19. Celeste #2
Self Ridge Botanical Park sat on the south side of town, tucked behind old, brick businesses and flowering hedges.
Dr. Adeline Freeman, a Black horticulturist with silver locs and a smile full of legacy, had founded it years ago.
Her portrait hung near the entrance beneath a scripture painted in gold along the wall.
They shall be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that He might be glorified.
Isaiah 61:3.
I read it once, then again, and my chest began to ache before I understood why.
The garden lived in every direction. Hibiscus bloomed red and gold along the walkway.
Crepe myrtles lifted pink blossoms toward the sky.
Rosemary grew near the benches, fragrant beneath the heat, and magnolia trees stood wide and patient, holding their sweetness like testimony.
Skye’s hand slipped into mine as we walked, and Zuri moved close to my other side, her shoulder brushing my arm every few steps.
Maya held her sketchbook against her chest instead of drawing, and Kayden walked with his hands buried in his hoodie pocket, his eyes moving over everything like he didn’t trust beauty that arrived without warning.
Josiah walked beside us, calm but not casual. He wasn’t performing. He wasn’t trying to impress my children. His face carried the gravity of a man who’d prayed before he planned, and every few steps, his eyes found mine like he was making sure I could still breathe.
I could.
Barely.
The Root & Remembrance Garden sat behind a wrought-iron gate wrapped in jasmine. A small sign explained that families could adopt trees in honor of loved ones, creating a living memorial that would be watered, tended, and protected through every season.
Skye leaned forward and read slowly. “Living memorial.”
Maya whispered, “That’s beautiful.”
Her voice was so soft I barely heard it, but I saw the way her fingers tightened around her notebook, pressing the cover against her heart.
Josiah stopped near a young live oak planted beside a curved stone bench. Its leaves were glossy and deep green, its trunk still slender but strong enough to promise time. Fresh mulch circled its base. Small white flowers had been planted around it, their petals open to the sun.
Beside the tree sat a polished black stone.
My steps faltered.
JAMAL COLEMAN
A husband. A father. A covering.
A love still growing.
Rooted in love. Remembered in every season.
For a moment, the entire garden lost sound.
No birds.
No wind.
No children breathing beside me.
Just Jamal’s name in stone and a tree alive above it.
My hand flew to my mouth. The purse strap slid from my shoulder to the bend of my elbow, but I couldn’t lift my arm to fix it.
My knees softened, my breath thinned, and the world blurred until all I could see was my husband’s name carved into something permanent while something living stretched above it.
“Mama?” Maya asked.
I couldn’t answer.
JJ moved first. He stepped toward the stone like his legs had forgotten how old he was.
His fingers hovered over his father’s name for a long second, trembling before they touched the engraving.
The moment his skin met the stone, his shoulders caved.
He bowed his head, one hand braced against the memorial, the other covering his eyes as his breath broke hard and silent.
Kayden made a sound I’d never heard from him before.
It wasn’t a sob at first. It was smaller. Younger. His hand came up to his chest, gripping his hoodie as if something underneath it had split open. His mouth parted, but no words came out, and when he took a step back, JJ reached behind him without turning and caught his sleeve.
Skye started crying because everyone else was crying, then cried harder when she understood why.
She pressed her face into my hip, and her little fingers twisted in the fabric of my blouse.
Zuri stood frozen with both hands to her mouth, eyes shining and shoulders shaking.
Maya sank onto the bench with her sketchbook hugged to her body, tears sliding down her face in complete silence.
I turned to Josiah.
He was looking at the tree.
His eyes were wet.
That undid me.
“You did this?”
He nodded slowly. “I adopted the tree in his name.”
My lips trembled. “Josiah.”
“I didn’t put my name on it.” His voice was thick. “This wasn’t about me.”
Kayden wiped his face with the back of his hand, then looked at Josiah with wet eyes and a wounded frown. “Why would you do that?”
Josiah turned toward him.
“Because I’m not here to uproot your father’s love.” His voice stayed steady, but his eyes shined. “Jamal planted something in y’all that I respect too much to disturb. He loved your mama. He covered this family. He gave y’all roots before I ever knew your names.”
JJ wiped beneath both eyes, his chest rising and falling like he was fighting for composure and losing with dignity.
Josiah looked at each of them. “I’m not asking for his place.
I’m not trying to move his memory out of the house, out of your hearts, or out of the story God already wrote through him.
If the Lord allows me to love your mama and walk with this family, I just want to lay down my own roots beside what’s already growing. ”
Josiah looked at the tree again. “Roots don’t fight underground. They strengthen what’s above them. They hold soil together. They reach for water in places nobody sees so what everybody does see can keep living.”
Kayden’s face crumpled.
Josiah stepped closer, but he didn’t touch him.
“Your daddy’s love is still here. I see it in JJ trying to lead without making noise.
I see it in you standing guard, even when the armor hurts.
I see it in Maya noticing what others miss, Zuri telling the truth, and Skye loving loud enough to scare sadness out of a room.
I see it in your mama every time she looks at y’all like God handed her proof after the funeral tried to convince her everything was gone. ”
I broke.
There was no graceful way to do it. No pretty tear.
No controlled breath. The sob tore out of me so suddenly my body folded around it, and Josiah was there before I had to ask.
His arm wrapped around my waist, strong and careful, holding me upright without pulling me away from my children.
I gripped his forearm with one hand and covered my mouth with the other, but the sound still came through, wounded and relieved at the same time.
Kayden stepped toward him.
“I’m sorry.”
This apology came from somewhere deeper than manners. Kayden’s face twisted as tears slid down his cheeks, and his hands opened and closed at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with all the hurt now that it had nowhere to hide.
“I’m sorry for how I acted. I didn’t know how to like you and miss him at the same time.”
Josiah placed one hand over his chest. “I understand.”
Kayden shook his head, tears dropping freely now. “I was scared if you came in, everybody would start needing me less.”
JJ turned from the stone. “Man, we need you because you’re Kayden, not because you’re trying to be Dad.”
Skye ran to Kayden and wrapped both arms around his waist. “I need you to reach the cereal.”
Zuri cried harder. “Skye, why are you like this?”
“Because I’m grieving and hungry.”
A broken laugh moved through all of us.
Maya stood and walked toward the tree. She touched one of the small leaves with the tip of her finger, then pulled her hand back like the tree had spoken too gently for her to keep touching it. “Can we come here on his birthday?”
Josiah looked at me.
I could barely speak, so I nodded.
“Yes. Whenever y’all want.”
Zuri sniffled. “Can we bring flowers?”
“Yes.”
Skye wiped her nose with her sleeve before I could stop her. “Can we bring snacks?”
“Lord have mercy,” JJ muttered.
Josiah smiled. “Maybe not on the stone, baby girl. But we can have a picnic nearby.”
Kayden stared at the plaque. His face was wet, open, and younger than he’d allowed himself to look in two years. The hardness he wore so often had slipped off his shoulders and pooled somewhere near his feet, leaving my boy standing there with grief in his eyes and a tremble in his mouth.
He turned to Josiah. “Thank you.”
Josiah’s jaw flexed once. “You’re welcome.”
Then Kayden hugged him.
Not fast.
Not easily.
He stepped forward like every inch cost him pride, guilt, and fear.
His arms lifted, hesitated, then closed around Josiah with the uncertainty of a boy who hadn’t decided whether he was allowed to need another man and the desperation of one who already did.
Josiah held him with one hand at the back of his head and the other across his shoulders, his chin lowered, his eyes closed, his whole posture understanding the assignment wasn’t replacement.
It was covering.