Wisdom Seeds (22 page)

The sermon on the fourth Sunday in August was titled, Take Your Burdens to the Lord and Leave Them There. The pastor concluded with the reading of Matthew 11:28-30:

Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden,
and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and
learn from Me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart,
and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke
is easy and My burden is light.

The words resonated in my head. Reverend Compton opened the doors of the church and Jason grabbed my hand. “I need to do this.” He stood to his feet. I didn't know what to say. “We need to do this,” he was gently pulling me to my feet. Before I knew it we were standing at the altar.

Jason, determined to find a miracle, was willing to give Jesus a try. I went with him because I couldn't imagine my life without him. I needed to believe God would help Jason. I cried uncontrollably as Jason held me at the altar.

“Lord God please help him,” I whimpered. “I don't know what to do.”

People were gathering around us praying and thanking God that we had come. They didn't know we came selfishly, we needed a miracle. I heard Josh whisper in my ear, “Mom please don't cry.”

We were emotionally drained after morning service. I retreated to my room and Jason sought refuge in his recliner. It was five-thirty that evening when Josh woke me.

“Mom, get up.” He was almost pleading. “I made dinner.”

I sat up and tried to smile. I could feel that my eyes were still swollen. “Thank you,” was all I managed to say.

“Come on.” Josh pulled me by the hand. “Dad's already downstairs.”

Jason was setting the table when I walked into the dining room. I went over and hugged him. Josh came in behind me and we all hugged.

“I love you Dad,” Josh said without looking at him. “I don't ever want you to die.”

“Always know that I love you,” Jason told him lifting his face as he had done so many times before after spanking him. “And remember – remember everything.”

We hugged and cried in the dining room.

Two weeks later, after completing the New Members classes, we were baptized at Southfield Baptist Church. I called my mother, Rhonda, my cousins and the Singleton's that evening. Everyone was careful not to make promises, but diligent in reminding me that God would see us through the worst storms of life. I wanted a miracle. I wanted Jason to be cured and I wanted us to see Josh graduate from high school and college, to see him married, to play with our
grandchildren and grow old together. No one was promising a miracle – only strength. I needed faith. There was nothing in the wisdom seeds to help me when I needed it most. The flowers that had begun to bloom from my wisdom seeds were choking on the weeds of my distress.

Josh began his sophomore year looking forward to basketball season. He anticipated starting and let conditioning dominate his free time. He pretended to be able to handle everything. I would hear him crying at night and was unable to comfort him. I had not yet found a way to comfort myself.

I was having a pity party one Saturday afternoon when Miss Mary, a mother of the church, came by with a pound cake.

“I don't mean to intrude,” she said as I welcomed her in. “I wanted to bring this cake and to pray with you.”

I didn't know what to ask for. The cancer was progressing rapidly and the love of my life was dying before my eyes. His suffering crippled me. Miss Mary prayed Nana's words – she said tears were for growing and then the sun always smiled down after each rain. Her words were almost poetic, but my life was hurting and I found no comfort in them. Jason had taken a turn for the worse and we were coping poorly with more cancer, more treatment, more doctors and shattered hope.

By December 1996, Jason was spending more time in the hospital than out. I was emotionally shattered trying to deal with the cancer that had blind-sided us and turned our lives upside down. We were sending people to the moon, yet there were no cures.

The chemotherapy rendered Jason helpless and he was unable to help us decorate the tree. Josh and I decorated
it while he slept.

The Jordan jersey was the last gift I wrapped. My intention was to wake Jason at midnight so we could exchange gifts – I fell asleep in the game room before the news came on.

“Hey lady,” he said shaking me, “it's midnight.”

“Are you okay?” I was startled and I sat straight up. “Is something the matter?”

“I'm fine,” he said smiling and sitting next to me. “I have something for you.” Jason handed me a little box with a huge bow. “This is for you.”

“And this is for you.” I smiled and handed him the box on the end table. “It's your turn to go first.”

Jason opened the box and almost cried when he saw the basketball jersey. “Baby, you shouldn't have.”

Guilt made me buy it. When Jason first talked about buying it himself I fussed that no shirt was worth that kind of money no matter whose name was on it. “You should have the things you want,” I said fighting back tears.

He kissed me. His closeness still made my heart flutter.

“Now your turn,” he said as he put the jersey on. “Open the box.”

It was an eighteen-karat gold Hershey's kiss. We had gone to Hershey Park the year after we were married and I faked being sick and stayed in the hotel room. A month later I admitted being afraid of seeing Greg. Jason was angry that I had not been honest with him. It was the only fight we ever had during our marriage.

“I'm sorry,” he said wiping my tears with his hand. “It was a dumb thing to be angry about. I should have understood.”

I slept in his arms on the couch under the twinkling of the Christmas tree lights.

We made our usual list of calls on Christmas morning and everyone was relieved to hear that Jason was feeling better. He had had several good days and we went to see Josh play in the Christmas tournament. Josh was named MVP and gave the trophy to Jason. We celebrated by going to dinner and then to see The Preacher's Wife. I cried when Whitney Houston sang I Believe in You and Me – it was our wedding song.

By the end of February Jason had lost twenty-five pounds and getting out of bed was difficult. On March third he was admitted to the hospital, again.

Jason had been heavily sedated for over seventy-two hours – his body trembled from the pain as he went in and out of consciousness. I never left him alone – I made sure Joshua, one of his parents or one of his sisters was with him even if I only went to the bathroom. I rationalized that Jason would hold on as long as he was not alone. Dr. Whitlock told me that Jason's prognosis was poor and he probably wouldn't live through the week. Almost three weeks had passed. I liked Dr. Whitlock, but I hated his words. My mind told me he was doing his best to prepare the family for the inevitable; my heart told me he had already given up.

