After My Father Died is a story about my thought-provoking journey from the chain of events that engulfed my life prior, during, and after the death of my father, the legendary King of the Blues, Mr. B. B. King. He passed away on May 14, 2015, at the young age of 89. This unique path has garnered a fulfillment to draft an outline of my spiritual awakening by learning to forgive.

The book entails how the spread from the disease of entitlement shattered King Road Shows and its conglomerate network of partnerships. In this emotional turmoil, my thinking began to respond like an excruciating pinched nerve. Cynically, I ignited with glee hurling repellants onto these lowdown cankerworms.

Among the many lessons on my apprentice journey, I have learned to trust God's silence and not ask why? Whatever the Lord instructs you to do, pack a bag for patience and an extra bag for the experience in performing the task at hand. I became rattled in disbelief of indescribable pain, anger, rejection, confusion, and from depression to enlightenment.

However, Proverbs 26:27 warns, whoever digs a pit will fall into it; if someone rolls a stone, it will roll back on them. Respectfully, the mindful sin of digging a pit or rolling a stone is one thing, the intent of what matters is who dug the hole? Genuinely, I am not a vengeful person. But, in this situation of uncertainty and concern with suspiciousness, I asked God to please intervene.

The global impact of the spread of iniquities on humanity while exposing my reality of empathy as a caregiver has encouraged contentment. Assisting my mother with her health care re-iterated the principles of loving thy self. She would often refer to the philosophy that mental validation nurtured through sustainability is attainable. In her belief, a good attitude and skills training can help to reinforce personal independence. Softly, my mother died three days before her 80th birthday on June 19, 2020.

The book highlights the Blues community enthusiasm with an outpour of love and friendships offered to me throughout the continental United States and abroad. Immensely, I enjoy listening to the fans recalling how my father influenced their careers and touching moments when meeting Mr. B. B. King.

On May 30, 2015, during the close of the homegoing celebration for my father in Indianola, Mississippi, a tall statuesque lady wearing a big red hat stepped from a church pew shouting, "I am the living, Lucille!" I wondered whatever happened to her. Do you remember how the famous Lucille earned her name? Sometime in 1956, at a juke joint in Little Rock, Arkansas, two men broke out into a fight over a woman named Lucille. During the scuffle, a Kerosene heater was knocked down, causing the place to catch fire. Outside on a cigarette break, my father nearly lost his life running back inside to retrieve his guitar. Dad named the guitar Lucille as a reminder to never do anything stupid like that again.

Learning through the transformation of vulnerability taught me that I belong to myself. The rejuvenation liberated creative energy to walk the path of my rainbow. Favorably, God has established an array of quality relationships towards sharing positivity and hopefulness in the neighborhoods of the worldwide Blues community. I am privileged as a Blues ambassador to wave the Blues flag as an agent of hope for worldwide peace and cultural preservation. Long live the Blues!