Wisdom Seeds

by Patrice Johnson

  “We do?” I almost choked on my apple juice because my dad’s comment caught me off guard.

  “Yes, we do,” he answered still looking at Jason. “What about Joshua? Have you thought about that?”

  “What do you mean?” I was unsure of what my dad was implying. “Thought about what?”

  “David,” Mom interrupted, “it’s their life.”

  “What will you do about Joshua’s last name?” My dad finally looked at me. “Now that you’re a Singleton, will he remain an Allen?” He turned to look at Jason.

  “I’m adopting him.” Jason answered, maintaining eye contact with my dad. “I am his father and he will be a Singleton.”

  “Is that it?” My dad’s tone was patronizing. “What will you tell the boy about his real father?”

  “David, don’t do this!” Mom’s tone was sharp even though her eyes filled with tears.

  “Dad, that is unnecessary.” My voice raised as I stood to face my dad. “Jason is the only father he has ever known and you know that. Greg made a choice three years ago not to have anything to do with him. Jason is his father.”

  “So you’re going to lie to him?”

  “I mean no disrespect, Sir.” Jason held my hand as he addressed my dad. “We will do what is best for Joshua. I am his father and he will bear my name. Whatever we choose to tell him when he gets older is our decision.” Jason lightly squeezed my hand.

  “Well, I will not lie to the boy. He needs to know who his real father is.”

  Anger, pain and disappointment consumed me. I ran upstairs refusing to let my dad see me cry. Jason followed me and pulled me into his arms at the top of the steps.

  “I hate him,” I blurted out before burying my face in his chest.

  Jason was in the shower and I was sitting on the bed folding Josh’s clothes when Mom came into the room.

  “Dani, I’m sorry.” She sat next to me and I put my head on her shoulder.

  “It’s not you Mom, it’s him. Why does he always mess everything up?”

  “I wish you didn’t have to leave so quickly. I was going to make lunch.”

  “Mom, I can’t take him. I have to go. We’ll eat later.”

  Her eyes were sad – just like I had seen them many times before. I hated having to leave, but my dad had tainted Jason’s welcome to the family.

  We stopped in Breezewood for lunch and then Joshua fell asleep in the car.

  “What was that all about with your dad?” Jason asked.

  “He can be just plain mean and evil,” I said sarcastically, being mindful to keep my voice down. “He’s hated me since I was pregnant. I was his third child that failed him.”

  “Time moves on, people grow – you’ve changed.” Jason’s tone was reassuring. He held my hand.

  “Everything changes. My dad is the only one stuck somewhere in the past.” My tone was flippant. “He may choose not to move on, but I have.”

  Jason wiped the tears from my face with his hand. I looked over at him and he smiled that same smile from the day we met on the elevator.

  In September of 1985 we purchased a house on Felix Drive in the Southfield section of Columbus. It was a mixed residential neighborhood not far from what was once Rickenbacker Air Force Base. Many ex-military and government workers from the Defense Construction Supply Center also settled into the community with their young families. Jason and I agreed it would be a good place for Joshua to grow up. Like most of the families in the community, we attended Southfield Baptist Church and Josh participated in the Sunday school activities.

  After being a substitute for almost a year, I was offered a Guidance Counselor position at a small private school. It was refreshing to work with students who wanted to learn. Parents were involved and supportive and students maintained a level of respect for the staff and each other. I welcomed the change and the job stability.

  Our picture perfect life began to fade and I assumed God was punishing me when I couldn’t get pregnant. After trying for more than a year I went to a fertility specialist. I was temporarily relieved when my test came back okay, yet unnerved because Dr. Fisher wanted to run a series of tests on Jason. A few weeks later we sat nervously waiting to get the results. Jason was sterile – we would not be having any more children.

  “I know you don’t want Josh to be an only child,” he said as we sat on the back porch one evening. “I’m sorry.”

  I tried to comfort him. “Jason don’t blame yourself.”

  “I want your life to be perfect.”

  “It already is.” I held his hand against my cheek. “You make it perfect.”

