Seize the Day (29 page)

I did, but the disappointment, hurt and anger never left me. Now here I was trying to find some level of comfort at a critical time in my life, and she was in my face?

“So, we've talked and you can go on back to D.C. You're not needed here.”

“We're going to eat our food and let you calm down some,” Skylar said. She still didn't get it.

“If I haven't calmed down in eighteen years, why do you think I would now?”

“Because your daughter is here and it's important to her.”

That was the most meaningful thing that woman said to me in eighteen years. My life was all about my daughter. Period.

“I'm going to the car to check on my dog. I'll be there when you're done.”

Then I pulled out thirty dollars and handed it to Maya. “This is for your meal,” I said before turning and walking away.

I had asked God for the guidance and strength to forgive Skylar. I prayed about it many times over the years, until I totally forgot about her. But I remembered the prayer Reverend Henson asked me to recite when I was challenged. So, when I got into the car, I had Moses hop onto my lap and I recited it:

“Father God, I know You have called me home. My time is coming. Give me strength and courage to walk in Your path in these final days. Thank You for the blessing of life. And thank You for the blessing of death, for I know the greatest gift is coming home to You.”

The prayer work, inasmuch as I felt the burden was lifted off of me. I knew Maya would grill Skylar—another reason I left. My daughter was as sweet as they come. But when she wanted answers, she vigorously pursued them.

I could tell that they had a heated discussion by their body language when they returned to the car. And the silence. It wasn't right, but I was glad Skylar felt uncomfortable.

“So, you made a reservation at my hotel, right, Maya?”

“I did.”

“And her?”

“She was staying with me, but I don't know now.”

Skylar jumped in. “Why don't you know?”

“Because maybe we should spend some time apart. I love you, Mom. You know I do. But I learned a lot today.”

“So I'm just persona non grata, huh?”

“Looks that way,” I said with delight.

“And that's just what you want, isn't it. You claim I'm evil but you're the one who's evil.”

“Hey, I went eighteen years and didn't say a word, even with all the contempt I have for you, contempt you knew I had for you. So, for you to show up here, uninvited by me, and to expect a warm and fuzzy greeting, you just fooled yourself.

“And that's what's sad: all this time later you're still making bad decisions. I ain't perfect, but I never tried to hurt you or anyone else. I never lied to have someone put in jail and I damn sure didn't cheat on you. So, you can continue to play the victim role.”

“Mom, you can stay with me. Don't worry about it. I'm just disappointed.”

We drove back to the hotel in silence, everyone trying to get his/ her bearings. I still didn't understand why Skylar came to Atlanta, except that she was seeking some forgiveness from me before I passed on. I was not going to give it to her.

I passed on talking with my daughter and her mother that night. I wanted to get some rest, play with Moses and prepare myself mentally for my first treatment.

I did go over to Maya's room and hugged her tightly and kissed her all over her face like I used to when she was a little girl.

“That takes me back in time, Daddy. And it makes me sad, too.”

“I know, baby. I know.”

I hugged her and we both cried.

I
wasn't homophobic, but I knew taking an enema was not going to be easy for me. My anus had one purpose, and it was for getting stuff out, not taking stuff in.

At the same time, I was eager to get it. I kept it moving, but I felt a change in my body, in my health. It was not a dramatic change, but I felt less energetic and restless. Couldn't sleep well and I had lost almost ten pounds. It looked good on me—I had gained a few doing much of nothing over the years. But I was concerned about how I could stop the weight loss because I was afraid to consistently eat…and my appetite was diminishing.

Dr. Ali sent me much information on clean eating, and I had, for the most part abided by it. I was going to make sure I stuck to it starting that day because I wanted to stave off the real agony that was sure to come. That probably scared me more than death—the way I was going to die: a slow, agonizing deterioration as the cancer spread. My body functions would shut down, and eventually I'd just drift off. That was an ugly, ugly future.

I had to control my mind to not think of that as much as possible, as difficult as it was. That's what brought the tears most nights. Knowing I would wither away like so much dust. And that Maya would have to watch all that.

When it was time to go to the session in the Southeast section of Atlanta, Skylar was waiting outside my room with Maya. “You need to stay here or go somewhere else,” I said. I left no room for interpretation or response. I simply walked to the car and held the door open for Maya.

She got in and looked back at her mom as if to say she was sorry. I drove off.

“Baby, I did not plan for her or anyone to be here but you. I know I'm being mean to her, but it's only because of what I told you and that she was not supposed to be a part of this.”

“I understand, Daddy. You know I love you both so much. I can't believe how Mom was with you. I hope to God she's changed.”

“Me, too. You know, it's bad enough that white law enforcement is out here across the country targeting black men. It seems worse now than ever. But when I spent a weekend in jail, all I saw were us—black men. Most were in for petty or trumped up charges. And I was in there for nothing. The only good that came out of it was that I got a personal look at the system at work against us.

“Black men,
young
black men, were so comfortable locked up. It was as if they were at a cookout or a reunion. They knew each other and the correction officers by name and what time we'd eat and what time lights would be out and what time they would count to make sure everyone was accounted for. They were at home and it was sad for me to see that. I taught kids who would end up where I was…or worse. That was the down side to teaching: Seeing kids that, no matter what you did, would end up in prison or dead.”

“I know. I had some classmates that I knew were not going to make it. And the really sad part for me, Daddy, was that many of them were girls.”

