Wisdom Seeds (11 page)

Exhaustion doesn't adequately express how I felt after delivery. Even the adrenal rush of motherhood didn't mask my sudden need for sleep. I was dozing when Mom and Rhonda tiptoed into the recovery room to meet my son. Although my dad wasn't there, I hoped it would make him happy that I picked biblical names for his grandson. Joshua was valiant leader who carried out a mighty task in spite of obstacles and Boaz was perfect gentleman. My son would be a valiant leader and a perfect gentleman.

As I cradled my son, I thought about the wisdom seeds. They would now be critical and I would have to do better at helping them grow.

I spent my first three days home from the hospital on my sitz bath. My stitches were just as bad, if not worse, than the delivery. Breastfeeding turned out to be a nightmare because my son had a grip like a shark. He needed a bottle with a nipple that didn't have nerve endings!

Motherhood was a difficult transition – there was always something to do – feeding, bottles, laundry – it was a
never-ending cycle. My feelings vacillated between my fear of being a good mother and my contempt for Greg. I resented being a single parent and I hurt for my son who would probably never know his father.

My plans to go back to work in four weeks failed, I ended up taking six. With Mom's help I was able to do some work at home to keep Rhonda from falling behind. It also kept my paycheck coming, which I desperately needed. Returning to work would have been unbearable if Mom had not agreed to keep Joshua.

My dad continued to say very little to me – he never said congratulations or even asked to hold Joshua. His only acknowledgement of the baby was an unwrapped monitor left on my dresser.

On Mother's Day, I let Mom take Joshua to church. Having just gone back to work, I needed sleep and stayed home. Feeding Josh at midnight and six, and then getting up at seven-thirty, was taking a toll on me. My intention was to make dinner for her, but I didn't get up until two o'clock and Mom was already cooking. Josh was asleep in his bassinet, which she had pulled into the kitchen, and Mom was singing Amazing Grace. She should have been a singer; she had a beautiful voice.

Father's Day was a major event at St. Luke's. Mom was aware that I was avoiding people and stares. Everyone was trying to figure out who was Josh's father and they would be waiting to see who came to church with me on Father's Day. It was more than I felt like dealing with. I had managed to avoid talking to people after church over the past three weeks by going to my dad's study after service. I would again seek solace there before the benediction.

After church I put Josh down for a nap and contemplated calling directory assistance in Harrisburg to let
Greg know he had a son. I changed my mind and concluded that Greg didn't deserve to know – if he cared he would have called. I wrapped my dad's ties and took a nap with Josh.

During dinner I asked my dad to bless Joshua on the first Sunday in July. He agreed, after making it clear the blessing would have to be done privately at our house on Saturday. He had a long-standing rule that babies born out of wedlock could not be blessed during Sunday service. Although it made me angry, I reluctantly agreed. I wished Nana were alive, she would have wanted to be there.

Rhonda was honored to be Joshua's Godmother and she helped Mom plan a cookout for that afternoon. Alicia and Andrea drove down and spent the weekend with us. Several of the church members, who Rhonda told about the private blessing, stopped by with gifts and Mom invited them to stay. No one asked about Joshua's father and several of the women offered to baby-sit so I could have a day out. Mother Jones came by and gave me a box of Calgon.

“I knew you would get a lot of gifts for the baby,” she said hugging me. “This is something for you. Don't forget to take time for you.”

“That's going to be hard,” I tried to smile. There was not enough time in my day and there was no room to add anything else. My bedtime was thirty minutes after Josh's.

“You're no good to him if you're not good to yourself.” She squeezed my hand before going over to give Mom a hug.

Throughout the afternoon my dad reminded everyone that he expected to see them in church the next day.

In spite of that, the day was a memorable one. For the first time, in a long time, I felt happy. Nana was smiling – I felt it in the sun's rays.

It was the third Sunday in August and the brilliance of the sun's rays greeted me as I rolled over. I had spent many nights holding Joshua while I imitated Nana singing her favorite song. ‘If God's eye is on the sparrow, then I know, I know, he is watching me'. It was comforting to tell myself that God was watching me, especially when I felt so alone and angry. I had messed up and been foolish. Sometimes I felt like the sparrow that had fallen. I should have been flying – not lying on the ground.

Greg probably never gave us a second thought after the day I walked out of his apartment. I surmised he went home to his wife and continued his life as if we never met.

The realities of my situation played over in my head as I dressed Joshua for church. My son would never know his father and probably never have a relationship with his grandfather. Noah and Joey were estranged from the family and wouldn't be around as role models either. The literature on child rearing was not favorable on single parenting, especially for African American boys without a solid role model. My son would not be a statistic. My son would be a leader and a gentleman, maybe even president. Greg would be sorry he had chosen to ignore him.

Mom, Joshua and I were already in the kitchen when my dad came down for his morning coffee. She poured coffee in his cup and devotedly set it on the table next to the leather bound Bible. I purposely sat across from the cup so he would have to look at us. My intention was to engage him in conversation, although I didn't know what to say. He thumbed through his Bible as he drank his coffee and then announced, “I'll be in the car.”

Mom took his cue that he was ready to go. She dutifully cleared his cup and saucer before getting her purse and Bible.

