Living with 11 strangers due to homelessness wasn't the vision I had in mind when starting my college journey, but Mack helped the experience go . I pretended that I was living in a dorm. Safe Haven was the stability I needed to help me succesfully get though college.

Every Wednesday we had "family meetings". Mack would take the time and ask each of us how our days went and if there was any good news we wanted to share. On Sundays, Mack would cook with us and have "family dinner". At the time, I didn't even know how to boil eggs but Mack taught me how to make some traditional Jamaican dishes such as jerk chicken, rice and peas, oxtails and red pea soup.

M​ of us either had strained relationships with our parents or didn't have parents at all. , when time for parent-teacher conferences (for the high-school level youth), Mack would step into the role of a father and attend each meeting. If a resident had court involvement, Mack was hands on, communicating with lawyers, attending court dates and advocating for them.

When trying to find the right words, considerate is an understatement when describing Mack's character.

For example, I'm severely allergic to peanuts and I have asthma. Mack would make sure there were no peanuts or peanut butter on the girls unit. When my asthma flared up, he showed me how to make a homemade "Nettie pot" with boiling water and peppermint oil to open my airways. He also introduced me to the unpleasant concoction of orange juice and cayenne pepper (it's kinda gross but it helps with congestion).

If a resident didn't eat meat or had food allergies, Mack would personally go grocery shopping to buy foods that accommodated their dietary restrictions. He always made sure our stay was as comfortable and felt as "home- like" as possible. Mack put the "safe" in .

W​e would often tell him, "Mack, you need to slow down. Take a vacation. You're doing too much" But that man could not be stopped!

I​n the summer of 2012, I was scheduled to undergo my first surgery. I had been diagnosed with endometriosis the year prior, and needed to have large cysts removed from my ovaries.

was and worst yet, I would be spending my recovery in a place that wasn't my actual "home" or with my biological family.

But Mack, being the thoughtful, loving person he is, me to and from my appointment, picked up my grandmother, aunt and cousins from their homes and brought them to the hospital so that they were present before and after my procedure. Mack knew how important that day was for me, and went above and beyond to make sure I felt supported.

He earned the nickname "Poppa Mack", as he had certainly become more to me than a program coordinator.

W​hen I aged out of the program, time to look for my first apartment. I was 20 years old with no tenant history but I had a pretty good credit score. , my roommate from , and I began searching for a place together.

Most landlords were skeptical about renting to us because we were so young, but Mack ​vouched for our characters by assuring them we were responsible college students who had the financial means to cover our living expenses. And after a little persistence and persuasion, and I moved into our apartment the following week.

E​ year, after we transitioned out of the program, Mack would call and invite us back to for Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner. It had become a joyous tradition, as we reunited with the staff and old roommates with whom we shared what may have been the toughest time in our lives. Those dinners helped keep our chosen family together.

M​ was fully committed to his "work-kids", arriving in the mornings and leaving late in the evenings, all while in pursuit of his Master's Degree. He showed us the true meaning of having priorities. We often wondered if he was actually human, because he managed to follow through with every promise he made to us, without complaining or breaking a sweat.

B​ it nearly killed him. .

I​t was November 2019, which meant thanksgiving was approaching. I looked to receiving my text-invite from Mack for our "family dinner" at . Weeks passed and still nothing. I sent him a text saying, "Hey Poppa Mack, no dinner this year?", but didn't get a response.

I found it a bit odd, but didn't overthink it. reached out to my family to see if they'd heard anything, but they hadn't either. "Life get's busy and happen", I thought to myself, and Mack was ALWAYS busy. Besides, Christmas was right around the corner so, I was sure we'd receive a text around .

C​ came and went. Still, no word from Poppa Mack.

Then, 2020 rang in, the year that none of us will forget.

I vividly remember the day I received a text message from my old roommate, . Valentine's Day weekend.

The text message contained a "GoFundMe" link and Poppa Mack's picture was attached. My heart sank into the pit of my stomach as I had instantly assumed the worst. With the world being in such an eerie state, I couldn't endure any bad news.

"Please God, please don't let this be what I think this is. Please, I can't", I desperately pleaded aloud to myself.

It took me a moments before I could muster up the courage to click the link and read the description. A brief wave of relief came over me. Thankfully, it wasn't the daunting news I was unprepared for, but the alternative wasn't much better.

Mack suffered a hemorrhagic stroke in November 2019, hence the reason none of us heard from him. A hemorrhagic stroke happens when a ruptured blood vessel causes bleeding inside the brain. As a result, he lost the ability to speak, walk, and even feed himself. The funds being raised were to help cover medical expenses for his stay at a rehabilitation center.

Iwas devastated.

H​ow did this happen? The strong, resilient, hardworking, energetic, seemingly healthy man I knew, was helpless. And there was nothing any of us could do besides donate and pray.

M​y family and I would try to make light of the situation saying, " now he'll sit still!" But of course, this wasn't the way we hoped it would happen; not like this Poppa Mack.

T​he family kept us updated on the recovery process via the "GoFundMe" page, , the last post was on February 22, 2020.

After the status updates stopped, m​y friends and I began to send text messages to Mack's phone, letting him know that we're all praying for his recovery. At first, some of us would receive responses (which we later learned were from his wife), who informed us that she was reading our messages to him. But then, the responses to the texts stopped too.

Weeks went by. I reached out to Mack's old co-workers, the staff from , his biological children via Facebook and the prior residents who connected with him. No one, not a single person had any news on Mack's status.

W​ started to settle in and I began having vivid, realistic dreams. In these dreams, I would cry and tell Mack that everyone was worried, wondering how he's doing and if he's being treated well. Mack would smile, that warm, charming smile of his, and tell me he was doing okay. But that didn't suffice. I needed to know for sure, in real life.

I​t's been nearly 3 years since I've seen Poppa Mack in person or heard his voice. There have been countless times I've wanted to call and share my good news, or stop by to see how he's doing.

so milestones happening in our lives. Shauna had a baby, got married, Sabrina finished undergrad and is working on her Masters. I know we're making him proud, but I also know that he'd want to be involved.

Iwish I could help him.

wish I could his pain.

wish healing was as simple as making him some red pea soup or a glass of orange juice with cayenne pepper to make everything all better. But, it's not.

Although I have feelings of anguish, I can imagine the heartache and challenges his family is experiencing, his wife, his children. I understand and respect their choice to protect his privacy, as I'm sure that's what he would want. I continue to pray for them as well.

Mack has made such an immense impact in the world with his presence, so his temporary absence leaves a crater in our hearts.

A "thank you" isn't nearly enough to cover the insurmountable you've done for me. I am eternally grateful for your continuous love, kindness and compassion. Thank you for your patience and all the lessons, when I was too stubborn to listen. You are my hero in more ways than one and I hope that my prayers, and all our prayers, are strong enough to serve as a cape to reciprocate the heroism.

I'm not sure when, but I believe that one day soon, Mack will fully recover and be able to read this story. Until then, these words will serve as a token of my gratitude. , he can read it during our next family dinner.

Poppa Mack, I'll save you a seat!