I awoke to Jason moaning at 6:17 on the morning of March seventh.

“I'm here baby, I'm right here.” I held his hand and ran my finger across his brow. “I'll get the doctor,” I whispered reaching for the buzzer.

“No,” he groaned. “Open the curtains.”

Although I was confused by his request, I obeyed and drew the curtains to the black sky. He heaved through his pain as he motioned for me to sit on the bed. I knew I wasn't supposed to. The nurses had already reminded me several times to stay off the bed. Jason tried to hug me and I snuggled against his heaving chest. His trembling hand
played in my hair. I wanted to breathe life into his body – he was dying and we both knew it.

“I love you,” he whispered, “very much.”

“I love you more,” I sobbed. I could feel him trying to hold me tighter than the pain was holding him.

“Time?” He asked as tears flowed freely from his eyes.

“Six twenty-nine,” I said looking at the big clock on the wall. When Jason had been admitted the ticking got on my nerves, but grief and anxiety made me oblivious to it.

“Sunrise,” he whispered, “our sunrise.”

“A new beginning, a brand new day,” I began to recite our vows, “the beginning of a lifetime of love.” We spoke these words every year as we watched the sun rise. Twelve years had passed so quickly.

“Thank you for your love and for a son.” His breathing became more labored.

“Jason, let me get the nurse.” I was pleading, but he shook his head no.

“I'm going to meet Nana.” He tried to smile. “I'll be watching, too.”

“Jason, don't leave me.” I clung to his trembling body. “I love you.” I kissed his dry cracked lips and wiped the tears from his eyes.

“Love you, love Josh,” I heard him whisper. “Jesus loves you, too.”

We had watched the sunrise on our honeymoon and every anniversary. It was over. Jason died before the sunrise on March 7, 1997.

Jason had touched many lives – his co-workers, the high school kids he mentored, the Boy Scout troop he started when Josh was six, his family, his friends, Josh and mine.
We celebrated his life at Southfield Baptist Church with a host of family and friends. The beautiful songs, the loving sentiments, the words of comfort were all endearing – but Jason was gone. When all the people went home – it was Josh and I alone in the house with our pain and the void of Jason's absence.

I was lying on the couch wearing one of Jason's tee shirts and his sweat pants. I had been there all weekend. Josh sat in Jason's favorite chair, the recliner. We watched Indiana Jones. It was Jason's favorite movie.

“Mom are you going to work tomorrow?” Josh asked breaking the silence.

“Not sure, why?”

“If you go to work, I'll go to school,” he said without looking at me. “We've been home for a week.”

I had a few tranquilizers left, but I couldn't even go upstairs to get them. I remained numb with or without them. The thought of leaving the house was still unbearable.

“He loved you very much Josh,” I said sitting up.

“Why did God let my dad die?”

His eyes filled with tears and I motioned for him to come over to me. I held him and we grieved together. He was trying so hard to be strong for me and had not cried at the funeral. I held him tight and close.

“I don't know why,” I said softly. “We will always have him in our hearts and in our memory.” I needed to hear that, even if it was me talking.

We went to Smithtown for Easter. Joey was bringing his fiancé to introduce her to the family and I looked forward to seeing Stormy, she had just turned twenty-three. Where had the time gone?

We arrived on Good Friday in time to attend the evening service. It took all I had to smile and greet the congregation. My dad spoke from Matthew 28:5 - 6:

But the angel answered and said to the women, “Do
not be afraid, for I know that you seek Jesus who
was crucified. He is not here; for He is risen, as He
said. Come, see the place where the Lord lay.”

The title of his message was What Did They Expect to Find at the Tomb? The same question I was asking myself. I wanted to put fresh flowers on Jason's grave, but was mentally unable to handle replaying the funeral. What did I expect to find at the tomb?

It was my intention to avoid people and we left immediately after the benediction.

Josh was downstairs watching TV when I heard the car door close. I was in bed.

“Dani,” Mom peeked her head in the room. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah Mom.” I tried not to sound pitiful. “I'm just tired.”

“Dani, it's okay to hurt.” She sat on the bed. “I know you're hurting. You really loved Jason.”

Fighting tears, tired of crying, I bit my lip and kept my face in the pillow.

“Tell me what I can do.” Her voice was consoling.

“Just hold me.” I put my head in her lap and cried.

The aroma of coffee greeted me the next morning and I almost stepped on Josh who was sleeping on the floor.

“Josh!” I said just missing him. “What's the matter?”

“I wanted to sleep in here with you.” He sat up. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I'm okay.”

“I heard you crying last night.” He paused. “I hate when you cry.”

“Are you hungry?” I asked, changing the subject and helping him up from the floor. “Breakfast is done, I can smell it.”

“What's this?” He picked up the basket of neatly folded letters at the bottom of the bed.

“Love letters,” I smiled. “Your dad and I wrote them.”

“When you were dating?”

I took the basket from him. “Every Valentine's Day and every anniversary.”

“Aw, Ma, can I read them?”

“Maybe some of them.”

“Did you and my dad write sexy stuff to each other?”

“Some things are private between two people. You'll understand one day when you fall in love.”

“I'm in love with Nicki.”

“Real love,” I clarified for him. “Two months from now the two of you might not even remember each other's names.”