“You can keep fighting. You told me to never stop fighting for myself. Never stop fighting for what I want. Never stop fighting—period.”
She tipped her head to the side and stared at me with watery eyes. “And I want you to hold on to that.” She squeezed my hand. “Fight for what you want, fight for what’s right, fight foryou… because you matter. So much. So, so much, Jazmyn. Fight and keep fighting.”
“That’s what I need you to do,” I said, weeping.
“My heart has been failing for the last few years, but I fought because I had the fight in me. I did what I needed to do, and I defied the odds because I knew in my soul it wasn’t my time.” She let out a shaky breath. “And now my soul is telling me that this is the end of the line for me.”
My chin dropped to my chest. “I don’t understand.”
“Jazmyn, this isn’t like the other times when they didn’t know if I’d survive the surgeries or the recoveries or the complications. This isn’t me giving up. This is me knowing.” She paused. “I know.”
Just hearing the clarity and certainty in her voice forced my head up and made me lock eyes with her.
“Here’s something I want you to remember about fighting,” she verbalized earnestly. “You have to know when to stop. You ask yourself if it’s worth the fight. If it is, you fight. If you feel it in your heart, your soul, your bones, you fight. But if you don’t…” She shook her head. “Then stop.” She paused as if she were waiting to make sure the message had sunk in with me. “Fighting for yourself also looks like letting things go.”
A fresh wave of tears streamed down my face as I silently looked at her. For the first time all weekend, I truly heard what she was saying, and I couldn’t stop crying if I tried.
“I’m scared,” I choked out.
“I’m not. Faith over fear. We have faith in God’s plan, and we don’t let fear control us.”
“I’m not ready for you to…” I couldn’t even complete the sentence.
“I’m at peace with it,” she assured me. “You need to be at peace with it, too.”
“I can’t lose you,” I said through sobs.
“Sweetheart, you’re not losing me. Everything I am, I poured into you.”
We spent the rest of the day together, watching her favorite show. When I woke up Monday morning, I was in a different headspace. I’d heard my aunt, and I’d needed to sleep on her words. I didn’t feelbetterbut I felt a sense of understanding. My heart hurt because I didn’t want to be without her. I cried because I was going to miss her. But after everything Addison Payne had done for me in my thirty years, I refused to not do everything I could for her.
Aaliyah James:Hey Jazz, how are you? I know you have a lot going on but call me and let me know how you’re doing. You haven’t been answering calls, and I want to hear your voice. We miss you!
Nina Ford:In case you needed a laugh, this old man approached me and said I looked like I smelled like cookies and cakes, and I told him he looked like he smelled like frankincense & myrrh. Love you!
Lamar Anderson:I know it’s been a while. Training camp is kicking my ass. But I came across a couple of people I might approach about working with me. I emailed you their names and bios just to get your thoughts.
I’d figured training camps were tough, but I’d assumed the coaching staff, trainers, and those in support roles had it easier than the players. It made sense that everyone had to go hard during camp because football truly was a team effort. But I had never considered how intense it would be for everyone involved.
Even still, I didn’t text him back.
I didn’t text Aaliyah or Nina back either.
It was hard enough to process my aunt dying, but there was no way I was going to be able to talk about it. And I didn’t have time to dwell in my sadness or distract myself from what was happening. I had too much to do, and I needed to embrace and appreciate the time I had with Aunt Addy. The only thing she wanted to plan by herself was the party. Everything else, she left in my hands.
So, when I wasn’t writing my novel, I was working on the items on my aunt’s list.
The book club meeting was scheduled for the first of August because that would allow three weeks for people to read. Rose helped Aunt Addy spread the word, and I loved watching the two of them together. Their relationship reminded me that the love between friends wasn’t just powerful—it was medicinal.
“No,” Monica said definitively, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “I do not advise you to get a tattoo. There’s too much risk involved. Absolutely not.”
Aunt Addison looked up at her incredulously. “Risk?”
“The risk for infection for people in your condition…” She shook her head. “Addison, no. Endocarditis is serious, and it could—”
“Kill me?” she interrupted, making a face. “I’m dying whether I get the tattoo or not. So I’m getting a tattoo.”
They were fussing back and forth in their typical playful way, but they were both serious. Their relationship reminded me that the care and consideration between friends is vital.
