by Tina Martin
I told him, “You can’t lose something you never had,” and then I was out.
When I got to the bottom of the stairs, I waved briefly at Nikki and Victoria, and I bounced. I hoped Warren would not be upset at me for cutting out early, but I kept my word and made an appearance. It was a bad idea for me to go there anyway. I should have been at home wrapped in a blanket, with a fuzzy navel wine cooler in one hand and the remote in the other.
Instead, Warren had talked me into going to that party for Sean. He must have known it was Sean’s intention to try to make amends with me. And though I said I may listen to him if he apologized, I didn’t feel up to dealing with Sean. Just seeing him brought back bad memories of the constant bickering over the most trivial issues. Hindsight being 20/20, I now realized it was indeed a bad idea for me to move into his house. We started out on the wrong foot when we first met. It could only go downhill from there and that’s where it went.
That’s not to say there wasn’t a silver lining on my rain cloud. We shared some good memories that had me emotional. I remember the night we spent in his bedroom, listening to some Haitian music and drinking rum. It was perhaps one of the most relaxing moments I had the pleasure to enjoy with him. I missed that. I missed hearing his voice and the way he said my name. But what was the point of wallowing in memories? I did the same thing with Cornelius and look where that’s gotten me. Nowhere. So, I wasn’t going to travel that road again.
Besides, I had gone two months without any interactions with Sean, with the exception of tonight, and since I was on a roll, I might as well have kept it that way. There was no need to go through with all the drama and spell out to him all the wrongs he did towards me and vice versa. What’s done is done, and now I look forward to my future and whatever it brings.
Chapter 25 - An Unexpected Visit
After my night of uneasiness and chaos, I was looking forward to a relaxing day – a day that didn’t involve anyone with the last name Beauvais. I got up off the couch, where I had fallen asleep last night after the party, and made a pot of coffee. Just when I had emptied the perfect amount of non-dairy creamer into my Wisconsin Badgers coffee mug, the doorbell rang.
Who could be trying to track me down this early without calling? I looked through the peephole and saw my mom standing there. What does she want? I hadn’t seen the woman in over three years. The last time we ran into each other was when I was at the Blockbuster on 76th and Appleton renting a Deliver Us From Eva DVD. She barely said five words to me then. Now she’s standing at my door at 8:37 in the morning, looking like she’s too cold to even move.
I didn’t want to do it, but I forced myself to open the door. I know this sounds harsh, but I did not even want to say hi to her. Saying hi would acknowledge her, and I didn’t want her to think I accepted her as a mother – the person who was supposed to love and protect me no matter what. Hardly. She loved her career more than she ever loved me and my father.
“What is it?” I asked, knowing it must have been something important if she actually came to see me.
“Monica, I just thought you should know your father is in the hospital and they don’t think he’s going to make it.”
Suddenly, my beef with my mother was out the window…for the moment. My heart dropped to my ankles. My dad is dying. It took a minute for it to soak in.
“Where is he?”
“We’re at St. Josephs, right there on 51st and Burleigh.” She was very disturbed. I guess even though they were divorced, she still loved him. “Come by and see him. The doctors are not talking days…more like hours.”
“Okay. I’ll be there.”
I slipped into a pair of jogging pants, a grey hoodie, and some snow boots. After pulling my hair into a ponytail, I jumped in my car.
I arrived at the hospital in less than ten minutes and just barely found a spot in the jam-packed parking garage. My mother met me in the lobby and I followed her up to the room. When she opened the door, my fifty-six year old father was lying there in bed with tubes running everywhere. He must have been sleep because his eyes were closed tight and he wasn’t moving.
My mother proceeded to say, “The doctor said the cancer has spread to his lungs.”
“Cancer? What cancer?”
“Monica, your father found out he had cancer four years ago.”
“And no one bothered to tell me!”
I had no clue my father had cancer. And she was up in the room, acting like she cared. That wasn’t my mom’s style at all. All she cared about was herself. She had to have been the worst mother on the planet. As a matter of fact, she was so selfish it should’ve been her first name, Selfish Smith.
Back in the day, I remember how she used to buy all those expensive fur coats, jewelry, and weave. Even though she had a nice head of healthy hair, she owned more weave than the local African hair-braiding salon. She had plenty of shoes…sandals, pumps, mules, espadrilles, wedges, boots. She could very well have opened a boutique with all the merchandise she had. Thinking about that reminds me of when I was in junior high. I needed some new shoes and she bought the cheapest pair she could find. They were some plain white tennis shoes that didn’t last longer than a month. And when they started to get holes in them, she took her sweet time buying me another pair.
Then there were the times when I would ride the bus home and wait on the porch for a few hours until she got home. Mom wouldn’t give me a key to the house. She said she didn’t want me messing up her furniture and inviting boys over while she wasn’t there. In the winter, our next door neighbor, Ms. Hattie, would let me in her house when she saw me shivering on the doorsteps. Ms. Hattie would always give me something to eat. If I was having trouble with my homework, she helped me with that, too. Mom never helped me with my homework. She said if I were paying attention in class, I wouldn’t need to bug her all the time. I kept in touch with Ms. Hattie after high school and while I was in college. I would bring her food, give her money, and send her flowers every now and then. Sadly, she died a few years ago. And even though she’s gone, I will never forget all the nice things she did for me.
