Chapter 20 #2
“Ever again” wound up being two days of his communicating with me solely via writing on a notepad.
It was rough times, tough times. But we’d navigated the past three years by grace and entered a soft place of (mostly) balance. And acceptance. I loved everything about my son and was his biggest cheerleader. But that didn’t mean disrespectful acting out was tolerated.
“Justus Avery Adams.” My voice was as soft as his was loud. “You have our attention, son. Same as you do many of the sick and injured people here. You cannot be disrespectful to them or us by shouting. It’s unacceptable and has consequences. Am I clear?”
I watched him count backward, mouth moving, voice on mute. Slowly, like a punctured tire, his anxiety lessened. He relaxed somewhat. When he felt in control, he nodded.
I wanted to embrace him when I stood. Instead, I followed his lead when he remained in place without moving towards me. “Baby boy, I promise I’m not leaving. Do you trust me?”
He answered quietly. “I think so… yes.”
“I appreciate that. It’s late. Can you go home with Nana and get some rest?”
“Can Brendan come for a sleepover? I have extra PJs at Nana’s that he can wear.”
Mama responded before I could. “Of course, he can if he wants to and if it’s alright with Nichelle, but I don’t want to leave your mom by herself.”
“Mama V, let’s trade places. If taking Brendan with you means one less non-stop eating child for me to feed tomorrow morning, I’m for it. I’ll stay with Lynette.”
“Cool!” Justus high-fived Brendan, who was grinning widely. “Nana has ice cream. We can make milkshakes and watch Shrek.”
“Yes!” Brendan pumped a fist in joyful agreement.
“Mama, are you sure?” I didn’t want her overwhelmed with adolescents.
She was already up and pulling car keys from her purse. Her eyes held shadows of concern that couldn’t dim her faith. “We’ll be fine… and so will you.” My mother laid hands on my head and quietly prayed as only a mama can.
Tears threatened our eyes when we said, “Amen.”
“Alright. God has you.” She kissed my forehead. “I’ll update Rodney and your sisters. Keep your phone nearby because I’ll be checking in. We’re going home to ice cream and Shrek.”
I sat with Nichelle after our family’s exit. “Sis, I’ll be fine. You don’t have to stay—”
“Hush, Nette, and accept the extreme gift of my presence.”
I snorted to keep from laughing and spiking my headache. I rubbed the glittered fabric of her nightwear. “Is this a onesie?”
“I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t.”
“And why the neon splashes?”
“So Clay can find me in the dark.”
“Lynette Stanford.” Hospital personnel called before I could respond. When I got up so did Bestie.
“What?” She looked innocently at me. “I’m going with you.”
“Only if they permit it and if there’s enough room.”
“Whatever, Lynette. Just walk.”
Staff spoke to Nichelle while verifying my patient ID wristband. “Ma’am, you’ll have to remain in the waiting room.”
“I’m her wife. Isn’t immediate family allowed?”
My head swung around so hard I wobbled. “Nichelle!”
“Ma’am, have a seat and we’ll let you know if and when you can come back.”
“I’ll be here for you, pookie.” That nut had the nerve to kiss me on the lips.
Lord, You didn’t give that girl good sense!
I thanked God for that nutcake when blood was drawn and sent to the lab and abnormal results were received, when worry tried to strangle my faith after an ER doctor admitted me for overnight observation, and gave me a medical release from work on Monday.
“I feel better. What happened shouldn’t merit all this. ”
“Nette, you better stay in that bed and rest!” Bria’s fussing floated from my phone in speaker mode. I’d called my sisters, as commanded by Nichelle, after the doctor left.
Shay jumped in. “It’s that or I will wrap my hands around your neck.”
Nichelle was next. “Sis, trust! I snatched her Super Black Woman cape off. Girlfriend’s in this hospital on lock.”
Even after the three of them read me the riot act and my siblings disconnected, Bestie refused to leave. She climbed onto the hospital bed and wrapped her arms around me. “I got you, wifey.”
I laughed. I cried. I acknowledged the exhaustion I’d hidden. And the fear caused by not knowing the extent of whatever “abnormal” meant. I simply knew I needed to take my mind off of it. When Nichelle drifted off, I opened an internet browser on my phone and typed in Zanitha Freeman.
Articles. Essays. Dissertations and master’s theses.
Images. Children’s books. Videos and reenactments.
There was no shortage of information about Grandma Zinnie except—other than a brooch—how she was connected to Nana Nettie.
I rehashed what I remembered from the stage play, only remembering someone named Lovie. No Nana Nettie.
I stared at the now familiar picture of an elusive family member. “Who were you, ma’am? Her mother, daughter? Aunt? Sister?”
I had zero answers. Just memories from the play of being awed by Zanitha Freeman’s life and presence. I was struck by appreciation and felt I could do whatever because of her bravery and strength. “I need to look at The Treasury again. I’m off Monday. I’ll do it then.”
I drifted to sleep looking at her picture, feeling as if her power and essence were with me. If this woman was my ancestor and she’d walked countless miles without giving in to whatever despair in her journey, I could do this.
By virtue of God’s power and the divine inheritance in me, I would keep my promise to my son.
I would fight for my life. I would live and find Grandma Zinnie in the process.