  We spent Thanksgiving in Ann Arbor with the Singleton’s. Scott, Adrienne’s fiancé, announced that he completed his dissertation and we celebrated with Sparkling Cider and cheesecake after dinner. Maureen and Ellis’ news that they were expecting their first baby was over shadowed by Jason’s news that he was sterile. I felt so helpless. My attempts to reassure Jason that my life was perfect were futile.

  We arrived back in Columbus on Sunday and the first message on the answering machine was from Alicia and Dennis. Ashley Sharon Hines was born the day after Thanksgiving. I called to congratulate them and we mailed a layette package from Sears.

  We decided to spend Christmas at home to begin creating our own traditions. We decorated the tree with gold ornaments and Jason held Josh up so he could put the star on top. Then we had hot chocolate after we lit the tree for the first time. On Christmas morning, one minute after midnight, Jason and I exchanged one gift. Then Jason wanted to make love in front of the tree but I was afraid Josh would wake up.

  In spite of everything, life was good and I was happy. I often wished Nana were alive to see that I finally got it right. I was beginning to understand this game called life instead of being whipped by it.

  Jason legally gave Josh his name when the adoption was finalized in February of 1986. That spring, Ellis, Jr. was born to Maureen and Ellis. We drove to Detroit for Easter to celebrate Josh’s birthday and welcome the new addition to the family. We were back in Pittsburgh in May for Andrea and Harvey’s wedding.

  Yearly vacations were added to our family traditions and our first one was a week in New Orleans at the end of July. I was happily married with a beautiful son and doing the things I had longed for all of my life. We started every morning eating beignets in the French Quarter. We spent an afternoon listening to the jazz players on the street, we let Josh taste jambalaya and crawfish, and we took pictures on Bourbon Street. We were making memories. I began to understand the love Nana talked about. My life with Jason was more than I could have ever imagined. He loved me and Josh was our son.

  Adrienne married Scott Nelson in August and we shared another memorable family weekend in Ann Arbor. We spent Labor Day in Cleveland at the Singleton family reunion. Alicia and Dennis moved to Raleigh in October. Dennis was from Florida and they wanted to be in the middle of their families. And, Alicia admitted, she hated winter. We went to Pittsburgh for her going away party. She was really going to be missed and I was glad Andrea was now married. They were so close and I knew living in different states would be an adjustment for both of them. Their relationship was like Maureen and Adrienne’s; sometimes I was envious that I didn’t have a sister.

  Rhonda and Lance welcomed Angela Michelle on New Year’s Day of 1987. We spent our family vacation at Disney World in July and in September Josh started first grade. He was growing up so fast.

  In 1988 Corey Allen was born to Andrea and Harvey and Maureen and Ellis had the twins, Maurice Jay and Elise Jai. Christmas brought two more babies – Chase Jackson was born to Adrienne and Scott on December 23rd and Cynthia Cherelle was born to Rhonda and Lance on December 26th. Dennis, Jr. was born to Alicia and Dennis in 1989. In 1990 Monique Amirah was born to Maureen and Ellis and my niece Maisha had Aisha during her junior year in college in 1991. Rhonda and Lance’s final attempt to have a boy in 1992 resulted in the twins, Victoria Lanelle and Veronica Janelle and that spring Tif
fany Marie was born to Adrienne and Scott. It seemed like every year someone was having a baby. I could see the pain of failure in Jason’s eyes. We talked about adopting – Jason felt it wasn’t the same. My efforts to console him continued to be in vain. In Jason’s eyes, our picture perfect lives were incomplete.

  Our family vacation memories were growing and now included New York, San Francisco, Busch Gardens, Disney World, Baltimore and Martha’s Vineyard. For our tenth anniversary we cruised to Jamaica. My mother, the Singleton’s, Maureen and Adrienne and their families joined us in 1995 when we cruised to Puerto Rico. Life was good.

  It was the summer of 1996 when our lives changed forever. We had returned from our family vacation in Virginia Beach and Jason had been offered a job in Milwaukee. We contemplated moving and even spent a week looking at houses and schools. It was the end of August when we found out Jason had colon cancer.

