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The way his face contorted into a mug and he shot Mahogany a look, I could do nothing but think about his damn daddy! Trip would wear that same look whenever he didn’t like something that was said or when someone pissed his ass off.
“Tripping how? Your mama can’t have a boyfriend? Mahogany asked Vonte.
“Hell no, she can’t have no boyfriend! What she need a boyfriend for? What you need a boyfriend for, Ma?” Vonte asked, diverting his attention to me.
The look in his eyes, was as if he was rushing me to go ahead and answer him. I swear, sometimes he thought just because he was bigger than me and taller than me, that he was the parent and I was the child. Then, sometimes, I felt like Trip had died and was reincarnated through him. Personality wise, he reminded me so much of his father.
“Why are you even entertaining Mahogany, Vonte? Relax, sounding like Trip!” I scolded him.
He looked at me long and hard before he put the controller back in his hands.
“Yeah, whatever! I’m serious, Ma. You can’t have no boyfriend. Any nigga you even thinking about bringing around, they gotta go through me first. Personally, I feel like any other nigga is not even worthy of you, to begin with. So, if that nigga wants your number, tell him to walk his ass over here and knock on this door and try to ask me for it! You tripping,” he angrily said, right before he resumed the game and got right back to playing.
“Jashae! Jashae!” my name was called, snapping me out of the trance that I’d temporarily gone into.
I found myself doing that a lot these days. At some of the oddest moments, I would remove myself from reality and think about moments and conversations that I had in the past with my son. If I wasn’t doing that, then I was having dreams about him. Dreams where I swore that I could smell him, feel him, and sometimes at night, it felt like he was in the bedroom with me. I could feel his presence throughout my entire home.
I wasn’t better; I pretended that I was better in front of family, but truth be told, I was still hurting. I still felt like all of this was new to me, and I hadn’t come to grips with the fact that my baby boy’s eighteenth birthday was a few weeks ago, yet he wasn’t here to celebrate it. As if losing my son wasn’t enough, I had to find out from Miami that the grandchild I thought I had on the way wasn’t even happening. The grandchild that I thought was going to be a piece of my son that I had lost wasn’t happening. My body was numb.
For the first time in my life, I wanted to physically hurt somebody. Thoughts, voices, and hurt were all telling me to find Taylor and strangle that bitch to death, but even after I did all of that, my hurt and pain would still very much still be there. My son would still be gone, and the grandchild that I wished for still wouldn’t be mine. For the sake of my freedom and Taylor’s life, it was only right that I leave well enough alone. There would never be anything that she could say to me that would make what she did okay. I had painted an entire nursery, which took me days to complete. I had spent thousands on clothes, shoes, diapers, and just everything that I felt my grandchild should have. I had an order for a crib, a rocking chair, and other furniture on the way, which I had to call a couple of days ago and cancel since no baby would be coming into my home.
Two nights ago, I found myself in my room with a bottle of pills in my hand, and every thought of just ending it right there. That was the reason why I was in the middle of this circle seeking help. It was pretty much a recovery class for parents who’ve lost their children. Whether it was from natural causes, gang violence, whatever it was, we all shared pretty much the same story.
My grandmother was actually the one that had come to me about this class. When she came to me with it, I swear she was pretty much just demanding that I go. I had every excuse in the world not to go, but this was one of those times that she wasn’t taking no for an answer, so here I was, with her sitting right beside me. We were in a circle, and there were moms and fathers who each wore the same heartbroken look on their faces as I had.
“Sorry,” I called out to the instructor.
It was him calling my name back to back, trying to get my attention. He was an older black guy. If I had to have guessed, I would say that he was in his mid-sixties. When he opened up almost an hour ago to the class, I found out that twenty years ago, he’d lost his daughter. Sadly, she was jumped by a group of girls, and because she’d fallen and hit her head on a brick that was on the floor, she died hours later at the hospital. He talked about using drugs for years after losing his daughter. He talked about failed suicide attempts, and he also talked about how it had been twenty years, and some nights, he still cried himself to sleep. I could only see why he offered this support group.
“If you don’t mind me asking, what were you thinking about?” he asked.
He was standing in the middle of the circle, and he walked over to me. I could feel all eyes on me, and I hated it.
It was like my body screamed, “Look at me! I’m weak.”
I knew that I and everyone else in this room were pretty much in the same boat, but still, I hated the eyes. Plus, I wasn’t looking my best. I wore black tights with a pair of slides on my feet and a hoodie with the hood over my head. I thought of the hood as my shield. I felt that it helped to hide me, even though it probably didn’t. I didn’t know if everyone else was cold, but I was freezing. I had my hands pulled inside the bottom on the sleeves that I wore, and my hands were securely wrapped around myself in an attempt to warm up.
“Vonte, my baby. That’s all I think about these days,” I let him know, and he nodded.
I felt my grandmother’s hand touch my back, and she moved it around in a circular motion.
“Only if you feel up to it. Would you mind sharing with the class with what happened to Vonte? If it’s too soon, Jashae, you don’t have to,” he said.
Everyone in the room had pretty much shared their stories on what happened with their kids. Not to be rude or anything, but within five minutes of being there, mentally, I’d already checked out. Thinking about my son, I looked at all the eyes inside the room, which were all looking back at me, and I cleared my throat. I hadn’t even started talking yet, but a tear had already managed to fall that I didn’t even bother to wipe away. I felt so vulnerable, and when I got ready to talk, I looked down at my feet, which were in desperate need of a pedicure.
“Almost three months ago, I lost my son to a severe asthma attack that he had in the middle of the court at his championship game. Basketball was everything to him for a lot of reasons. He always used to tell me that basketball was the way that he would be able to tell me to quit my job one day and take care of me the same way that I took care of him for seventeen years. My son ate, slept, and breathed basketball. If there was ever a worry of mine when it came to losing my son, you could say that I worried a lot about other young boys who didn’t have the same promising future as him, and we all know that jealousy can make a person do some crazy things.
“My son would constantly tell about some of the things that boys would say to him when they saw him out, at school, just anywhere. It was me who taught my son how to ignore it, even though I knew that he would fight if it ever came down to it. I taught Vonte a lot of things over the years. Since he was a day old, I would look him in his eyes and tell him that I would never let anything happen to him.
“I was thirteen when I had Vonte with not a single dollar to my name, yet I was making big promises like that. I took that same mindset with him as he grew up. I’m not that big, but I felt like it was my job to be my son’s protector. Talk about a promise that was broken. If I could just get that look out of my head from when he had the asthma attack, I probably wouldn’t be hurting so much right now…” I paused for a second, bit down hard on my lip, and could feel the tears flowing.
“My son was scared. My baby was scared. I remember asking over and over where was his gym bag, which had his asthma pump in it, but it’s like it just disappeared into thin air. People think that I’m hurting just because I lost my son, but this shit is mental too. I’m living with the fact that I did this to him. I’m punishing myself every day for this. Everybody keeps saying that they want the old Jashae back. The goofy one who laughed at everything. The one who was always smiling. Honestly, I want her back too, but when my son died, pieces of me left with him.
“Tomorrow is signing day, and this day meant a lot to both me and Vonte. I’m not asking for anything. The only thing that I want for everyone in this room to do is to simply pray for me because I need it,” and with that, I broke down.
It wasn’t just my grandmother coming over to console me. I swear, everyone in the room had come over to hug me, touch me, pray for me, or just to assure me that everything was going to be alright.
Later that night
