A Journal for Jordan

by Dana Canedy

  Yet as we resumed going through a stack of new sweaters and hats he had bought, I had to admit to myself that I had also been making some grim preparations. Soon after Charles arrived, I had arranged for him to meet the babysitter I had hired; I wanted him to feel comfortable with the person who would be caring for you after I returned to work. I took him to your doctor’s office and pointed out how close we lived to one of the best pediatrie emergency rooms in the city. As we strolled near the East River one afternoon, I showed him the mayor’s mansion and told him about the high level of security in the park because of it. Without consciously thinking about it, I believe I was trying to make sure he was content with the world in which I was rearing his son—in case he never lived in it with us.

  Our moods shifted from moment to moment. When Charles decided to wait until he returned for good to visit your sister and his parents, I took it as a sign that he was sure he was coming back. But as I watched him put away the baby tub and diapers, I realized that he was thinking about it differently. Charles talked to Christina often during his leave and heard from his parents and sister almost daily, but he was determined to spend the entire two weeks alone with us. They had had him for a lifetime; he knew that you might have each other for only two weeks.

  Mothers being what they are, though, your grandmother King simply had to see her Chuckie. My membership in the motherhood club might have been new, but I understood completely when she called in the middle of the second week to say she would be arriving at LaGuardia Airport the following morning—just for the day. She showed up in a blue suit with a colorful silk scarf tied around her neck and her long hair twisted into a tight bun. As you know by now, Grandma King is a reserved woman who is not prone to extravagant displays of affection. So I had to laugh to myself when she smothered you with hugs and kisses even before she embraced her son.

  In the taxi on the way home, I sat in the front seat and gazed in reverence at the sight of three generations of the King family together.

  You got fussy that afternoon when we took your grandmother to lunch, and your father insisted on spiriting you over to the window as his mother and I ate. I tried to persuade him to spend time with your grandmother and enjoy his meal, but he would not hear of it. Standing at the window, rocking you and kissing your head, your father seemed to have all he needed, and in his arms you calmed down completely. Your grandmother and I could barely eat for watching the two of you together.

  When Grandma King and your father kissed good-bye at the airport that evening, I felt that peculiar mixture of happiness and sadness that had haunted me all week. Time was running out. We had only three more days before Charles would leave for Iraq.

  I wanted to spend the rest of our time alone, but we had promised to have dinner the following night with Gerald Boyd, my former boss, and his wife, Robin Stone. They had not been able to make it to the baby shower and I had not seen Gerald in months, so when we arrived at their brownstone in Harlem, I was startled to see how thin and weak he looked. Something was clearly wrong, but Robin and Gerald made clear that they wanted to keep the focus on Charles’s homecoming.

  We sat in the great room drinking cocktails as Robin prepared dinner. Gerald looked at Charles rocking with you on his chest and smiled a long time before he spoke.

  “Man, this is what it’s all about—family and shared goals,” Gerald said.

  When we sat down to eat, we held one another’s hands in prayer. Gerald prayed for “whatever will be” according to God’s will. I thought it a strange thing to say to a man who was returning to war. It was not until weeks later that Robin confided in me that her husband had been diagnosed with late-stage lung cancer, and I understood then why he had sounded such a note of resignation.

  Robin and Gerald had a nine-year-old son, Zachary, who had eaten before we arrived and gone down to the basement to play We had just finished our meal and your father was feeding me a piece of pie off his fork when we heard Zachary scream. Robin and Charles both took off for the basement, but Charles was the first to make it to the bottom of the stairs. Gerald followed as quickly as he could.

  I heard Robin say, “Oh God.”

  Then, Charles said, “Son, what happened?” He did not wait for an answer, and Zachary was crying too hard to provide one anyway.

  “I have to stop the bleeding,” Charles said.

  He ran up the stairs past me to the bathroom and grabbed some towels, wetting one. I could see that his shirt was streaked with blood. “It looks like one of his teeth might be lodged in his lip but I need to stop the bleeding first to find out,” he said.

  He ran back down the stairs and I heard him tell Zachary that he was going to apply a lot of pressure to the towel on his face. He sent Robin for ice. At last Zachary’s cries quieted and I heard Charles say that he wanted to take a look at the wound. It looked as though it might require stitches, he said.

  “You’ll be all right. Just hold this ice on your lip,” Charles instructed as they climbed the stairs. Charles told Zachary’s shaken parents to take him to the nearest emergency room, and we gathered our jackets. We were in a cab on the way home when Charles took a deep breath and gripped my leg. We rode in silence.

  Later that night I was jolted out of sleep by the sound of Charles groaning. He was shaking his head from side to side, his face contorted, his breathing rapid.

  I spoke his name softly, not wanting to startle him, then shook him gently.

  “Wake up, baby, you’re having a dream.”

  “There was so much blood,” he said, his eyes half open.

  “Where? Where was the blood?”

  “Iraq,” he said. “The children.”

  I kissed his eyelids and rocked him.

