“Yes,” Stiles yelled and raised a balled fist in the air. “How far along?” he asked anxiously.
“Your wife is in her first trimester. She’s six weeks pregnant. You should expect your bundle of joy to make a grand entrance sometime in mid-July.” The doctor’s voice sounded congratulatory.
Detria’s hand flew up against her mouth and tears rushed forth like a bursting dam.
Stiles’s eyes sparkled. He and Detria stood almost simultaneously and quickly hugged each other, and now both of them were crying. “Oh, God, thank you,” Stiles said as he rocked his wife in his arms. “Thank you so much.” He looked up fully into her eyes. Tears flowed.
Detria’s eyes were clouded with tears of happiness, too. Dr. Henderson remained seated and allowed the couple to take in the joyous news. When they began to settle down, she patiently talked to them about some of the things Detria could experience during her pregnancy. She also discussed the importance of taking prenatal vitamins, maintaining a low stress level and a healthy diet, and keeping her doctor’s appointments.
Stiles and Detria walked with arms interlocked out of the clinic and to their car. Once they got inside the car, Stiles leaned over, gently placed his hand behind Detria’s head, and nudged her toward him until their lips met. When he pulled away, the two of them looked at each other. Stiles kept his hand in place and massaged Detria’s neck.
“The joy of being able to conceive, to actually form another human being, and knowing that tiny human being is growing inside of the woman that I love with my life is beyond comprehension.” Stiles’s eyes began to shine like glass. He rubbed his face against Detria’s. Their tears meshed. “For us to be blessed like this is a good gift, a perfect gift.”
Detria agreed. “Yes, it is. I couldn’t be happier than at this moment.”
Stiles removed his hand from behind Detria’s neck and leaned back enough to touch her burgeoning belly, and this time he tilted his head backward and chuckled.
“Don’t you think we need to stop making out and get going?” Detria suggested and smiled while she spoke.
“I think so,” Stiles said. He drove out of the parking garage. On the way home, they chatted about the various instructions the doctor had given them. Stiles made a stop at the nearby pharmacy to drop off the prenatal prescription. While they sat in the drive-thru lane, Detria pulled out her phone and tapped a key.
“Mom, it’s me,” Detria said and giggled in the phone. Stiles couldn’t help but shake his head. “Mom, we’re pregnant,” she screamed into the phone. “Stiles and I are pregnant.”
“Good afternoon,” the voice courteously said through the microphone. “How may I help you?”
Detria whispered into the phone while Stiles handled the business at the pharmacy window, but her excitement was still evident as she wiggled in her seat. Stiles answered the clerk and placed the prescription in the chute, and within minutes they continued their drive home.
“Okay, Mom, I’ll see you later. Bye now.” Detria leaned her head against the headrest, exhaled, and then smiled again. “Sweetheart, my life is absolutely ideal. I can’t wait to get home,” she chattered. “Now that it’s official I have a list of people I want to call and share the news with.”
Stiles grabbed her hand and kneaded it. “Well, there goes our time together.”
“Oh, now, don’t be like that. You know you’re my sweetie,” Detria crooned as she leaned over and nipped Stiles on the earlobe.
“Don’t you start nuthin’.” His eyes roved over his wife and the mother-to-be before he focused back on his driving. The smiles on their faces appeared like a forever photo.
When they arrived home, they told Pastor the news. He was ecstatic to know he would be a grandfather.
“I sure wish that your mother was here for this. As soon as she heard the news, she would be out of that door and getting her shop on for her new grandchild,” Pastor remarked.
“I believe that,” Detria answered.
“Congratulations to the both of you,” said Pastor. “Son.” He focused his pinkish eyes on Stiles. “God is more than good, isn’t He?”
Stiles answered in what could only be described as a Spirit-filled voice. “Pastor, He is. God is an awesome God. I’m going to be a poppa.” Stiles jumped up and down in place like he was on fire. “Oh, thank you, Lord.”
Chapter 8
Other things may change us,
but we start and end with family.
