Seize the Day (31 page)

“Terrell and I started dating a little while after that.”

“But you never mentioned him before,” Skylar said.

“To me, either,” I added. “And why is that?”

“Because you guys—I love you; you know I do—but you guys judge the men I have dated so hard. Even you, Mom, are tough. Dad only gave Omar a chance after he learned he was moving out of town.

“I wish I had told you, especially in the last few months or so when we got really serious.”

“We don't keep stuff from each other, Maya,” Skylar said.

“I didn't think we did. I learned a whole lot about you yesterday.”

“Hey, don't get sassy,” her mom responded.

“OK, OK. Let's all relax and take a deep breath,” I said. I had never seen them at odds. I felt like I was back in the classroom, managing two teenagers arguing over a boy.

“We can get back to what's his name—”

“Terrell. His name is Terrell,” Maya interjected.

“I'm sorry. We can get back to Terrell later. We need to be talking about our unmarried daughter being pregnant.”

“You guys are so old school. People have children nowadays because they want children. Besides, you two weren't married when you had me.”

“That may be true,” I said, “but we did come together and try to build a family. Do you and this guy—

“Terrell, Dad.”

“Terrell. Have you and Terrell talked about marriage?”

“That's the last thing they should be talking about if they're not in love, really in love,” Skylar said. “They should not get married because they are going to have a baby. That's a bad reason to get married. We know that for ourselves.”

“There are worse reasons,” I said. “Look at our community. Having these broken homes is one of the pitfalls of the black community. I taught for all those years at Ballou and I saw time and time again how those kids with two parents behaved better, performed better and were less troubled. The foundation of our community has to change from the inside out, with strong families as the strength.”

“I was one of those kids without two parents in the house and I turned out great,” Maya said. “And so did Terrell. We turned out great. And we will make sure our child does, too.”

“Yes, there are plenty of mothers who raised great children by themselves. And some dads, too,” I said. “Maybe I've seen too much, having been a teacher. We have to start giving our kids the best chances to succeed. And having them out of wedlock is not it.”

“Dad, this isn't the best scenario; we both know that. But we will take care of our child. Simple as that. The way you and Mom did me. Terrell's parents divorced when he was young, but they both helped raise him. So we both know what it's like and we're committed.”

Skylar said: “The one thing we know about our baby is that she's focused. She got that from you. So you know she's going to be a great mother.”

“When did you start having sex anyway?” I said. “I could have sworn you were a virgin.”

“Mom…”

“Calvin, come on now: a twenty-three-year-old virgin?”

“But we taught her—well, I know I taught her about abstinence and waiting until she was married.”

“Yeah, and your mother talked that same unrealistic stuff to you,” Skylar said. “God rest her soul.”

I was torn: I wanted my daughter to have a child after she was married. That's every father's dream. I also understood the amazing gift that came with bearing a child. And the enormous responsibility. In the end, though, after I got over the shock and disappointment and excitement, I was scared. I wanted to see my grandchild and hold it and kiss it and spoil it.

But would I even be around to see my kid have her own kid? That became my prevailing thought.

“I just want everything to be perfect with you, Maya. Simple as that. But I know hardly anything is perfect.”

“You both raised me right. I know that you'd rather I be married. I would prefer the same thing. But this is the hand I'm dealt. I want to win with it.”

“One thing and I will let it go,” I said. I always was forthright, but since cancer, I was even more expressive. “This is 2015, about to be 2016. Only people who want to get pregnant get pregnant. Is this what you wanted?”

I hit a nerve. She did not have an immediate response. Skylar said, “That's a good question, Maya. What's the answer?”

Our daughter got teary-eyed. “What is it?” I asked as delicately as possible.

“Daddy, I did not try to get pregnant. I promise you, I didn't. We used protection. But I knew what happened when I went to church last Sunday—”

“Wait. You went to church?” Skylar asked. “Where?”

“First Baptist Church of Highland Park in Landover. That's where Terrell goes. We went together because we needed some spiritual influence. So, the pastor, Henry Davis III, was preaching to us, it seemed. He talked about how every issue we have in life God provides something great. Then he says: “You know how I know? Because it says in The Bible, in Isaiah 66:9: ‘I will not cause pain without allowing something new to be born, says the Lord.'

“And I just burst into tears. All I could think about was your situation and the fact that I would be bringing new life into our family. When I got myself together, I leaned into Terrell's ear and said, ‘Our baby is God's gift to us, to offset the pain of my father.' ”

And then I was just about in tears because I believed what my daughter said, that her baby—my grandchild—would be a gift from God. And I cried because I was not sure I'd ever be around to hold it or kiss it or spoil it. That uncertainty hurt deeply.

I was surprised when Skylar came over to me, tears in her eyes. She knew what drove my emotions.

“You're going to hold that grandbaby in your arms when he or she is born. I
know
this.”

I couldn't speak. I just nodded my head. I already was determined to live out the rest of my life in a fulfilling way. This bit of news made me determined to extend my life more than what the doctors said. I needed to hold that baby.

“We're going to name it after you, Dad. Terrell and I already talked about it.”

“If it's a girl,” I said, “please don't name her Calvina or Calvinesha. Give her a conventional name, please. You kids with these hybrid names…”

We laughed, which was needed. And then we hugged each other and marveled at the gift of life growing inside my daughter.