  “You’re safe now, Charles,” I said. “You’re home with me and Jordan.”

  He rolled on top of me and clung to my body.

  “There was so much blood.”

  “I know, baby. I know. But you’re home now.”

  I lay there, wide awake, until his breathing slowed and he fell back to sleep. My breasts ached from the pressure of his body, but I did not dare move.

  By morning’s light Charles seemed to have no memory of the dream, and I did not bring it up.

  We had only a day left.

  That night we took you with us on one last “date,” to a Chinese restaurant, but you were squirming and crying and your father insisted on taking you outside. “You won’t have a chance to eat any meals like this in peace until I come back,” he said. I complained that he was spending too much time putting my needs before his. I told him I would tend to you, but he would have none of it. So I ate my food as fast as I could and asked for a carryout box for his. Then we walked slowly home, enjoying the evening air on a cloudless night.

  Your father spent an hour and a half writing on the remaining empty pages in the journal, but he was constantly interrupted by phone calls from family and friends wanting to say good-bye. I remember how frustrated he was—he was trying so hard to stay focused on what he was writing. Then we stayed up talking and making love until dawn.

  Charles took a shower and packed his bag, and I made chicken sandwiches for his lunch. You were still asleep as I lay on the couch in the living room watching him put on his uniform. I longed to take him back to bed once more, but we had run out of time.

  “Why don’t you just go AWOL and stay here with us?” I joked as he zipped his jacket.

  “Now, Dana,” he said, looking at me out of the corner of his eye, “you know you wouldn’t want to be married to a coward.”

  “Oh, all right, go,” I said playfully, as though this were an everyday good-bye.

  He smiled as he laced his boots and put on his patrol cap. His transformation back into First Sergeant King was now complete.

  I watched him go quietly to your crib and lower the safety rail. He kissed you lightly and rubbed your back. You stirred and he smiled as he looked at you one last time. Then he removed a medal from his pocket—the army Combat
Action Badge he had been awarded for running into the gun battle to pull wounded comrades to safety. Handing it to me, he said he did not need to wear it on his uniform to prove his bravery.

  “Keep it for Jordan,” your father said.

  We stood in the doorway, my Charles and me, and kissed and held each other tight. He stroked my hair. It felt as though all the clocks had stopped.

  “Now, you’re going to marry me, right?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said, trying to keep my voice from quavering. “I love you, and I would be honored to be your wife.”

  “I love you, too, Dana. You’re my queen—remember that.”

  I shook my head but could no longer speak. He kissed me one last time.

  We would run out of time on this earth and there would be no wedding, but I am certain that at that moment, declaring our love before God, I became his wife.

  Thirteen

  Dear Jordan,

  On the flight back to Iraq, your father poured all his thoughts and feelings into a handwritten sixteen-page letter. He mailed it as soon as he landed, but I did not receive it until two weeks before he died. There are passages I am keeping to myself—some embarrassingly passionate, some to protect family members’ feelings, some simply mundane—but on the whole the letter reveals too much of his exceptional spirit not to share.

  Hello Ma,

  I wanted to write you and tell you what a great time I had on my leave. It was absolutely great. We are truly blessed to have such a fun-loving son. He is a handful though. I hope you get some much needed rest. You were so tired. I don’t want you to go to work like that.

  Please tell all of your friends thank you for their hospitality and support. I enjoyed their company.

  I know Jordan will soon appreciate all of his clothes and the play station. I will miss him, so you know I have to come home soon.

  My sister was being a brat about me coming home, especially for Thanksgiving. It’s not going to happen. I will be there to see you and Jordan. I am really not interested in being away from my family anymore….

  I will find out what my options are when I get back to Fort Hood. We really have to pray about it. I would really like to be with you and Jordan. I’m tired of being depressed from leaving all the time. You think you can put up with me?…

  I am being rude right now on the plane, but I have to keep the light on to write you. I have a lot on my mind.

  Can we start a 52g college savings plan for Jordan in New York? Some states don’t have it. We’ll figure it out.

  I will think of some goals for us, short-term and long-term. This is the first time I did not bring my prayer book with me when traveling. I guess I decided to give it a break. Sometimes I don’t know how long God wants me to wait for things I ask for, how patient I need to be. So far all of my prayers have been answered. The only thing, or one of the things I’ve asked for that hasn’t happened yet, is you and I getting married…. I want us to be happy together. One thing I don’t want us to be is parents that argue all the time.

  I owe you an explanation for why I did not call you for weeks sometimes. I did what most people in my position do, put my job before my family. I was having some issues at work that I really needed to clear up before we deployed and training that required a lot of my time. I was miserable and thought about you every day. I felt that I had 104 soldiers that needed me to be there for them to make sure they were ready.

  I don’t think you will ever understand. They look at me like Jordan looks at you when you put him in the water. I have to be there so they can see me, know that they are doing good, that I am there to support them.

