19. Celeste #3
JJ came next.
He didn’t say anything at first. He just shook Josiah’s hand, pulled him into a hug, and held on longer than either of them expected.
JJ’s jaw clenched over Josiah’s shoulder, and his eyes squeezed shut like he was trying to keep the last two years from spilling out in public.
When he stepped back, his eyes were red.
“You honored him.”
Josiah nodded. “That mattered to me.”
“It matters to us.”
Maya started crying harder. Zuri joined.
Skye asked if group hugs were mandatory or optional, then shoved herself into the middle before anyone answered.
For a few seconds, my babies clung to one another and to Josiah beneath that young live oak, and I stood there, watching a man take their father’s memory and plant it instead of stepping over it.
Something inside me rooted beside him.
I looked at the tree and thought about Jamal.
His laugh. His hands. His voice calling the children from the backyard.
The way he used to say love didn’t stop being love just because life changed the assignment.
My fingers found the charm bracelet at my wrist, and I rolled the tiny charm between my thumb and forefinger until the edge pressed into my skin.
Then I looked at Josiah.
He was crying too.
Not loudly. Not for attention. He stood there with tears on his face, one arm around Skye, one hand resting on Kayden’s shoulder, letting my family’s grief touch him without making it about him.
I stepped closer and took his hand.
His fingers closed around mine.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He looked down at me. “I meant what I said, Red.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want to uproot anything.”
My voice broke. “You didn’t.” His thumb moved over my knuckles. “You planted beside it.”
The words left me before I knew they were coming.
Josiah closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, something in his face looked like prayer had found language.
“Can I pray?”
Nobody hesitated.
We bowed our heads.
Josiah’s voice came low, deep, and rough around the edges.
“Lord, thank You for Jamal Coleman. Thank You for the love he planted, the covering he gave, and the family still standing because his life left roots. We’re not here to erase what You allowed him to build.
We’re here to honor it. Keep this tree strong.
Let it grow through storms, heat, drought, and seasons when the ground feels too hard to hold anything tender. ”
Kayden sniffed beside him. JJ rubbed both hands down his face. Maya leaned into my side, and I felt her tears dampen my sleeve. Zuri’s fingers found mine, and Skye pressed her forehead into Josiah’s arm.
Josiah kept praying. “Cover these children. Let JJ lead without losing himself. Let Kayden rest from carrying what was never meant to bend his back. Let Maya keep seeing beauty. Let Zuri keep telling truth. Let Skye keep bringing joy into heavy rooms. And cover Celeste, Lord. Let her heart know that loving again doesn’t dishonor the love that came before.
Teach us how to grow without pulling up what love already built.
Teach us how to water what’s living. Teach us how to make room for love with roots deep enough to share the soil. ”
My sob slipped out again.
Josiah’s hand tightened around mine.
“In Jesus’ name, amen.”
“Amen,” we said.
For a while, nobody moved.
The wind stirred the leaves above Jamal’s name, and sunlight shifted through the branches, laying gold across the stone like heaven had reached down and touched it.
I watched the light move over the engraving, soft and unhurried, and my chest loosened around a grief I hadn’t realized I’d been holding with both hands.
Skye leaned into Josiah’s side. “Mr. Josiah?”
“Yes, baby girl?”
“If you and Mama get married one day, can this tree come?”
JJ wiped his face and groaned. “Skye.”
“What? It’s family now.”
Josiah looked at me.
Through tears, I laughed.
He smiled softly. “We’ll cross that bridge when God tells us where it is.”
Zuri nodded. “That means maybe.”
Maya wiped her face. “It means pray about it.”
Kayden looked at the tree, then at Josiah. His lips pressed together, and he swallowed twice before the words came. “I think Dad would’ve liked this.”
JJ bent forward with his hands on his knees. Maya covered her face with both hands. Zuri cried into Skye’s shoulder, and Skye cried because everybody else restarted. I turned into Josiah’s chest, and he held me while his own breath shook against my hair.
For two years, I’d thought moving forward meant leaving Jamal behind.
But standing there in The Root & Remembrance Garden, with my children crying around a tree planted in their father’s name and Josiah’s hand steady against my back, I finally understood.
Love wasn’t asking us to leave him.
Love was asking to keep growing.
Jamal had been a root.
Josiah wasn’t trying to pull him up.
He was asking if there was room in the soil.
And God help me, with tears on my face and my babies gathered beneath leaves that would outlive our fear, I knew there was.