The Color of Family

by Patricia Jones

  Writing this reflection is difficult. It feels like going through an old trunk of pictures in an attic of filed away thoughts, sorting, distilling, editing, organizing, and eventually, composing a story, an account, that one could follow to a better understanding of the inspiration that Pat represents. I can only imagine what writing a novel is like. There’s so much bravery in simply putting pen to paper, but much more in living. Despite having all the issues that make her a normal human being and some many never experience, Pat both lived and wrote very well. In defiance to her tragic living circumstances, she continued to pursue her writing. As a part of her family, it does not matter to me whether she sold five books or five million. I’m simply happy and inspired that she did something that she really wanted to do. So many people go through life without a book to publish, leaving their families to store only the old “photos” of their memory in each person’s own personal attic sometimes never to be sorted through. Her real accomplishments are her growing daughter and the wonderful memories I have of her.

  The eastern tome, the Tao Te Ching, says that “If one fully understands the present moment, there is nothing else left to do and nothing left to pursue.” Forty-two years, two months, two days is indeed a lifetime; for some, less and for others, more. No one on earth is guaranteed another day. O how important it is to live life—I mean, really live it. When looking back on the wake of a soul one can only hope to have lived the present moment fully by being one with the things that really matter. My aunt did. She loved her family. She told her story. She raised her daughter. She made her way. She dealt with life. She did so much. And…she did it all graciously.

  The way I’ll always remember Pat is that when she walked down the street her smile and her inner beauty would illuminate the way.

  Love,

  Chris, your nephew

  My memories of Pat are many, but one stands out more because it reflects the person Pat was. I was supposed to pick Pat and Alexandra up from the train station. I got there early so I would be able to be down on the tracks to help her with the bags. I went down as the train came in and Pat did not get off. I went back to the station to find that there were two trains coming from New York but only one listed. The other train appeared on the board. I ran to go down to the platform and saw Pat, dragging the bags and holding onto the railing. She looked so helpless but was still climbing the stairs. I finally got a wheelchair and took her to my car. That was an experience that I will never forget. She was such a courageous woman. I love you.

  Love,

  Tom, your brother

  My Pat

  How do I begin to put into a few words just how wonderful and special she was? She was beautiful, inside and out. She was caring, loving, witty, whimsical, and wise. She was a daughter, a mother, an aunt, a cousin, and a friend. She was my sister and her name was Patricia.

  Patricia was on loan to us from God for forty-two years. He put her here as his special angel to touch the lives of the people whose paths she crossed. Everyone who knew her loved her. Everyone who met her saw the beauty in her heart. They saw the beauty that was Pat. In the short time Pat was with us, she accomplished so many wonderful things. She traveled the world by herself, never giving it a single thought. She met many interesting people. She wrote numerous articles for various magazines and three novels. She was never afraid to try something new. Pat did things that many of us would only dream of doing. This is what made Pat so unique and special. I admired Pat for her whimsical nature. When she decided to move from Baltimore to New York, we all were amazed. In her 15 or so years in New York, she moved so many times that I never entered her address in my book in pen, because I knew she would suddenly decide she needed a change and move.

  Her most endearing quality to me that I will always remember was her wit. We would be dying of laughter, as she would regale us with stories of her many adventures in New York. She always had a story to tell. She would say such funny things that, at times, we could not stop laughing. I remember one instance where we were all sitting around the kitchen table and Pat was telling us about a celebrity whose house caught fire and burned to the ground. I kept asking her how the fire started. Finally, after the third time I asked her, she swung around in the chair and retorted, “I don’t know! Her cat was smoking in bed!” We laughed for hours about that. That was classic Pat.

  I miss the fun we always had when she was in Baltimore or when I was in New York. I miss her beautiful smile. I miss the Saturday mornings when I would pick up the phone and hear, “Annie, what are you doing?” Simply stated, I miss Pat.

  We watched Pat suffer through her bouts with cancer three times. Each time was so very difficult for us all. It was hard to see someone so wonderful suffer the way she did. But each time she went through it, she never let it break her spirit. She faced it head on with the confidence that she would beat it. This third time, however, was the most difficult for her. No one knew, but it was evident in the end that Pat had made her peace with God and accepted her fate. As for the rest of us, we were totally in denial. We couldn’t face the reality of the situation. Just the thought of living our lives without Pat was frightening.

  I will always remember the day she left Baltimore to return to New York. As she was sitting in the car, I leaned in, kissed her, and told her to hurry up and get better so Bettye and I could come up to New York and go shopping with her on Austin Street. She never spoke, but looked at me as if she were looking at me for the last time. Sadly, it was. That look on her face is ingrained in my mind. Sometimes people leave us so quickly that we miss the chance to say the things we always wanted to say. If I could speak to Pat right now, I would tell her how very much I love her. I would tell her how proud I am of her and the things she accomplished in her short time here on earth. Finally, I would tell her how very difficult it is to be here without her.