B
efore I could get off the phone with my father, Kathy called on my hotel room phone. We hadn't had an extensive conversation since I left Charlotte and gave her the check. She wanted to know how the treatment went, and I filled her in and told her about Maya's pregnancy, too.

“And how's Moses?” She was slightly facetious, but I didn't care.

“My man is great. We've been hanging, enjoying Atlanta. I have another treatment in three days. So we're going to hang out, hit the park and the vet. Wanna make sure he has all the shots he needs.”

“You are just taken by this dog.”

“I was there when he needed me. And he was there when I needed him. No telling what would have happened to him if I were not. So we're kind of important to each other.”

She said she understood, but how could anyone really understand if they hadn't been told they are dying? It was a place I wouldn't wish on anyone. Besides Moses, Kathy was the person I talked more openly about what was facing me. And she was better because she could talk back.

“Sometimes, usually when I'm at my lowest point of that day—and every day, no matter what happens, there's a low point—I think about whether it would have been better to just fall out and die from an aneurysm or heart attack or even a police officer's bullet. That way, I wouldn't have this daily agony I have.

“The night I spent with you was one of the few nights in about two months that I did not cry myself to sleep.”

“Well, maybe I should just be with you. I've thought about our night together a lot, Calvin. And it was a sweet night and emotional and important. I know you probably felt like I was comforting you, but you were comforting me. I needed to feel loved by someone who mattered to me. I am not proud that I'm married. But I'm not ashamed that I love you or about the time we had together.”

“Me, either. But what are you going to do about your living situation?”

“I've already done it. I found a place. It's not far from where I am now, but it's a great space and a great neighborhood. It will be ready in two weeks at the latest. I signed the lease. But the big thing is I told my husband that it was over.

“It amazes me that men try to straighten up when you tell them you don't need them anymore. He went through this long apology—and I let him go on and on so he could feel humiliated after he finished. But he said we just needed a fresh start and that we have a family and blah, blah, blah. When he was done, I said: ‘You're right. We do need a fresh start. And that's why I'm moving out.' I got up and left.

“He followed me into the kitchen. He said, ‘My boy saw you out with some guy. Didn't think I knew that, did you? What's up with that? Is he the reason for this?'

“I told him, ‘He's the reason I'm leaving, yes. But not the way you think. He's the reason because he gave me hope that there is someone out there who will love and appreciate me the way I need and deserve. To make it crystal clear: I'm leaving because of you.' And he could not say a thing.

“So, thank you, Calvin—for the money, definitely. But mostly for loving me after all these years and showing me how good I should feel about myself and my future.”

We talked for another thirty minutes about her kids and how she broke the news to them and how they were not as devastated as she thought they'd be. “Just be mindful that they could be holding things in because they love you so much,” I said. “Continue to talk to them and encourage them to be open.”

Before we said goodnight, I told Kathy something that I thought was important. “In my next life, you will be my wife.”

“Oh, Calvin. I don't know what to say. Thank you.”

We hung up and I looked over at Moses. “What's up with you? Want to get a walk in?”

It was close to ten and I was winding down. Figured I'd watch a movie until I broke down in tears and cried myself to sleep after I made sure Moses was good.

We walked out to Piedmont Road and took the same route from when we met the homeless guy, Todd Jones. I looked for him, but did not see him. I wondered, after giving him that money, if I'd ever see or hear from him. My instincts told me I would, but the reality was that he was a bipolar, alcoholic, drug-user. The odds were that he overdosed rather than tried to clean himself up. I tried, though, and that was all I could do.

The next day and a half were spent in the room with Moses. I was depressed. The grandbaby coming only magnified how messed up the little bit of life I had left was. I just wanted it to be over with. I felt like I was waiting on death.

I faked it enough for Maya and Skylar to leave me alone and explore Atlanta. They went to the new Civil and Social Rights Museum, to the King Center, to the outlet mall up Georgia 400, to the Woodruff Arts Center and even saw a Frankie Beverly and Maze concert at Chastain Park.

“Dad, I feel bad that you won't come with us,” she said over the phone.

“Your dad needs to rest; that's what Dr. Ali said. I went to Whole Foods and got some smoothie stuff. I'm good. Moses and I are chilling.”

She asked about what I was eating. “Smoothie with kale, spinach, carrots, ginger, apple, banana with flaxseeds maca, hempseed, moringa and peanut butter.”

“Sounds interesting, but if it gives you what you need, then great. I will have one with you tonight.”

“You don't have to torture yourself. I'm good with it. But this experience has made me think you should really look at your diet—especially now that you have a baby coming in about eight months.”

“Yes, Mom and I have been reading all kinds of stuff. I'm on top of it.”

By that evening, she and Skylar had done their running around and Maya came to my room. We hugged and I looked down at her stomach.

“What?”

“There's a baby in there. My grandbaby. That's something really special.”

“I know. I can't wait until I start feeling him moving around and kicking. That's gonna be so weird.”

“Where's your mom?”

“She's in the room. She wanted to give us our time together.”

I made her a smoothie. She tasted it and made that face that people make when they ingest something disgusting. “Oh, my God. Dad… You
like
this?”

“I don't have to like it. I just have to drink it. It's full of nutrients and it's part of my clean-living deal.”