The morning scripture was about the woman with the oil. She thought her situation was helpless until she learned to use what she had. It made me do a thorough evaluation to assess exactly what I had to use. My list was basic: good health, a good education and a healthy son. My desire to attend graduate school had become just a passing thought, but it was now or never. Living with my parents was not going to change the fact that I had joined the ranks of women across the country who, for whatever reason, were single mothers. I loved my job, but the idea of making $10,000 was not what I had in mind for my household income. The thought of single parenting was overwhelming, but I would have to adjust. The tension with my dad was thickening and often over-bearing. It wouldn't be long before Joshua came to understand my dad's comments about his father being a married man and me being an adulteress. It was time to move on.

The Master's Program at Ohio State was my first choice. Columbus was supposed to be an up and coming city filled with opportunities, especially for African Americans. I requested applications for OSU, Rutgers, Pitt and old faithful, Penn State. I had a one year plan that I would be going somewhere and starting a new life for my son and me by next August. I needed some faith; I just didn't know where to get it. I also needed those wisdom seeds to take root.

The leaves began to fall. A year had passed since I told Mom I was pregnant. Although disappointed, she continued to support and encourage me. Mom forced herself
to be excited about my plans for graduate school in spite of the obvious – her heart was wrenched. She was enjoying the time with Joshua and the new closeness of our relationship – parting would be difficult for both of us.

“I've enjoyed the time with my grandson and my daughter,” Mom told me one Saturday afternoon after I put Joshua down for a nap.

“Me too, Mom,” I smiled. “I'm going to miss you.”

Mom and I spent many hours talking and I learned more about her in the past year than I had all my life. Hard as I tried to convince myself, there was no pretending she was happy. Outside of Joshua, her life seemed empty. She and my dad rarely talked and they never took vacations. Mom had witnessed such a great love between her parents and I couldn't understand why she settled for so much less with my dad.

“Mom, do you still love my dad?” I asked over tea.

“Love never stops, Dani. Once you love someone, you love them forever.”

Not knowing what to say next, I paused. She broke the silence.

“Why do you ask?”

Risking hurting her feelings, I had to say it. “Sometimes you don't seem happy.”

“I've been with your dad a long time,” she explained. “Sometimes two people just get used to each other and each other's ways. They understand each other, even when no one else can.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your dad carries a lot of pain from when he was a child. A lot of pain and disappointment.”

I sat patiently waiting to hear the tale that might convince me that my dad was more than the stoic character I
had come to know.

“Your dad used to look up to his brother Paul and he really wanted to follow him to Dartmouth. He only went to Howard because he could work his way through school and wouldn't need any of his father's money. Even though your dad went on to receive his Master's Degree in Theological Studies, he has always admired Paul.”

While the door was open, I had to ask. “Is he jealous of him?”

“I don't know if jealous is a good word.” Mom was almost defensive. “Your Uncle Paul had a very successful military career and his children went to college and are enjoying some level of success. Your dad had big plans for all of you, too.”

“I'm sure it was a major blow that Joey and Noah didn't go to college.” I tried to sound sympathetic.

“And now you with the baby. It's hard on your dad.”

I had no idea of the competition my dad had with Uncle Paul. I had written a paper on the middle child syndrome and surmised that could also be part of the problem. It wasn't worth trying to explain to Mom. My opportunity for information was at hand and I had to take advantage of it while Mom was talking.

“How did you meet my dad?” I asked moving the subject back to her.

“I met David at a summer Christian Youth Retreat in Maryland when I was seventeen-years-old. He carried my bags from the bus to my room and then he came back that evening to escort me to dinner. We spent the entire two weeks together and before he left he told me I would be his wife. I believed him. We kept in touch by letter and I fell in love with him. The next year, after I graduated, I followed David to Howard. He was the only boyfriend I ever had.”

Her story seemed so romantic. I wanted to imagine
that my parents were a happy, fun-loving couple. Perhaps they had been happy when they first got married.

“I used to dream about being a preacher's wife.” Mom continued. “When David was called to the ministry during his junior year, I took that as confirmation I was to be his wife.”

“What about you, Mom? What about your singing? Didn't you ever want a career?”

“Things were different, Dani. I watched my mother scrub floors and take in laundry. She worked so hard that sometimes she fell asleep at the dinner table. My father worked in the mill all day. He left before I got up and sometimes didn't come in until I was in bed. The only time I spent with him was when he was dying. I promised myself I wouldn't work if I didn't have to.”

“Why'd you go to college?”

“My parents wanted me to. They saved everything so I could go to school.”

“What was your major?”

“Education. I wanted to be a teacher.”

“Mom, you'd be a wonderful teacher.”

“I taught at a school in Maryland while David finished at the seminary. My salary wasn't much and your dad always said better days were ahead.”

“Why'd you stop?”

“I had Noah and your dad told me I didn't have to work. He said he would take care of me if I stayed home to raise his children. I did the best I could.”

“You did fine, Mom.” I tried to reassure her, assuming that she might look at her children as failures. After all, we hadn't turned out the way my dad wanted us to.

Tears slowly made tracks down her face. “I miss my mother,” she said getting up from the table. “I never understood why David didn't like her. I needed her to help
me.”

Mom suddenly appeared vulnerable and exposed. She had never shown any emotion in front of me before. My feeble attempts to comfort her were marred by the overwhelming guilt I was feeling for messing up.

“I love you, Mom.” I hugged her and held her while we cried.

Joey and Noah promised Mom they were coming home for Thanksgiving and I was excited about seeing them. Although Mom swore she didn't need any help with Thanksgiving dinner, I was looking forward to helping her.