A Birth. A Birthday. A Christening.

When my best girlfriend Eunice Wilson decided to leave her body two years ago, I went into a serious depression that has lasted two years and would have lasted longer probably had it not been for a recent birth, a birthday, and a christening. I was fortunate to become godmother to Eunice's grown children, Kim, Danielle and Robert Jr. and Robert's wife, Nedra who have all adopted me into their family but that honor did not seem to shake the sadness I had felt for so long after her passing. There really is no way to describe what it meant to me to have a best friend, someone I know absolutely who loved me as I did her, who accepted me just as I am as I did her, who was ready for any adventure together, with whose companionship God had richly blessed me for eighteen years. We traveled to the beach together, drank champagne, went to the movies together, laughed and cried together. We visited each other often in our homes. I never felt so comfortable in anyone else's home as I did in Eunice's. She swore that I was a black woman in a previous life. She was a solid rock of support to me during times of great stress and loss, but best of all, she was my Whoopi Goldberg. She could make me laugh so hard that I'd fall out of my chair, turn red as a beet in the face and drool at the mouth. She had a quick wit and a wisdom that came from being rooted in African-American Southern Baptist-style spirituality and years of hard knocks in the university of life. There may never be anyone else on my life's path with whom I could so completely bare my soul. She was grace personified. Her friendship propped me up when I didn't want to go on. She was a much better friend to me than I was to her, no doubt, but I believe she knew I loved her just as much.

When Nedra and Robert called me to announce that they were expecting a little one and asked if I would be godmother to their baby, something in me shifted. There was hope again. A new life was on the way. It would be Eunice's grandchild and I would be the baby's godmother. I could feel a rush of excitement and anticipation I hadn't felt in a long time. When their son, Jeremiah Thomas Wilson, arrived in the world on Wednesday, September 21, 2005, at Chippenham Hospital, I drove over to view our new treasure. His proud Poppa had joined many of the family members, cameras in hand, already gathered around the nursery viewing window. The nurse turned his bassinette around so that we could see his tiny little face and head full of dark curly hair. Certainly Eunice's spirit hovered over her grandbaby too while his mother recovered in her room from giving birth.

Nedra will make a wonderful mother. She has the mother's natural fierce instinct which she will need as she and Robert guide and guard this child into adulthood. My hope for Jeremiah Thomas Wilson is found in the Old Testament book of Jeremiah, Chapter 17, verses 7 and 8:

Blessed is the man who trusts in the LORD, whose hope is the LORD.
He is like a tree planted beside the waters that stretches out its roots to the stream:
It fears not the heat when it comes, its leaves stay green;
In the year of drought it shows no distress, but still bears fruit.

After Nedra came home from the hospital, I took a day off from work to spend one day with her and the baby. Nedra was exhausted and slept on and off most of the day. I was exhausted too from work so was of no use to her, but I enjoyed being in her cozy apartment and took advantage of the time to nap and be still.

Weeks later Robert called to let me know Jeremiah would be christened at the noon service on Sunday, December 18th, He and Nedra wanted me to come. Eunice's children had respectfully always called me "Miss Judith" but Nedra had decided I was to be called"G-Mommy" from now on and that has stuck.

That Saturday night before the christening, the family gathered in St. John's Woods community clubhouse on Richmond's southside to celebrate the 6th birthday of Kim's youngest daughter, Taylor. The clubhouse was full to the brim with parents and children, cousins, brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, nephews and nieces, and an assortment of friends of the family. While her Kim and Danielle worked in the kitchen serving up pizza, fried chicken, potato salad, sodas, and birthday cake and ice cream, Taylor and all her friends (there must have been at least 30 of them seated in neat rows of chairs in the front of the clubhouse room) were entertained by a woman dressed up as Raggedy Ann. Then the children were let loose to run about the clubhouse. Taylor had a stack of presents to open while the adults sat and chatted. A pinata hung from the ceiling was successfully pounded into releasing a stream of candy the children scrambled to gather.

Robert Jr. and I sat at the bar near the kitchen for a heart-to-heart talk. He took me out to his SUV to show me the beautiful white christening gown he and Nedra had purchased earlier in the day for Sunday's christening. I had wanted to pay for the gown and slipped him a few bills. Excited and nervous and yet tired from a long day out shopping, Robert said, "I can hardly wait to get there." Before I left the party, I saw Eunice's brother across the room and went over and hugged him. "I miss my sister," was all he said. So do we all, but I believe her spirit is with us still.

Sunday morning, I arrived at St. Paul's Baptist Church on Creighton Road right at noon and was escorted down front to the second row where Nedra and Robert and little Jeremiah soon joined me along with Nedra's Mom, Dad and cousin. Nedra wore a beautiful white suit to match Jeremiah's dashing white digs. Nedra's Mom was dressed to the nines in red. The lively and celebratory service was led by Dr. Lance Watson, the senior pastor of this church whose membership is over 8,000, the largest mega-church in Richmond. We were often on our feet clapping, singing and praising God. Behind us several rows back were Robert's father, Danielle, Kim and their children.

