Lundyn Bridges Read online

  While I helped Nina put the dishes away, I told her about my journaling. She seemed genuinely interested and asked if she could read it someday. Nina and I began the first of many sincere conversations on that Christmas night. She even confessed to feeling inept at getting Romen to be completely forthcoming about his childhood.

  "There are times when Romen shuts down," Nina confided in me. "He's told me bits and pieces of his childhood, but he has gotten angry the few times I pushed him for more information. He always says, 'I'll never be like that'."

  "What did he tell you?"

  "That your mother was on drugs. He doesn't know his father, and all of you have different fathers. He told me about your mother leaving him in charge when he was little and how he never felt he did a good job of taking care of everyone."

  Romen always appeared so strong and in control – the thought of his vulnerability took me off guard.

  "He's the best big brother," I replied, feeling like I needed to defend him. "He is the glue that keeps us together."

  "He's bitter about the twins. He felt powerless when they were taken away."

  "He was a kid. We were all kids. We didn't know they would be taken away from us."

  "I've told him that a million times." Nina handed me a tissue to wipe the tears I wept for my brother.

  "He's a very proud man," Nina continued. "He's a wonderful husband and father. I love him so much. I would give him anything. I vowed to be his partner for life; I will give him all the babies he wants and will do everything in my power to make him happy. But I can't take away his pain." Nina looked away and wiped her eyes with her hand. "He deserves to be so happy."

  "I'm glad he has you," I said hugging her. "He does deserve happiness, and you make him happy."

  "I need to understand him more. There are bits and pieces that eat away at him. He feels like the weight of everything is on him. He may not express it, but he is worried about Afreeka."

  "I'm worried about her, too. She seems so distant."

  "Romen thinks she’s drinking – a lot."

  I refused to acknowledge her statement. The Bridges children had a covenant – we would never drink or use drugs. Nina's words de-winded me. I sat on the kitchen stool, resting my head on my folded arms on the counter. Nina hugged me.

  "Please don't say anything to Romen."

  I agreed because I couldn't bring myself to ask in fear of what he might say. Romen was already hurting, and I couldn't add to that. If Afreeka was drinking, it had to be because she was hurting, too. If her pain was anything like mine, it was unbearable.

  Early the next morning, when I assumed everyone was still asleep, I took my therapeutic companion from my suitcase and began to write, again.

  December 26, 2004

  Wednesday, December 16, 1988 was the last night we spent on Burrows Street. In spite of the frigid temperature, my mother was determined that we go to church. We complied because we were just as desperate as my mother to find the miracle that would make our lives better. Romen and Afreeka bundled up the twins and put socks on their hands because they didn't have gloves. I wrapped my scarf around Rah'Lee's face and Afreeka wrapped hers around Hustin. When my mother opened the door, the piercing chill made me shiver before I went outside. It was snowing, and the street lights glistened on the newly fallen snow covering the street.

  We walked silently down the hill to Lincoln Avenue with Romen carrying Rah'Lee and Hustin holding hands with Afreeka and me. My coat was missing two buttons, and the wind seemed to blow directly into the openings. I tried counting by nine to focus on something else. It didn't work; I was freezing. I knew Afreeka had to be cold, too. Her zipper was broken and kept unzipping from the bottom. She had to unzip and re-zip her coat several times, and then I noticed her trying to walk stiffly so it would stay closed. Romen's coat had been given to him by his coach – even though he wore two sweatshirts under it, it was still too big. He wore both hoods because he didn't have a hat and alternated the arm which held Rah'Lee so he could warm his hand in his pocket. My mother didn't have gloves, scarf or a hat. Her eyes watered and her nose ran because the tattered brown bomber jacket didn’t keep her warm.

  We waited for almost twenty minutes for the bus to East Liberty to get to Bible Study. I dreaded the thought of having to walk back up the hill after church, but I knew I would do it if it meant my mother would be happy. My mother had been sad for weeks, and I hoped going to church would bring her the joy she was seeking. Instead of following along during the lesson, I closed my eyes to pray, “God please help my mother be happy. God please give her a job.”

  After the youth lesson, we were ushered upstairs with all the other kids for family pictures in the library. It was my first family picture, and I was glad the Sunday School teachers were putting them on a Christmas card for each of the mom's. My siblings and I smiled, as if we were oblivious to our pain. I smiled for my mother, hoping with everything in me the captured moment would make her happy, even if temporarily. At that moment, I didn't care if I got anything for Christmas; I just wanted my mother to stay off drugs.

  As I sat across the table from my mother during dinner, her eyes were still sad. Another prayer not answered. I couldn't eat my food – I wasn't thankful, and there was nothing to celebrate.

  Romen and Afreeka began to dress the twins, and I threw our plates away. My mother hurried us and told us to have a seat on the steps while she talked to a lady I didn't know. The words that lady spoke to my mother still haunt me. The absence of the love this Christian woman was supposed to show my mother only fueled my anger with God. There was no compassion in the lady’s words. I didn’t feel love or compassion from God either.

  “I’m trying not to be depressed,” my mother confided in her. “You know with Christmas coming and all, and I still don’t have no job. I just want my kids to have a nice Christmas.”

  “Have you been praying every day?” The woman responded condescendingly. “You know the Lord is the one who answers prayer.”