  I only have until March before I am finished working in this position. Though rewarding, I have made some sacrifices that I have regretted. I regret I could not make it to your doctors’ appointments, or hold your hand and comfort you when jordan was born. I was really disappointed that I had to miss that. I’m the one who missed out.

  I am thankful that I was able to come before Jordan was born and help you get the room ready. Thank you, God. I don’t know if Jordan will understand. I could hope that he would.

  You know that I used to imagine that you would have our baby. I could see you opening the door holding a baby, but I couldn’t see what the baby looked like because of the way you were holding him. So when I came home to visit it was exactly like I envisioned it. You were holding Jordan exactly the same way. He was old enough to turn his head and look at me. Isn’t that amazing I

  Before I got home I guess I had the wrong idea about living and being needed, until I spent time with you and Jordan. I felt that I was worth more to you, Jordan, and Christina not being here. I thought it would be better for you financially. I was wrong.

  Like you, I’m pretty good at my job. I have to fight a lot of battles with my boss when I feel something is not right. He’s a good sergeant major, always been there when I needed him. He was definitely a shoulder to cry on when Robbie died. He was there to help me bring him back to the base. Any time you are different you always have to prove yourself to be better than everyone else. I have worked hard to make up for my shortcomings. Being quiet is one of them, but when something has to be said I speak my mind, everyone here knows that.

  I’ve had such a challenging and rewarding career in the army. They have even recognized me for my talent in art. That’s more than I could ask for.

  It takes a special kind of woman to be married to a soldier. He’s always going on deployments or training, missing births, birthdays, and any special occasion you can imagine. You really have to be a self-motivated and strong-willed person. You spend a lot of time alone because he’s gone. It’s a tough job being a military spouse. Though we have had our differences you have always been therefor me. Thank you.

  I look forward to seeing what my options will be. I have no reservations about moving to be with you and Jordan. It’s clear to me now what I need to do.

  I know that we will be fine together. I want to be a good father and a crown to your head just as you will be my crown…. I trust you more than any person I have ever known.

  What I have learned from being with you is that there is nothing God won’t do for you and that the sky is the limit for us. Write it down, pray on it, and believe. God will do the rest.

  Thank you for the great baby shower. Who would have thought of doing something like that for me? It’s good to know that I’ve seen all of your friends and that I know you are in good hands.

  Besides the passion, I have to let you know what else is on my mind. You are doing a great job of being a mommy. I am so proud of you. Daddy will be home soon to help with everything.

  I love you,

  Charles

  Fourteen

  Dear Jordan,

  I remember it well. It was Thursday, October 12. Your father rarely called me at work and I had talked to him several days earlier, so I was surprised to pick up the phone at my desk in the newsroom and hear his voice. He seemed agitated. I asked what was wrong.

  “Nothing, nothing,” he said testily. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

  Then Charles asked about his Biscuit and what it felt like to be back at work after my maternity leave. I told him that I hated to leave you with a babysitter because you couldn’t yet talk: how would you let me know if something was wrong?

  I had a meeting in five minutes. I decided to skip it.

  Charles urged me to give myself more time to adjust to being a working mother, and I said I would try. Then I asked:

  “Are you sure everything is all right?”

  “Yes, yes.”

  “Okay, sweetie. I love you.”

  I do not recall if he said it back.

  I should have reminded him that he had promised to take you on a carriage ride through Central Park for Christmas. I should have said that we had a wedding to plan. I should have asked if he wanted to try for another baby when he returned.

  Yet I suspect my words would have changed nothing. It was simpl
y not your father’s way to avoid risks he required others to take.

  No, probably nothing I could have said would have kept him from going out on that last mission.

  THAT WARM OCTOBER day, you were sleeping so peacefully in your stroller and I was enjoying the sun on my face. We were on our way home from a baby boutique on Madison Avenue, where I had spent forty dollars for a pair of fleece-lined navy blue leather boots for your first winter. I laughed to myself as I walked, anticipating what your father would say about what I had paid: “Dana, how much? The boy can’t even walk.”

  I would say that we had to make sure your little toes were warm in the stroller, and he would shake his head and let me have my way, as he almost always did.

  That is what I was thinking when my cell phone rang as I pushed you up York Avenue.

  “Where are you?” Robin asked.

  “I just bought shoes for Jordan. I’m about ten minutes from home.”

  “I’m driving over there right now,” she said.

  It was not like Robin to visit uninvited but with Gerald’s health steadily deteriorating, she often needed to talk.

  “God, please give me the right words to comfort Robin,” I prayed, as I pushed you the final few blocks home.

  I was slipping your arms out of a blue jacket when the doorman buzzed and said that Robin was in the lobby. I will never forget the weariness on her face when I opened the door, the deep lines in her forehead, and the tightness of her jaw line. She looked suddenly older. I worried that Gerald had taken a turn for the worse. She sighed deeply and embraced me more tightly than she ever had.

  I sat her down and put you into her arms. “He’ll make you feel better,” I said. I thought a glass of wine might relax her and asked whether she wanted red or white.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said. She was in bad shape.