  Pat’s spirit will live on in my heart forever. It will also live on in her daughter, Alexandra. I believe Alexandra will continue the work her mother was put on earth to do—to touch as many lives, even in a small way, as she can. That is what Pat did. There is a void in all our hearts that will never be filled because she is no longer with us. I will forever love, admire, and cherish her. She is, my sister, Pat.

  Annette “Annie” Dodson

  To Patricia My Sister, My Friend:

  When I think about making a tribute to you my lovely sister, I think back to the time when you were a little girl and it was my responsibility to take you to school and pick you up. So sweet and so loving, you made sure that I always said good-bye to you as I left you on the school steps and that I made sure you had everything you needed. When I fell short of my commitment to you, you had the school call me at home to come back to say goodbye and to put your mittens in your book bag or pin them to your coat sleeve. Yet through all the things I had to do for you, as you grew up I can’t begin to thank you for all the things you did for me. You always said things to me to make me laugh when I was sad. You helped me to understand my daughter in ways I couldn’t at times.

  For me, Gospel music has always been very soothing when I was troubled or sad. So, when I was troubled while you were struggling with the cancer fight, I always found songs to help me through. I remember giving you the tape with the song “My Help Cometh from the Lord.” It was this song that I felt would help you to hold on and know that God would bring you through. Although in a way he did take you out of your suffering, it was not the way I wanted it to be. So sometimes when I hear this song it brings tears to my eyes because I had only hoped and prayed that the outcome would be different. However, we are so very blessed that we have a part of you still with us through your writings.

  You have always been the center of this family. We always looked to you to make us laugh, and you always did. Even when you were very sick, you still said things that made us laugh. I admire your achievements: your strength, your resilience, your spirit and your ability persevere.

  I regret never saying all the things that were
in my heart on your last visit to Baltimore. You were so very concerned for Velma on that visit, and I can’t help believing that you knew your fate even though we were hopeful that you were going to get better. I love you so very much and will always be here for your lovely daughter Alexandra; for she is so much like you and for us she will carry on your spirit. I miss you so much and know that I will see you again someday.

  Love,

  Bettye Pettiford

  Your loving sister

  “I don’t know anyone with the same purity of heart and soul as you. Thank you for being my nephew. Thank you for being my friend. But mostly, thank you for being you.

  Love forever,

  Pat”

  This was how she autographed her book Red on a Rose for me. I cherish this sentiment with all of my heart because she was like a sister to me and she knew I felt the same about her. Within Pat was a never ending magnitude of infinite strength, wisdom and will. She loved strong and always wanted the same strength of love in return. Pat was like a volcano set up on a mountain of dreams and goals cut short as she poured over the top with success. Because of her success, I try to live my life with a passion like she would have continued to do. Her philosophies in me will always live.

  Love,

  Mark (your nephew)

  I was the last person to see Pat alive. That memory will stay with me for the rest of my life. I’d never been touched by death like that. I had to perform mouth to mouth resuscitation and heart massage before the medical people arrived. The only thing I could think of was “Could I have done more? Did I let her down?” Why was I the only one to have to do this?

  From the time she came to live in New York, my relationship with Pat was one of reliance. Even though she was a very capable person, with extraordinary talent and drive, she came to rely on me to make things right. This was a comfortable relationship for both of us, because she made me feel larger than I was. Did I fail her in her final moments? I will always wonder.

  Our last meaningful conversation before she started the sleep and pain regimen was about her wanting what other people took for granted…health and normalcy. I reminded her that if she received those things today, would she be what she had become? She smiled and understood that we are given what we are given and duration has nothing to do with contribution.

  If I failed you Pat, I’m sorry. I did the best I could. Why was I the only one to do this? Because you relied on me to do what was best. I hope I didn’t let you down.

  Love always,

  Ken Adams (your loving brother-in-law)

  To my darling daughter Patricia:

  When you were in middle school, you had the opportunity to travel abroad to Paris, and I knew then that you would be a world traveler. Then when you got to the 11th grade at Seton Keough, I was not prepared for what I had to face when you were diagnosed with Hodgkin’s disease at the age of fifteen. Everything looked so bleak yet I stood by my faith that you would pull through. You were able to make it to your junior prom, right at the beginning of your Chemotherapy treatments, and although you were so very thin, you truly looked beautiful. I became so sad and felt that God was not listening to me when you took a turn for the worse. You missed most of your twelfth grade and your senior prom. However, once again you persevered and were able to complete your last year of high school in conjunction with your first year of college at Morgan State. I was never so happy because it was a sign that we had beaten this dreaded cancer.

  As you transferred to Boston University, graduated, and landed your first job with Black Enterprise, my initial thought of you being a world traveler came to fruition. You traveled to various parts of Africa, France and Italy, writing articles for the magazine. Oh what a joy that was for you to have that great life.