— Anthony Brandt
Detria enjoyed all the attention from home and family. Coworkers often remarked about her flawless, glowing complexion, which before pregnancy was subject to acne breakouts. Stiles miraculously still managed both of his ministries, as he called them—full-time pastor and college professor. And he waited on his wife hand and foot without missing a beat.
Detria was blessed not to experience some of the signs of pregnancy, such as nausea and weirded-out cravings. She changed her routine at the insistence of her husband. He did not want Detria working full-time, then spending time at home cooking meals for him and Pastor. Detria used Fridays after work to prepare a week’s worth of her delicious meals. She carefully transferred them into freezer and microwaveable containers that she labeled to show which meal was inside and the date she prepared it.
“Thank God, it’s Friday,” a fellow nutritionist, Jill, remarked to Detria while the two of them completed their weekly share of paperwork, reports, and folder notes.
“I know that’s right. I’m going to go home and chill tonight.”
“Oh, you mean after you stop off at the gym,” Jill said in a teasing tone, “and after cooking your meals for the week? That’s something you’ll probably never stop doing.”
“You’d be surprised,” replied Detria.
“What do you mean? Pastor Graham must have finally laid down the law. Did he use that scripture in the Bible about wives submitting to their husbands?” The rail-thin, petite brunette opened her green eyes wide, cocked her head, then laughed and pointed at Detria.
“Girl, noooo,” Detria replied and smiled. “I incorporated a detour, if you can believe it. I left a pot roast slow-cooking in the Crock-Pot. All I have to do is add steamed vegetables to it. Stiles can pop a potato in the microwave if he wants one, and so can Pastor. They’ll eat on that two or three days, girl. They’re not picky at all because they know I’m not standing for them eating junk food. They couldn’t care less whether I cooked meals for a week or a meal every day. They just know they’re going to get a meal.”
“Girl, that’s so funny,” Jill said and then giggled.
“And guess what else is going to amaze you?”
Jill stood still as a bronzed statue. She looked at Detria and half smiled. “Do I even dare say yes?”
“That’s up to you because I’m going to tell you, anyway.” Detria’s mouth turned upward. “I’m not going to work out today, but believe me, I do plan on getting up early in the morning and going to the gym. It’s actually good for me and the baby as long as I don’t bench-press or do any ab crunches.”
“Lucky you. I cook every day except Sunday. The hubby takes me and the kids out to dinner after church. My workout consists of walking six miles a day, which I’m addicted to doing.”
“I don’t know what you mean by lucky me, because we both do the same thing, except you choose to prepare a meal a day, and, until now, I found it better for me to cook enough meals on one evening for a week. To be honest, you and I both know that cooking at home is better than going out all the time to buy fast food that clogs our arteries and hearts.”
Detria returned her focus to the last piece of paperwork, which lay in front of her. She proceeded to complete it. After she added a stack of papers and folders to her out-box for her administrative assistant, Detria gathered her personal belongings in preparation of going home. Detria pushed back from the desk and stood. She noticed for the umpteenth time how much her belly had grown, and she patted it lightly.
“
Yep, that baby is going to be huge. Are you sure you’re only coming up on ten weeks? You look like you just blew up overnight. And I’m not saying that to be mean,” Jill said as her eyes shifted to Detria’s pouch.
“It’s the truth. I’m amazed myself at how big I’m getting, and I’m not quite three months.”
“Well, I’m right behind you.”
Detria jerked her head. “What? You’re pregnant again?”
“What? Nooo. Are you crazy? I was talking about going home right behind you. Four kids are definitely enough for me, but if it was up to that husband of mine, I’d be like the woman on television who has almost two dozen kids. Can you imagine that?” Jill commented like she’d just stumbled upon a remarkable discovery.
Detria giggled, then picked up her laptop and purse. “Have a good weekend.”
“You too.” Jill placed a folder in her out-box. “See you Monday.”
“Okay,” replied Detria.