Standing in my father’s room nervously twiddling my thumbs, I could not believe this was it. I hadn’t spoken to my father in a while, and now he’s in a hospital bed knocking at death’s door. A part of me felt guilty for not being sad, but keeping it real, my relationship with my father was no better than the one I had with my mother. He was never there for me. All he did was kept a roof over my head, and he could sometimes barely afford to do that thanks to my mother’s overspending. She’d rather buy clothes than pay a light bill. My father let her do anything she wanted, and she treated him like she was superior. If she did love him, she sure didn’t show it by her actions.
My father couldn’t stand her, hence the back-to-back business trips. He wanted to be as far away from her as possible, even if that meant neglecting me. And that’s what he did. My father was not active in my life. Besides the once-a-year trip to the lakefront, he never took me anywhere – no Bucks games, no Brewers games, no Packer games, no festivals. Nothing. He never showed me how to ride a bike, never took me skating, camping or fishing. All I got to see from him was his back going out the door as he tried to get away from Selfish Smith.
That’s why I’m not sad. Just because the man gave me some genetic material doesn’t mean I’m born into this world loving him automatically. How can you love someone you don’t know?
With all those thoughts racing through my mind, I didn’t want to be there. And though my initial reaction when I heard the news was jumping in my car and speeding down the street to get to the hospital to see my dying father, I knew it was time for me to make my exit. He had made his exit from my life a long time ago.
I walked out of the room, not saying a word to my mom, who I’ll call Deborah at the moment because she’s not worthy to be called my mother. Deborah followed me, yelling at me in the hallway.
“Monica Ann, where are you going?”
�
�I’m going home.”
“Your father is in the hospital. He’s in here dying and you’re going home?”
That stopped me in my tracks, but what was I supposed to do? Just sit there and watch him die? Or better yet, hold his hand while he passes away?
I wasn’t feeling it. But Mom, I mean Deborah, wanted to make me feel guilty.
“I never had a father,” I told her. “That man in there was never around for me, which is mostly your fault.”
“It’s not about all that, Monica. It’s a matter of respect.”
A matter of respect? This coming from the same woman who admitted that she should’ve never had me. She was really starting to tick me off.
“Respect? I’ll show my respect by showing up at the funeral.”
Those were some cold words I said, but I had to give it to her like that. There was no need for Deborah to play mommy now. I’m a grown woman and nobody was going to tell me what to do. Not her, not anyone else. I couldn’t help it that my father, AKA sperm donor, was dying. If the doctors couldn’t do anything to save him, then I definitely could not. So, I went on back to the crib.
A few hours later, he died. Deborah left a voicemail on my cell. I saw her number, but I wasn’t up to talking to her. I had to tell Keisha, though. She answered on the first ring.
“Wassup, Monica.”
She seemed to be in a good mood, and I was about to wreck her good day. I didn’t want to tell her, but she would’ve been better off hearing it from me than reading it in the obituaries.
“Hey, Keisha. I have a bit of bad news.”
“What…what is it?”
“My father died.”
“Oh my. I’m so sorry to hear that, Monica. When?”
“A lil’ while ago at St. Joe’s.”
“Are you okay?”
She was hitting me up with continuous questions.
“I’m fine.”
“What happened?”
“He had some terminal cancer or something. I’m not sure.”
“How do you feel, though?”
“I’m fine, Keisha, really. I don’t feel anything actually.”
“Guess that’s what happens when your father was never there for you, huh?”
“Guess so. But anyway, I’m not going to keep you. I just wanted to tell you that.”
“Well, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call me. I’m always here, you know.”
“Yes, I know. Thanks, Keisha.”
After I hung up with Keisha, I got in my bed, lost myself in the comforter, and went to sleep. I didn’t feel like doing much else.
I woke up around eight at night. I slept for a long time and there was no point in getting up since I had to be at work bright and early the next morning. The thought alone was enough to keep me in bed. I wasn’t going to take any bereavement time. There was no need to. I had nothing to grieve.
Lying there gave me time to think about my father, how much I didn’t know him and how much our situation was similar to my nonexistent relationship with Eric. Eric didn’t know who I was and I’m his mother. Would he have the same hate for me that I have for my father? The more I thought about it, the more I began to feel like a hypocrite. In a way, I was following in my father’s footsteps, but only my disconnection with Eric wasn’t deliberate. My father and Deborah made me give him up for adoption. I had no control over that. Back then, they barked the orders and I obeyed like an innocent little schoolgirl.
Not anymore, though. No one was going to tell me how to run my life. Whatever I felt like doing was what I was going to do. And I had to find my son so I could start to develop a relationship with him.