“It's a different time. But I wish I were in Baltimore to march after Freddie Gray's death. That got out of hand, and talking about it is just not getting us any results.”

“I was going to go, but then I decided against it. Some things came up.”

“We have to march while we're here. I'm sure there will be other chances.”

Our talk was just what I needed. It connected me to my daughter and it passed the time as we drove to Dr. Ali's. The GPS said her office was the yellow house on the right. It was an old Victorian that had a wraparound front porch. The yard was nicely manicured. The azaleas lining the house were beautiful.

“How you feel?” Maya asked as we walked up to the entrance.

“Like I'm about to be raped,” I cracked, and she laughed. I did, too. Laughing at that moment felt good because I had a confluence of emotions that crashed together: anxiety, fear, anticipation, relief.

Dr. Ali came to the door after one ring, and she looked close to what I imagined: head wrapped in colorful print, African garb tunic, big hoop earrings. She smiled.

“Greetings, family.”

“Hi. I'm Calvin and this is my daughter, Maya.”

She welcomed us and walking into her place felt like walking into an organic oasis. The place smelled of fresh lavender and spice. There was some music that resembled a soft African drum beat and tambourine; but it was peaceful. She sat us at a table with a mudcloth lining and went over the paperwork, the procedure, everything.

I liked her demeanor—she was calm but in charge, self-assured and empathetic.

“I'm sorry you're here. The only thing I can guarantee is that these treatments will clear out the toxins in your body that can pass through your rectum. Obviously, cancer has its own mind, especially at Stage 4. But you will feel significantly better and more energetic almost immediately.

“Coffee enemas properly detoxify the barrage of toxic compounds that we all acquire in our life. Coffee enemas help you make glutathione, an antioxidant that gets rid of the poison in your body. When you relieve your body of those toxins, you open up a new, healthy world. That's why people who don't have cancer have the coffee enemas. It's a healthy way of cleansing the body.

“But with our program, the enema is a significant part of the therapy, but not the total session. We have meditation and spiritual reading and introspective therapy. We go over clean eating, which is very important, and alkaline water. Our goal is to put body and mind in unison to create peace mentally, physically and spiritually.”

The whole thing would take about two hours, she said. And Maya could not wait there for me. “You can come back a little after noon,” Dr. Ali said. I wasn't sure if she was a medical doctor, but that's what she went by.

Maya hugged and kissed me before leaving. Dr. Ali directed me to another room that had what looked like a hospital bed in it with a big pan at the end. She pointed out a room where I could undress and put on a robe. Dr. Ali said some things, but I hardly was listening.

My stomach began to churn, from fear and from whatever was going on in my body. It felt as it did before one of the severe episodes that put me in the fetal position. This session was coming at the right time.

Dr. Ali was gentle with me. Her calm soothed me and the actual execution of the enema hurt my manhood more than physically. I was tense and nervous—not a good combination. But she made it happen.

She asked if I had a poem or anything I'd like to recite as she did her job and all I could think of was the prayer Pastor Henson told me. So I said to myself, cringed and held my breath as the tube was inserted.

I felt humiliated, but I sucked it up because I needed to. And before long, the coffee did what it was supposed to do, and bile began flowing like a waterfall into a Gerson Bucket, which was a product from the Gerson Theory, designed to activate the body's ability to heal itself through an organic, vegetarian diet, raw juices, natural supplements and the coffee enemas. I read that on its website.

The stench almost made me vomit. It overpowered the scented candles and fresh sage she had burning. It was so harsh that I didn't want to breathe. But Dr. Ali, wearing a mask, was the ultimate professional; she did not show any signs of distress. She handled her business, discarded the waste.

When it was over, after the cleanup, I felt better, stronger. I wasn't sure if cancer was in that bucket, but some stuff that was making me constipated and lethargic had to be in there. The main thing with coffee enemas was to cleanse the liver, which was important. The last CT scan I had did not show that cancer had spread to the liver. But I knew, based on all that medical mumbo jumbo the doctors said, that it would get there eventually. And that's when my demise would be on an accelerated countdown.

I survived the first session. The body and mind thing was OK, but I was all about getting that stuff out of my stomach. I felt better and energized, just as she said I would. She said I could receive the enema twice over seven days; too much runs the risk of causing problems, which I could not afford.

By the time Maya came to get me, I was “feeling much better, but violated.” She laughed. “Let's go to Whole Foods. I have a whole list of clean-living groceries to get.”

“Do you really feel better?”

“I do. We have some bad stuff inside us, I'll tell you that. That was some experience. I have another appointment on Thursday and then every four days after that for a few weeks. So, we will see.”

“Can I call Mom and tell her how you're doing?”

“If you wish. I don't think she really cares that much.”

“Dad, Mom cares. Trust me. She cares because I care.”

“Why is she here?”

“She really wanted to support you—and me. She knows how hard this is for both of us. I think it was a nice gesture.”

“Yeah, nice if it were anyone but her. Wait, my phone is vibrating. It's your grandfather.”

“Hi, Dad. I was going to call you, but I was talking to Maya. It went well. I'm still not a fan of enemas, but I tell you what: I feel a lot better. I didn't say anything to either of you, but all the adventure and lack of sleep had me feeling sluggish. And I couldn't consistently sleep at night. This is supposed to help with that and the overall cancer.”

“Really?” My father did not get too excited about it, but he was the one person who refused to accept the doctors' prognosis. He lost my mother when she was young. When the doctors told him she would not survive the aneurysm, he cursed them.