  Damon, his best friend, flew to Columbus to be with us after we got the news. Colon cancer. Saying it was devastating. Damon urged us to develop a relationship with Jesus. He said that no matter what happened, we would never get through this without Him. He suggested we join a support group for cancer patients. I didn’t want to join a support group for dying people even though Damon insisted it would help both of us.

  My in-laws were supportive in spite of their pain and Mrs. Singleton cried whenever we spoke on the phone. Mom cried every time I spoke with her on the phone, too. Both of them agreed we should seek comfort in the Lord. Our parents had tried, several times over the past twelve years, to get us to do more than just attend church regularly by submitting our lives to Jesus. It always seemed like something we would get to later.

  Rhonda prayed with me over the phone and gave me scriptures to read. She and Lance had been Christians for almost five years and she encouraged me to get into a Bible study. Alicia and Andrea both volunteered to drop everything and do whatever I needed. I didn’t know what I needed. I was numb.

  The sermon on the fourth Sunday in August was titled, Take Your Burdens to the Lord and Leave Them There. The pastor concluded with the reading of Matthew 11:28-30:

  Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden,

  and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and

  learn from Me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart,

  and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke

  is easy and My burden is light.

  The words resonated in my head. Reverend Compton opened the doors of the church and Jason grabbed my hand. “I need to do this.” He stood to his feet. I didn’t know what to say. “We need to do this,” he was gently pulling me to my feet. Before I knew it we were standing at the altar.

  Jason, determined to find a miracle, was willing to give Jesus a try. I went with him because I couldn’t imagine my life without him. I needed to believe God would help Jason. I cried uncontrollably as Jason held me at the altar.

  “Lord God please help him,” I whimpered. “I don’t know what to do.”

  People were gathering around us praying and thanking God that we had come. They didn’t know we came selfishly, we needed a miracle. I heard Josh whisper in my ear, “Mom please don’t cry.”

  We were emotionally drained after morning service. I retreated to my room and Jason sought refuge in his recliner. It was five-thirty that evening when Josh woke me.

  “Mom, get up.” He was almost pleading. “I made dinner.”

  I sat up and tried to smile. I could feel that my eyes were still swollen. “Thank you,” was all I managed to say.

  “Come on.” Josh pulled me by the hand. “Dad’s already downstairs.”

  Jason was setting the table when I walked into the dining room. I went over and hugged him. Josh came in behind me and we all hugged.

  “I love you Dad,” Josh said without looking at him. “I don’t ever want you to die.”

  “Always know that I love you,” Jason told him lifting his face as he had done so many times before after spanking him. “And remember – remember everything.”

  We hugged and cried in the dining room.

  Two weeks later, after completing the New Members classes, we were baptized at Southfield Baptist Church. I called my mother, Rhonda, my cousins and the Singleton’s that evening. Everyone was careful not to make promises, but diligent in reminding me that God would see us through the worst storms of life. I wanted a miracle. I wanted Jason to be cured and I wanted us to see Josh graduate from high school and college, to see him married, to play with our grandchildren and grow old together. No one was promising a miracle – only strength. I needed faith. There was nothing in the wisdom seeds to help me when I needed it most. The flowers that had begun to bloom from my wisdom seeds were choking on the weeds of my distress.

  Josh began his sophomore year looking forward to basketball season. He anticipated starting and let conditioning dominate his free time. He pretended to be able to handle everything. I would hear him crying at night and was unable to comfort him. I had not yet found a way to comfort myself.

  I was having a pity party one Saturday afternoon when Miss Mary, a mother of the church, came by with a pound cake.

  “I don’t mean to intrude,” she said as I welcomed her in. “I wanted to bring this cake and to pray with you.”