Chapter 26 - The Funeral
Saturday, the day of the funeral, I was standing in an unknown funeral home listening to someone I didn’t know say a few words about my father. I doubt if this man even knew who my father was, but you couldn’t tell by the heartfelt speech he gave about him. The entire ceremony brought nothing but gloom, people crying, dressed in all black, wearing dark shades on the overcast day. It looked like the swelled clouds were going to burst any minute and drop more snow as if we needed some more. I hated funerals. I probably wouldn’t go to my own funeral if I wasn’t the guest of honor.
A few more words were said at the grave site and he was on his way, six feet into the earth. Sad. Deborah was hollering and weeping, making a scene as if she loved the man. When they were together, she didn’t pay him any attention. I just shook my head. Deborah should’ve pursued a career in acting, because she was putting on a show. Or maybe her show was so people could see that she cared…just in case my father forgot to take her off of his life insurance policy as a beneficiary. After all, she was all about the money.
Anyway, it was a done deal. The funeral was over and my father was laid to rest. I turned around and walked away from his grave, wrapped in a long black coat and wearing a pair of dark shades. When I turned, I saw Sean and his family near the back of the crowd. What is he doing here, was my initial reaction. Come to think about it, I should not have been surprised to see him there. Sean had sent a bouquet of flowers to my apartment earlier in the week with a card attached that read, “Sorry for your loss. If there’s anything I can do, let me know.”
Still, I didn’t expect to see him and his family at my father’s funeral. He stood waiting for me, I assumed, wearing a navy blue trench coat and black leather gloves. He didn’t have on a hat, but in my opinion, he should have considering the temperature was hovering around thirty degrees. I guess he didn’t want to mess up his hair.
He began walking towards me as I tried to speed walk to my car.
“Hi.” He stopped me in my tracks.
“Hi,” I replied, but I wasn’t up for talking. I was just ready for this ordeal to be over and done with.
“It was a nice ceremony.”
“Ah…yeah, it was.” I stayed professional. I didn’t want him to feel any connection with me and I didn’t want to feel anything for him. So, I took a step away to go about my business.
“I just wanted to mention to you that if you need to talk, I’m here.”
That was a bad offer for two reasons. One, Sean actually loved his father. They had maintained a good relationship before his father passed away. And since my father died of cancer, too, there was no way I would discuss it with him and bring back those sad memories of his father’s passing. And two, I was still a little salty about him kicking me out and saying those horrible things to me like he didn’t care about me. He wasn’t about to get back into my good graces by showing up at my father’s funeral and sending flowers.
“Okay, thanks, and thanks for coming.” I appreciated his concern, but I was not going to call him. I don’t care how sincere he came across at the moment.
He gave me a light pat on my back, then walked away. As soon as he did, a guy that I’ve never seen before approached me. I had no clue who he was, and when I saw him walking my way, I just assumed he was going to walk right pass me. Instead, he walked right up to me and asked, “Are you Monica Smith?”
Who wants to know, I thought to myself. I didn’t know him, but somehow, he sure knew who I was.
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“I’m Kevin Smith,” he said, extending his gloved hand to me. Though he had introduced himself, I still was in the dark about who he was. We had the same last name, so I knew he was some relation to me. Unfortunately, I didn’t know a lot of my family. Mom wouldn’t let me hang around any of my kinfolk, especially on my father’s side of the family. She said she didn’t want their crazy behavior to taint my innocent mind.
Anyway, as I stood there trying to associate the name Kevin with my past, he continued his introduction, saying, “I’m your brother.”
I was as still as a statue when I heard that. Is this guy playing with me or what? He did kinda look like me, though, but I’m no fool. I needed some proof. He whipped out his driver’s license, and sure enough, his last name was Smith.
“Hen
ry was my father, too.”
I still couldn’t believe it, although he plainly stated his case to me. I have a brother? I guess all those business trips my father took weren’t all about business. In the back of my mind, I knew that anyway. But I have a brother. He appeared to be a few years younger than me. He stood about six feet tall with a fresh fade and a nice smile. He sounded like an educated brother.
“Wow, I can’t believe this,” I said, hugging him. So there were some sane people on earth that were related to me. Well, at least he appeared to be sane.
We exchanged phone numbers and addresses. He lived on the south side of Milwaukee, near Mitchell International Airport, the same area where my father had lived.
I hugged Kevin again. “It was so nice to meet you. I’m glad you took the time to introduce yourself.”
“I am, too. I was hoping we could get together soon and talk.”
“I would like that very much.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to you later then.”
Finally, I was able to get into my car without being stopped by someone and breathe a sigh of relief. It was all over and done with. When I got home, I crashed. It had been a long day, and all I wanted to do was slip into my pajamas and lay down. I had a lot to think about. I just found out I had a brother. And out of all the days I could have known about this, I found out the day my father was laid to rest. That was enough to swallow in itself. Then I got to thinking about my mother’s involvement in all of this. I wonder if she knew I had a brother. I’m sure she did. Heffa.
In addition to those thoughts, Sean showed up at my father’s funeral with his family, hinting that I should call him if I needed anything. Maybe his father’s death made him think he actually knew what I was going through. He sincerely wanted to help me, only I didn’t need his help. I wasn’t mourning. If anything, I was angry because I never had the chance to bond with my daddy. Now, it was too late.
