Page 28 of Truce Of The Matter

With my hand on her back, I coax her to the kitchen. Taj is inside, slicing what looks like a pound cake. Her mother, my Aunt Faye, and my father are siblings. My Aunt Faye is younger than him but Taj is older than me by just fifteen months though and we are thick as thieves. I hand Daija off to her and she takes Daija by the arm.

“Thanks, girl,” I mouth and she nods.

Family is everything.

Comforted because I know Taj will, in fact, take care of Daija and handle the guests, I walk through the house to the family room. Miss Mattie, a bakery owner and close friend of my mother’s, is sitting on the sofa with her husband along with First Lady Jenkins. Reverend Jenkins is standing behind her. He has been the pastor of our church, Mt. Calvary Church of God, since I was five. I walk over and hug Miss Mattie first and she stands as we embrace.

“How you doing, cher?” she whispers into my ear.

“I’m holding on,” I admit.

“If you need me, I’m here.”

“I know. Thanks.”

When we end our embrace, I hug her husband then nod to the first lady and pastor. I begin to step away but the reverend grabs my hand. I take a deep breath and stop in my tracks.

“I know you have to go make the arrangements but we should pray before you leave,” he says then nods toward my dad.

“Daija! Taj!” my dad calls out before standing. Seconds later, they walk in and everyone stands and locks hands. Reverend Jenkins nods and we all bow our heads.

In his booming tenor, the pastor prays. “Dear Heavenly Father, in this time of sorrow and loss, we turn to You, Father God, for strength and comfort. Please wrap Your loving arms around this family and grant them the peace that surpasses aaaaallllllll understanding. Help them find solace, Father God, in the memories of our beloved sister, mother, wife, and friend, Irene Redmond. Guide them through this difficult journey of grief. In Your son Jesus’ name. Amen.”

“Amen,” we all utter in concert.

My dad walks over to the pastor and thanks him before shaking his hand. My eyes stayed glued to his face the entire time. My dad is a handsome man with a salt and pepper well-kept beard, peanut butter colored eyes, milk chocolate skin, and eyebrows and lashes that clearly skipped me in genetics. He’s never looked his age. In a room full of men my age, he would have easily blended in and no one would have suspected that he’s actually fifty-eight. At least, not before today. Right now, he looks every bit of fifty-eight plus ten extra years. There are bags under his eyes, lines creasing his face, and wrinkles in his forehead that were not present yesterday.

“You ready, Daddy?”

“I’m going but I’ll never be ready to say goodbye to my heart,” he declares and the agony in his tone stabs me in my chest.

“She looks beautiful,” Monae whispers as we prepare to say our final goodbye to my mom.

Our private homegoing celebration at Mt. Calvary is coming to an end and I’m about to take my last look at my mom. True to my mom’s wishes, the church is filled with just family and her small circle of friends. While she loved Crescent Falls and the people in it, she did not want her homegoing services to be a huge spectacle. She wanted intimate and personal, no huge elaborate service.

As she requested, everyone is dressed in white except me, Daija, and my dad. We are in black and pink. The Greyson staff even respected the color choice and they are also in all white. Her casket is pearl and blush and she’s dressed in her favorite blush, two-piece skirt set. Her hair and makeup are flawless too; she looks like an angel, who’s sleeping peacefully.

The church is filled with minimal flowers and floral arrangements, another honored request of hers that. In lieu of flowers, donations were given on her behalf to the local women’s shelter Healing Hands and to the Redmond’s scholarship fund that provides housing and book scholarships to college students.

One of the attendants walks over to us. She stands in front of Daija, who’s between my dad and I. We are sitting on the first pew along with Monae, my Aunt Faye, and Taj. My uncles and other two aunts are on the two pews behind us followed by my cousins.

My poor dad has been stoic the entire service, no emotions, nothing. I don’t even remember him standing for prayer and my dad, the deacon, always stands in reverence to God during prayers.

“Are you ready?” she asks and he nods.

She steps back then motions her hand. Two male attendants approach the casket and start to open it for our final goodbyes. My heart starts pounding and the palms of my hands get balmy.When I inhale and blow it out slowly, Monae removes her arm from behind me then grabs my hand. She squeezes it and uses her other to rub my leg lightly. I inhale again, feeling my cries building in my stomach, rising to my throat and threatening to fall from my lips.

“Oh,” I hear myself lament.

Daija uses the crumpled tissue in her hand to wipe her face then she leans her head on my shoulder. I grab her hand to try and comfort her as I’m being comforted by Monae. I glance over at my dad too, but still, nothing. I don’t think he’s even blinked. When the attendants have the casket open, they step away and the choir starts to sing my mom’s favorite song lowly, “Take Me to the King”.

The female attendant motions for us to stand and we step to the casket. There are only six steps but it’s a difficult chore to take each one. I’m holding Daija’s hand but thankfully, my girl Monae’s arm is holding steady around my waist.

I’m doing my best to remain upright and somewhat together. However, when my daddy, who has been basically mute for the entire service exclaims, “Oh God!” in a tone that seems to originate from his soul, I crumble. My legs weaken, my breath hitches, and I feel myself slipping to the ground. Like a domino, Daija starts to falter too. Monae does her best to keep me upright but she needs help. The two male attendants who opened the casket quickly rush over. One grabs me by the waist and saves me from collapsing.

Something happens that I can’t quite explain but I feel like an outsider looking in on myself. I’m here but not really. This is happening to me but I’m observing instead of participating. Maybe I’m protecting my heart or maybe I’m securing my mental. Whatever the case, I coast through the remainder of the day, surfing through people and scenes. The most profound being when we exit the church.

Vehicles are lined up on both sides of the street. In both directions, there’s a sea of cars, trucks, and SUVs with their headlights on. Standing outside of them are the people my mother treasured, the residents of her beloved Crescent Falls. It looks like the entire city came out to pay their final respects to my mom. Words can’t even express this incredible sight.

---