  I didn’t know what to ask for. The cancer was progressing rapidly and the love of my life was dying before my eyes. His suffering crippled me. Miss Mary prayed Nana’s words – she said tears were for growing and then the sun always smiled down after each rain. Her words were almost poetic, but my life was hurting and I found no comfort in them. Jason had taken a turn for the worse and we were coping poorly with more cancer, more treatment, more doctors and shattered hope.

  By December 1996, Jason was spending more time in the hospital than out. I was emotionally shattered trying to deal with the cancer that had blind-sided us and turned our lives upside down. We were sending people to the moon, yet there were no cures.

  The chemotherapy rendered Jason helpless and he was unable to help us decorate the tree. Josh and I decorated it while he slept.

  The Jordan jersey was the last gift I wrapped. My intention was to wake Jason at midnight so we could exchange gifts – I fell asleep in the game room before the news came on.

  “Hey lady,” he said shaking me, “it’s midnight.”

  “Are you okay?” I was startled and I sat straight up. “Is something the matter?”

  “I’m fine,” he said smiling and sitting next to me. “I have something for you.” Jason handed me a little box with a huge bow. “This is for you.”

  “And this is for you.” I smiled and handed him the box on the end table. “It’s your turn to go first.”

  Jason opened the box and almost cried when he saw the basketball jersey. “Baby, you shouldn’t have.”

  Guilt made me buy it. When Jason first talked about buying it himself I fussed that no shirt was worth that kind of money no matter whose name was on it. “You should have the things you want,” I said fighting back tears.

  He kissed me. His closeness still made my heart flutter.

  “Now your turn,” he said as he put the jersey on. “Open the box.”

  It was an eighteen-karat gold Hershey’s kiss. We had gone to Hershey Park the year after we were married and I faked being sick and stayed in the hotel room. A month later I admitted being afraid of seeing Greg. Jason was angry that I had not been honest with him. It was the only fight we ever had during our marriage.

  “I’m sorry,” he said wiping my tears with his hand. “It was a dumb thing to be angry about. I should have understood.”

  I slept in his arms on the couch under the twinkling of the Christmas tree lights.

  We made our usual list of calls on Christmas morning and everyone was relieved to hear that Jason was feeling better. He had had several good days and we went to see Josh play in the Christmas tournament. Josh was named MVP and gave the trophy to Jason. We celebrated by going to dinner and th
en to see The Preacher’s Wife. I cried when Whitney Houston sang I Believe in You and Me – it was our wedding song.

  By the end of February Jason had lost twenty-five pounds and getting out of bed was difficult. On March third he was admitted to the hospital, again.

  Jason had been heavily sedated for over seventy-two hours – his body trembled from the pain as he went in and out of consciousness. I never left him alone – I made sure Joshua, one of his parents or one of his sisters was with him even if I only went to the bathroom. I rationalized that Jason would hold on as long as he was not alone. Dr. Whitlock told me that Jason’s prognosis was poor and he probably wouldn’t live through the week. Almost three weeks had passed. I liked Dr. Whitlock, but I hated his words. My mind told me he was doing his best to prepare the family for the inevitable; my heart told me he had already given up.

  I awoke to Jason moaning at 6:17 on the morning of March seventh.

  “I’m here baby, I’m right here.” I held his hand and ran my finger across his brow. “I’ll get the doctor,” I whispered reaching for the buzzer.

  “No,” he groaned. “Open the curtains.”

  Although I was confused by his request, I obeyed and drew the curtains to the black sky. He heaved through his pain as he motioned for me to sit on the bed. I knew I wasn’t supposed to. The nurses had already reminded me several times to stay off the bed. Jason tried to hug me and I snuggled against his heaving chest. His trembling hand played in my hair. I wanted to breathe life into his body – he was dying and we both knew it.

  “I love you,” he whispered, “very much.”

  “I love you more,” I sobbed. I could feel him trying to hold me tighter than the pain was holding him.

  “Time?” He asked as tears flowed freely from his eyes.

  “Six twenty-nine,” I said looking at the big clock on the wall. When Jason had been admitted the ticking got on my nerves, but grief and anxiety made me oblivious to it.

  “Sunrise,” he whispered, “our sunrise.”