𝗟𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗘𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗗𝗮𝘆 𝗪𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗙𝘂𝗹𝗹𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀

Over the weekend, I was in New Orleans. For those who have been, you know exactly what that means. For those who have never been, it would be too much to describe, and you are really missing out.

But I was not there just for the food, drinks, and good times. I went to support my wife as she and her loved ones paid their final respects to her father.

My wife is an only child, so for those who can relate, I know you can feel her pain. I felt it too. I thought about my siblings, five boys and one girl, and she was the youngest. She died in 2011.

My wife’s family is Catholic, so her dad’s funeral was a Mass. The priest delivered a message that took me to another place: “Live every day with fullness.”

After the service, I had the opportunity to meet more of her people, and they were all wonderful. A friend of mine came along for the trip. His wife let him get away for a few days, and there was no way he was going to miss it. I was glad he was there because we shared the same agenda: food, drinks, more food, more drinks, and plenty of laughing and talking shit.

Later, we sat on the hotel patio, watching people pass by after the Saints game. In a city as alive as New Orleans, it was a reminder that life keeps moving, and that we should live every day with fullness.

He is a little older than me. He has been there, done that, and he carries himself like somebody who has learned a few things along the way. He is genuinely a great person, the kind of man whose character shows in how he talks about his kids, his wife, and his life.

That matters to me. I respect him because he loves his family, and I love mine. In moments like that, you realize that regardless of age, background, or where life has taken you, men still deal with a lot of the same things. We carry responsibilities. We make mistakes. We try to be better husbands, fathers, friends, and men.

Of course, we also made sure to enjoy New Orleans the right way. We pigged out on Coffee and Beignets at Cafe Du Monde, caught plenty of sun, and had more than a few drinks. Between the laughs and the bullshit, we had real conversations about the things men go through, and more importantly, how we have to hold ourselves accountable.

That was part of what made the trip meaningful. It was a weekend marked by loss, family, friendship, food, and reflection. Somewhere between the funeral Mass, the streets of New Orleans, and the conversations on that hotel patio, that priest’s words stayed with me: “Live every day with fullness.”

I learned a few things about my wife on this trip.

When people talk about Black women, they often talk about strength, and rightfully so. Strength is woven into so many of their stories. But what I saw in my wife that weekend was something else too: grace.

I was there to be strong for her. Her mother was there. Her children were there. Her extended family was there. She was surrounded by people who loved her and wanted to hold her up through one of the hardest moments of her life.

And still, she carried herself with a quiet grace that stayed with me. Through the grief, the family gatherings, the long days, and all the emotions that come with losing a parent, she showed love, patience, and dignity. It was a sight to see.

Watching her reminded me that grace is not the absence of pain. Grace is feeling the weight of it all and still moving forward with love. It is allowing people to support you without losing yourself. It is honoring the person you lost while continuing to show up for the people who are still here.

That weekend, I saw my wife not only as my partner, but as a daughter, a mother, and a woman deeply loved by her family. I walked away with even more respect for her than I had before.

I asked my friend for advice.

Like a man who has lived a little life, he did not rush to tell me what I should do. Instead, he told me a story about something he had been through. Somewhere in that story was the lesson, and if I paid attention closely enough, I would probably find my answer right there.

That is how life works sometimes. The answers do not always come as direct instructions. They show up in someone else’s experience, in a hard conversation, in a mistake we made, or in a moment when we finally stop long enough to listen.

Life is a process, and everyone deserves the chance to grow. Without growth, we become like a field with no flowers, a garden without crops, or a day at the beach when you never step into the water.

You can stand close to life, look at it, and talk about what it might feel like. But eventually, you have to get in. You have to take the lessons, own your mistakes, accept the love around you, and keep moving forward.

But between all that reflection, my friend and I got busy tearing up the New Orleans food scene.

I am talking po’boys, shrimp, soft shell crab, wings, the whole deal. We stopped at Cajun Seafood on Claiborne. Old school got crawfish, and I had to ask, “Crawfish in August?” I tried one anyway, even though I should have known better. It felt like leather. The turkey necks were salty as hell, but somehow, they were still delicious.

Then, we hit the food trucks across the street under the bridge, where we had grilled oysters and a few more drinks. Somewhere between the food and the conversations, my friend continued lacing me up about life and the things I could improve.

It was not judgment. It was about having good judgment.

Possessing good judgment is paramount while navigating your ship to greatness and breaking free from trying conditions. It matters when building friendships, loving people, forgiving others, and showing grace. The same grace my wife showed. The same grace I saw from everyone who gathered at the Mass to honor her father.

Later that night, the family met for dinner at Lulu’s to celebrate his life. It was a wonderful experience. I ordered the blackened redfish, and it was a little too salty, but the drinks were on point.

More than anything, I watched my wife smile, laugh, and enjoy time with her family. After all the grief, all the memories, and all the emotion of the weekend, seeing her surrounded by love meant everything.

She is evolving in so many ways. Being there in New Orleans, I could see it happening right in front of me.

Again, all I could think about was the priest’s message: “Live every day with fullness.”

I was happy to be in a city where the food was not only delicious, but where the vibe, warmth, and comfort felt natural. New Orleans has a way of making you feel like you belong, even when you are just passing through.

I learned a lot about myself on that trip too. I learned that I am still evolving every day. God has blessed me in so many ways, and for that, I will never take life, or the people in it, for granted.

I left New Orleans carrying a lot of emotions. I was happy, sad, and proud of my wife all at once. Watching her move through grief with such grace was a sight to behold. She reminded me that strength does not always have to be loud. Sometimes, it is quiet. Sometimes, it is patient. Sometimes, it simply shows up with love.

And somewhere along the way, we went to Stein Market and Deli, and I experienced the most delicious Reuben sandwich I have ever eaten.

On the drive home, my friend and I laughed and talked about how much fun we had, how much food we ate, and how good it felt to be surrounded by people you love and care about. Before the trip was even over, we were already talking about the next one.

But again, all I could hear in my head was that priest’s message:

“Live every day with fullness.”

New Orleans does not owe us a thing.