Her parents hated him on sight and did everything in their power to separate them. My grandparents couldn’t grasp their daughter’s interest in a Black man. They threatened to disown her, so my parents continued their romance in secret. After earning his Criminal Justice degree, my father relocated to California to attend the Los Angeles Police Academy. Their relationship remained strong, and she became pregnant.
They went to Portland, Oregon, where Mom was born and raised, to tell my grandparents in person.
My grandmother demanded she get an abortion. The heated discussion quickly escalated, and my grandfather aimed a shotgun at my father’s chest. They told my mom she was dead to them. Mom no longer had tuition to finish school and dropped out.
It was a difficult period in their lives. She moved to Los Angeles to be with my father. They were married by a Justice of the Peace several months later, just before he graduated the academy.
Eventually, Mom finished her degree and became a middle school history teacher. It saddened her that my grandparents didn’t want to meet me. They ignored her attempts to reconnect. Their rejection stings, but for the most part, it doesn’t faze me. I never felt unloved. My relatives on Dad’s side treat me like a princess.
Unfortunately, tragedy struck, destroying our world. I will never forget that horrible night. It still haunts me. I was ten. Mom and I were cooking dinner when the doorbell rang.
“Honey, keep stirring the pasta or it’ll stick to the pot,” Mom told me.
“Okay.”
She left the kitchen. I heard a blood-curdling scream and jumped, causing the hot water to splash my forearm. I dropped the spoon and raced to the living room, finding my mother on the floor. Shuddering sobs racked her slender body. Rob, Dad’s partner, and another police officer were kneeling beside her, trying unsuccessfully to console her.
“Mom, what’s the matter?”
She didn’t answer me. I didn’t even think she heard me.
“Uncle Rob, what’s wrong with Mom?”
I was so afraid because I didn’t understand what was happening.
“Pam, take Cocoa upstairs. I’ll be up soon.”
“No, what’s wrong with Mom? I don’twantto go upstairs.”
“Come on, sweetheart.” Pam took my hand. “I’d like to see your bedroom.”
Later, Uncle Rob came to my bedroom and delivered the awful news. My father was dead, killed in the line of duty by an armed robber.
Surprisingly, Mom’s parents came to Los Angeles to offer their condolences, but under false pretenses. Their true motive was to convince Mom to desert me. She told them to fuck off and go back to Portland. We haven’t seen or heard from them since. Happiness and laughter no longer existed in our household. My mother became a shell of her former self. On countless nights, she cried herself to sleep.
Therapy was useless.
We were both hurting, but the overwhelming grief was too much for my mother to bear. Those were dark times. I felt lost, alone, and angry. Ultimately, our lives returned to some semblance of normalcy.
“It’s okay. I understand why you withdrew into yourself. You lost the love of your life and it was hard for you to process his death.”
We embrace tightly.
“I need to talk to you, baby,” she says in a serious tone, pulling back. “Michael and I are starting preparations right away.”
“Cool, just tell me whatever it is you need for me to do.”
“I appreciate that, honey.”
“Have a date in mind?”
“Not yet, but sometime in early August.”
“Whoa, that’s quick.”
It’s already mid-June, which doesn’t leave much time for planning.
“We need to be settled in Montgomery before school starts.”