  With your marriage and the birth of your daughter (Alexandra), I just knew that you would be around to see this lovely child grow to adulthood. Unfortunately, the demon of cancer struck again. This time I could not be there to hold your hand, rock you when you were in pain and just take care of you as I did before. Not having my sight and being much older did not give me the ability to do that. However, I stayed on my knees in prayer that you would progress as you did before. I feel that if I could have been there for you, with all the proper medical treatment you would still be here today. The hardest thing a mother has to do in life is to bury her child. I definitely was not prepared for that, but I do believe that you are in a better place. Watching you suffer as you did was far too difficult to bear. I love you so much as I often told you through your good and bad times, and I truly miss you. Your humor was infectious and your spirit astounding.

  Love,

  Mother

  Pat’s daughter was the most important person in her life. Patricia took so much time with Alexandra, teaching her, guiding her, playing with her, correcting her behavior when needed. Alexandra is the child she is today because of Pat. Pat and Alexandra played word games, spelling games, math games. They did so much together. Alexandra remembers her mother saying to her “you are the most perfect thing I have ever made.” Alexandra and Pat had such a bond, that Pat lives on for Alexandra. Alexandra always talks of her mother in the present tense. She was never gone for her. During the year of her mother’s illness, Alexandra had a difficult time understanding why her mommy could not do all of the things she once did with her, but she always sat and talked with her mother and tried to help her. Alexandra could be found often rubbing her mother’s back when it hurt or rubbing her legs when they were swollen and aching.

  She wrote the following after her mother’s death: “My mom is nice. My mom helps me when I’m sick. My mom goes shopping with me. My mom plays with me. My mom gives me math. And she is special.” Alexandra had just turned seven when she wrote this, her mother having passed just before her birthday. Alexandra has a large collection of angels to remind her that her mother is in heaven and watching over her.

  Today she writes:

  My Mommy,

  I love to write! I take a class called Creative Writing, and I wouldn’t have taken the class if my mommy wasn’t a writer. My mommy also came into my class when I was in kindergarten, twice. When she came I felt like blushing of happiness. When people looked at me, I smiled really big because it was my mommy up there, and not anybody else’s.

  My mommy was a really funny person, too, and it rubbed off in her writing. When my dad was reading Passing to me, I’ll never forget her expression “ack, ack, ackalacky.” I’m not really sure what “ackalacky” means, but I smile whenever I think of it. A lot of times when I think of my mommy I’m sad, because she’s not here, but a lot of times I’m happy—and I smile when I remember the things that she said, or did with me.

  Love,

  Alexandra Bacchus, age 8

  For me, her sister Velma, Patricia was my best friend. It has been a difficult journey learning to live without Pat, yet I know that is what she wants me to do. She always believed that life was to be lived. Patricia embraced life fully and tried to live each day with purpose. She was able to fulfill most of her dreams, some were left unfulfilled, but the larger dreams, the important goals were achieved. I do have the memories of the great times we shared as well as the sad or troubling moments we shared. Pat was so special because she had a deeper understanding of what is important in life than most of us ever have. She always believed that tomorrow was not promised so “live for today.” I always felt that she was in a hurry to live and accomplish her goals. Now as I look back, I understand that she never expected to live a long life.

  Well, Pat you may not have lived a long life, but you did live a full life. I miss you so very much, but I know you are in a place where you are at peace. You have left a great legacy behind in your writing, your friends and family, but most importantly in your daughter.

  Love you,

  Velma

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Patricia Jones passed away from lymphoma at the age of forty-two before this book was completed. With the help of
family and friends who loved her, we were able to pull together Pat’s notes on the novel and bring the book to publication.

  We gratefully acknowledge all of those who helped with this truly inspiring effort: my mom, Pat’s greatest source of comfort; sisters Bettye, Annette; brother, Tom; my son and Pat’s nephew, who was more like a brother to her, Mark; my husband, Kenneth; Cousin Sylvia; my nieces and nephews, whose encouragement was endless; and her friends, who were so supportive of Pat and continue to offer support to the family, Millie, Debbie, and most of all, Daryl.

  The publishing community who have supported Pat’s career through three books: her literary agent, Eileen Cope of Lowenstein-Yost Associates, Inc.; her editor at Avon Books, Lyssa Keusch; and the talented HarperCollins Publicity, Marketing and Managing Editorial teams. As well, we’d like to thank Lou Aronica of Fiction Studio for helping to shape the manuscript.

  Most of all, if Pat was writing this, she would like to single out Alexandra, her “Angel Girl,” about whom she often said, “You are the most perfect thing I have ever made.” Their bond of love will always be remembered and it will always be strong. Pat lives on in Alexandra.

  Velma Adams

  June 2004

  About the Author

  patricia jones was a native of Baltimore but lived in New York City with her daughter. Throughout her writing life, her work appeared in Ms., Essence, Family Circle, Woman’s Day, and the New York Times. The Color of Family is her third novel.

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