After the offering and sermon, Dr. Watson invited to the altar the parents of the children to be christened. I stood beside Robert on his right with Nedra on his left. Nedra's Mom and Dad stood behind her. There were five babies to be christened. Before and during the service each one's picture and date of birth had been flashed up on the two large wide screens on either side of the altar. We were at the far right end of the altar, the other families lined up before us, so Jeremiah was the last to be christened. Dr. Watson said a prayer for the families and for the children, then made his way to each child. After the designated parent named his child aloud--an African tradition as Dr. Watson explained--he dipped his finger in oil and gently touched the forehead of each child with the sign of the cross.

After the service, the family gathered for a Sunday dinner in Stony Point. I went home and crawled in bed for a Sunday afternoon nap. There will be many more adventures and times to share together and I will be there as "G-Mommy" with Eunice's spirit at my side.

Thanksgiving 2005

This is the first year since I left the teaching profession for good in 1989 that I have gifted myself with two weeks' vacation all at once. I took the week of Thanksgiving and the week after. I had forgotten how refreshing it is to be suddenly relieved of the daily responsibilities of gainful employment and weekend chores, how spiritually renewing it is to spend time alone in silence for days on end, contemplating all I have to be thankful for. Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday. While my daughter was growing up, her Dad would spend Christmas with her and I would have her at Thanksgiving. Years ago, before my daughter's godparents died, I used to enjoy preparing the traditional Thanksgiving meal with all the trimmings to share with them. Juanita would help me set the table and get the apartment ready. Last year I spent a glorious Thanksgiving with her in San Juan. This year, I flew to New Jersey for the first Thanksgiving feast she had prepared herself. I had made the stuffing but she did all the rest. It was her first Thanksgiving in her own home, a condo she purchased several years ago. She is beginning to create her own traditions now. As I age, I forget more and more things, it seems, but the memory that stays with me the most from this year's Thanksgiving is holding hands with her and her Dad around her table while she said the blessing. It was a special time, one of a very few, that we have been together as a "family" since her Dad and I divorced twenty-five years ago in 1980. Regardless of the legal changes in our relationship, we are still family. We always will be. I do know that. Sometimes relationships have to change so each person can grow. Her Dad left his home in Atlanta last year and moved to New Jersey where he has found employment and a place to live near Juanita. Since he lives in the same town, she enjoys preparing Sunday dinner for him after which, of course, they watch Sunday afternoon football together.

The second great memory from this Thanksgiving was attending communion service with Juanita at her church, St. Mark's Episcopal Church, and having the opportunity to give her priest a hug and thank him for his wise counsel to Juanita this past year as she faced a number of personal challenges. I realized at the moment I put my arms around him that I truly love the soul of that man.

The final great memory of this Thanksgiving of 2005 was spending time with Juanita laughing and enjoying a hilarious movie, "Diary of a Mad Blackwoman," in which we both learned a new meaning for "Peace, be still." With Shamar Moore, the most handsome male in the movies these days in my opinion, playing a lead role in the movie, I just had to watch the move at least five times though we stopped counting. When I got back to Richmond, I ordered the DVD version of the movie.

I live in a black Richmond community in the house that Juanita inherited from her godparents. She and I have had fun fixing it up little by little as our pocketbooks have allowed. We've been at it for 2 years. This year we installed a new furnace so I will have heat this winter. Last winter I survived with space heaters and the oven from my kitchen stove. I kept it on 350 degrees F. overnight. It warmed the house enough to be fairly comfortable--in the 60s. I had bought a brand new stove when I moved into the house last year but burned the oven out from overuse, I suppose. It's still a good place to store my pots and pans.

I did a great thing for my spirit during the month of November this year. I went to a local auction and bought a beautiful Werlitzer spindle piano made of cherry wood. It came with a bench loaded with old sheet music. It needs tuning badly and two middle keys--the D and E--stick but I've learned from my church's music director that one of our church members just happens to be a fine piano tuner so I'll get it tuned and return to enjoying playing the piano in 2006. My first therapist had hoped that I would take up playing music again. When I first entered therapy in 1976, I began to let go of a lot of stuff including the old 1860's Steinway upright piano my parents had given me. I sold it to a family of musicians and I stopped playing music and stopped listening to it too. There is a promise in the Bible that God will restore the years that the locusts have eaten. I can't get back the years of silence but I can fill the years I have left with music I love to play and listen to. Reclaiming the musical part of me is one way to honor the great gift of healing I received from my first therapist, Ruth Jones.