Detria hummed almost all the way home. When she arrived, she sat outside in her car for a few minutes and praised God. She was overjoyed each time she thought of the blessed life she lived. She finally got out of the car. She turned the key to the front door and stepped inside.
“Pastor,” she called. “I’m home. That pot roast smells so good, umph,” Detria continued. “Pastor? Are you here?” Detria shrugged her shoulders and started toward Pastor’s wing. As she walked down the hall, she stopped in her tracks when she thought she heard something. She called Pastor’s name again, but this time she moved more cautiously. She heard it again. It sounded like someone groaning in pain. She rushed farther down the hall until she arrived at the open door of Pastor’s bedroom. She scanned the room in seconds. When she didn’t see him, she rushed to his bathroom. Her hand flew up to her mouth when she saw Pastor lying on the ceramic tiled floor.
“Oh, my gosh.” She rushed to his side and went down to her knees. A small pool of blood was next to the left side of his head. “Pastor, Pastor,” she called. She used all of her strength to try to help him up, but failed. “Oh, my God. What happened to you?” she asked.
“I . . . fell.” He forced out the words. His eyes closed. Detria reached inside her purse, which she hadn’t bothered to lay down. She pulled out her phone and called 911. She was instructed to remain on the line until paramedics arrived. She lifted Pastor’s head and immediately her hand turned red from the blood that poured from an open head wound.
“Pastor, the ambulance is on its way.” He appeared to be losing consciousness. She wanted to keep him conscious until help arrived, so she pleaded with him to hang on. “I’ve got you. Just hold on. Please.”
Detria heard the blare of the ambulance and ended the call. She could tell from the sound that it was about to turn on her street. Within seconds, they were outside the house. “Pastor, I’ve got to let them in. I’ll be right back. Just hold on,” she said again and sprung up off her knees and bolted to the door.
The paramedics hurried inside the house and examined Pastor’s injuries. They exchanged conversation with one another while Detria retrieved the phone and called Stiles.
“They’re placing him on the stretcher now,” she said into the phone. She felt a wave of nausea, and her mouth grew unusually moist when she saw the bloody bandage wrapped around Pastor’s head. His eyes were closed, and she heard him mumbling incoherently. Her head began to spin, and between the sight of Pastor and hearing the frightened voice of her husband on the phone, Detria almost lost control. She closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. “Stiles, I’m going to the hospital with Pastor. I’ll meet you there,” she told him.
Stiles told her to stay home, and he would meet the ambulance at the hospital. Detria wanted to be with Pastor and Stiles, but she was far too nervous and shaken so she agreed to remain at home. Stiles promised that he would call her when he arrived at the hospital.
“Fine, but I’ve got to hang up. They’re taking Pastor outside to the ambulance,” she said.
Detria informed the paramedics which hospital to transport him to, then stood in the doorway and watched them until they closed the ambulance doors and drove off with the siren blaring.
Stiles remained true to his word. He called Detria outside the hospital soon after he was told that Pastor was being examined. “Are you all right?” he asked Detria.
“I’m good,” Detria answered barely above a whisper.
His voice unsteady, Stiles responded, “Baby, I need to get back inside. If you can, will you call Deacon Jones for me and tell him what’s going on?”
“You know I will. Now, get back inside so you won’t miss seeing the doctor. And call me back as soon as you can. I love you, and I’m praying for Pastor.”
“I love you too.” Stiles ended the call and dashed back inside the hospital emergency room. An hour plus later, he heard his name being called and looked up to see Pastor’s doctor walking toward him. Stiles hopped up. In three long strides, he was next to the doctor. “How is he, Doctor? How is my father?”
The gray-haired doctor’s thick gray eyebrows drew together. He wrapped his arms one inside the other. “Reverend Graham had another stroke. This isn’t good because it’s the third one in, what, less than three years?”
“Yeah, that’s right.” Stiles looked nervous. “Why does he keep having these strokes?”
