Joie's daughter Imani was killed by her husband's deranged brotehr Isiah. Now she's wondering how her life can go on after such a tragedy.
Chapter 6
I hate him.
It’s a shame I have to even have to sit by him. My fingers are pressed into the pink and black crumpled program before me which says it all; “Beloved daughter and friend, Imani Janita Campbell, will you forever be in our hearts.” I try not to touch Issac but mom glared her evil stare at me and now I feel guilty for not allowing my husband to touch me. My fingers trail the back of the brown church pew as we all sit all huddled together like we are a football team of sorts- me, mom, Sandy, Chi, Siah, Issac and Crystalle. My velvet black dress is twisted sideways because I’m sitting by a really thick sister that squeezed herself at the end of our row, even though she ain’t family and we were supposed to be sitting up here with just family I am glad she’s hear to celebrate Imani’s life.
When it was announced on Channel 7 news that a little baby had been kidnapped and killed the whole Uptown and Edgewater community turned out for what was supposed to be an intimate family goodbye session. Over three hundred folks showed up to the church and Reverend Moses said he had not seen this many people in a funeral in a long long time. Being it was a child who was not only killed but suffocated, it just brought everything down to a human level. Many of the people in this community have children, used to see me and Imani walking down to Foster Avenue Beach, or going to Dominick’s to get groceries. Even some of the employees of the McDonald’s on the corner of Foster and Sheridan, came to show their respects.
The worst part of this whole ordeal is that our family is exposed. I know I should be thinking about losing my child but I’m trying to escape this feeling. The feeling of having your heart tore apart. Not knowing your husband, hating him, wanting to slap his mother for doing whatever she did to produce such a deranged person, or just not knowing what to do with this guilty feelings. Maybe this was all my fault. But I can’t blame myself. No, I blame Issac for making his brother made. Why didn’t he just give Isiah a bounced check and the account overdraw itself? All the humming in the world ain’t going to bring back my child. Looking at the somber faces of Momma, who is in shock, but she still is supportive of my husband. Nandi is taking it awfully hard as she rocks back and forth with Charles rubbing her back and Crystalle is still Momma for Imani saying she needed to show her something new. The tears clearly shown in my mom’s eyes says it all. This is screwed up. This is sad. This is not right.
I should not have to bury my child before I die.
I’m waving the fan in my face trying to cool myself down and keep my red fingers. I am trying to keep myself real busy but afraid that if I stop moving my hands, I will just break down and won’t ever be glued back together again. My brown eyes are not smiling today. I mean, I just lost my daughter over some family bullshit and Issac hasn’t even said, I’m sorry yet. I mean, he didn’t kill Imani, but his crazy cracked up brother Isiah did. I rub the back of my tense neck, sigh a strained relief, and wipe tears that keep rolling down my cheeks. My fingers are now biting into them to stop the liquid from disobeying my soul.
As the choir sings Imani’s favorite song, “I’ll fly away”, I can clearly recall how I felt when I came home from the abandoned home Isiah had kept us at. I couldn’t say nothing. My vocal chords were itchy and I had been screaming and crying and pleading with Isiah for days to let us go. He didn’t even want to let me feed Imani. Imani’s little eyes turned red and she became addicted to the taste of those ten cent flavored juices and bags of Jay’s hot potato chips. That is all we ate during our abduction. And if we were lucky, he’d pick up some greasy two dollar cheeseburgers with french fries and a fifty cent pop.
Isiah rambled on and on about the money Issac owed him and why he was jealous and hated his brotehr; during his rants I used to sing songs to Imani so she could fall asleep in the drug infested, rat inflicted place we slept at night. We huddled in card board boxes and made beds out of them, stuffing old newspapers on them, around them and if we were lucky, I’d find some old clothes and rolled them together, pull a plastic bag around it to make a pillow for Imani. As these memories flood my head, I join the thirty-piece Choir at New Life Missionary Church.
My mouth stretches to fill this church with love and joy even in the midst of grief.
“Some glad morning when this life is over. I’ll fly away.”
(c) 2004 by Pam Osbey
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Reviewed by Judy Lloyd
11/10/2004
No rainbows are not enough and were that my child I would feel the same way. This is an excellant write.
Five titles in one book for 40% of the combined price!
Beware of Abusive Behavior is good for anyone who may suspect they are in or about to enter into an abusive relationship.
Conquering Grief is written so that you can help someone else thr