“Tests revealed that he has cerebrovascular disease, or what we call CVD. It’s one of the reasons for the multiple strokes, in addition to his hypertension.”
Stiles stared, speechless.
“In order to maintain brain function,” the doctor explained, “it is necessary to have an uninterrupted blood supply. Because of his history of high blood pressure, he was at an increased risk of developing CVD. The head injury he sustained resulted in a mild concussion. At the time the stroke occurred, I surmise that he lost his balance, fell, and then hit his head.”
“Is he going to be all right? Is he conscious? What can you do about this CVD?”
“I have him on a blood-clotting medication for now as a precaution until I can perform an MRI on him.”
Stiles extended his hand toward the doctor, who reciprocated, and they shook hands. “Thank you, Doctor. Can I see him?” asked Stiles.
“Because of the concussion, he hasn’t regained full consciousness, but he is stable for now. You can see him shortly. I’ll have the nurse take you to the critical care unit waiting room. You can wait there until they give you the okay to see him. But when you see him, please don’t try to talk to him. He needs to rest for now. We’re going to keep a watch on him for the next twenty-four hours. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that it’s not good for him to have had so many strokes in such a short span of time. Strokes can be extremely debilitating, especially to someone like your father, who has already had multiple strokes. We’ll have to wait and see how much this one affects him. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to leave. But I won’t be far away if your father needs me.”
“Thank you,” Stiles told the doctor again, his mouth tight and grim. He rubbed his hand over his head and then sat down to wait for the nurse.
Stiles followed the nurse to CCU, a place he’d spent many days and some nights far too many times. He’d been inside these walls with his mother, with Pastor, and with numerous members of Holy Rock. There were times when it drained Stiles, but he had learned long ago from watching Pastor visit sick people, witness to the lost, counsel people, and bury the dead that all of it was part of the call on his life. Stiles had no doubt that God had called and anointed him to do the same and more. That meant there was no turning back.
A short while later, the nurse told him he could enter Pastor’s room. He positioned his frame next to Pastor’s bed. For a few moments, he stared at Pastor’s lightly wrinkled face, watching him sleep. The machines that surrounded Pastor’s bed, the needles that penetrated his skin, the brace around his neck, the white bandage with blood as red as an apple forming on his forehead—they all pushed Stiles into
prayer. Without thinking, he laid his hand on Pastor’s chest, and the presence of the Holy Spirit filled the room. Stiles cried out to the God that the man lying on the bed had introduced him to when he was a child.
He remained with his father until he heard someone walk up behind him and rest a hand on his shoulder. Stiles turned slightly and saw his friend Deacon Jones. They embraced.
“How is he?” Deacon Jones asked.
“He’s stable. But the doctor said he had another stroke. And he injured his head after apparently falling, so he has a concussion. But God is in the healing business. Pastor has been through some storms, but he has remained steadfast.”
“You got that right. God’s favor is evident. Why don’t we step outside for a minute or two? The nurse told me I was allowed only a few minutes because I’m not immediate family,” Deacon Jones said. Stiles replied by turning fully around until he faced the door. “How are you?” Deacon Jones asked as soon as they stepped into the corridor.
“Me? I’m fine. Just worried about Detria. I hate to leave her alone. I mean, my woman is pregnant. And I know she’s worried about Pastor, too. I don’t want her to be home alone.”
“Did you say pregnant?” Jones patted Stiles on the back.
“Yeah, you heard me right.” Stiles smiled, temporarily dismissing the emotional pain he was in.
“When were you planning on telling me?”
“I actually planned on telling you about it today, but all of this happened.” Stiles did his signature head rub.
“Man, you know I got you,” Deacon Jones said in a tone that clearly defined Stiles as not only his pastor, but also his homeboy. “Crystal and the baby are with Detria. When I told her what happened, she started getting the baby’s bag ready and told me she was going to go and sit with Detria. She said that she knew you would be worried sick about her. She was right.”
“Man, that’s a relief. Crystal knows she’s a blessing. You found a good wife in her, you know.”
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