  My mother’s voice was just above a whisper. Her eyes were cast down, and she never looked up at the lady she was speaking with. My brothers, sisters and I sat quietly on the steps in the vestibule. It was cold and still snowing, and we were hoping the lady would offer us a ride home.

  “I’ve been praying the best I know how,” my mother said shaking her head. “It’s just not working. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

  “Well, there’s no need to pray if you don’t believe God will answer.” The woman’s reply was flippant.

  My mother said nothing.

  “Here’s ten dollars.” The woman handed my mother a ten dollar bill from her purse. “It’s cold outside, and I don’t want your kids to have to wait on the bus. I hate to put you in a jitney, but I’m not going that way.”

  My mother thanked the lady and motioned for us to remain seated while she went downstairs to the pay phone to call the jitney. Before she disappeared down the steps, the woman called her.

  “Barbara,” the woman said walking toward the steps. “Christians don’t get depressed. Just keep praying.” Her tone was chastising.

  No one spoke during the jitney ride home, but the tears that made their way down my mother's face confirmed she was sad. Without saying a word Afreeka reached up and wiped them. Before we went to bed, my mother hugged us and told us she really loved us. I wanted to make it better for her but didn’t know how. When she hugged me, I buried my face in her chest and tried to absorb the pain she was feeling.

  The police were standing in front of our house when I got home from school the next day. I could see Romen and Afreeka sitting on the couch talking to someone. They were crying. I looked for the twins but didn’t see them. The lady from Holy Family, who I only knew as Miss, came out the door and put her arm around me.

  Later that evening we were told my mother took a bottle of sleeping pills after we left for school. A neighbor heard the twins crying and called the police. My mother was taken to Mayview State Hos
pital, and the twins were put in foster care. Romen, Afreeka and I returned to the shelter. We were separated from our mother and the twins, again. I silently cried myself to sleep that night because this was not on my Christmas list. Where was God when I needed Him? I questioned over and over in my mind why He would let this happen to me and my family. As much as I wanted to have faith, God had not given me any evidence that I should. As much as I wanted to be strong, like Romen and Afreeka, I couldn’t find the strength or the energy. Feelings of abandonment and despair consumed me. I felt disposable. This was God’s fault. He had not given my mother any tangible miracles, which was why she didn’t want to live anymore.

  Until next time…

  At breakfast on the final morning of my visit, I told Romen and Nina about Jamel, my job and the church I had joined. They listened, but neither of them said a word. Then I told them about my Bible Study class and how praying helped me. I shared with them how knowing that Jesus loved me made the difference in being able to make it each day – especially on the days when the pain of my past sought to consume me. While I had their attention, I invited them to our New Year's Eve Service. They declined on such short notice, but indicated they would be attending church with friends.

  I wanted to tell Romen he didn't have to be strong for everyone and it was okay to give the past to Jesus. The words to witness about the love of Christ were caught in my throat and left me staring across the table at my brother and sister-in-law. Although I didn’t doubt Romen's happiness, I had come to understand that he, too, needed the healing which only Jesus could provide.

  "Don't be a stranger," Nina said from the bedroom door as I was packing.

  "Thank you. And thank you for making my brother happy." I walked over and hugged her. "I don't think I ever told you – welcome to our family."

  Romen entered the room holding Raymond and sat on the bed. Nina took the baby and held him close so I could kiss him, and then they left the room. I sat next to my brother, and he put his arm around me.

  "I'm seeing a therapist," I said without looking at him.

  "Is it helping?"

  "Not sure yet, but I think so."

  "Still having trouble putting everything in that little box called the past?"

  "I can't do it, Romen. I'm not strong like you."

  Romen said nothing, and we sat in silence for a few minutes. Romen was masquerading – the past haunted him, too. He talked about throwing his box away, but I knew the contents were still vivid memories.

  "I'm proud of you, Lundyn," he finally said, breaking the silence. "You just remember that the Bridges children have not fallen."

  I hugged my big brother and prayed in my heart for his release from the pain of our past.

  Chapter 5

  Kiarra was the first to arrive back in Pittsburgh, and she made dinner. I stopped at my apartment to pack an overnight bag and to get our Christmas marathon videos. The Family Man and The Santa Claus were on our favorite's list with Miracle on 34th Street and It's a Wonderful Life. We spent the evening with pie and hot chocolate and fell asleep on her couch.

  The following afternoon, we exchanged holiday stories. Kiarra offered no information about informing her parents of Xavier's abuse, but I had to ask. This had become a sour note between me and my best friend. Although I realized it was a necessary evil, I hated having to constantly bring it up. My fear that Xavier would re-surface kept me gnawing at Kiarra. She was blinded, and I was unable to help her see. She had sworn me to secrecy, but I prayed hard and often she would stop ignoring the abuse.

  I left her house that evening with a heavy heart. There was too much pain, too much denial – it seemed that everyone around me was hiding from something.

  Jamel called to wish me a Happy New Year and to confirm our date on January third. His pre-occupation with completing his dissertation made the relationship palatable for both of us. I liked him but needed to work on myself. It would have been easy to let myself get caught up in the relationship, but that wouldn’t have been fair to either of us. Any chance we had depended on me liking myself and resolving the issues of my past.

  Journaling became a major catharsis in my therapy – it consumed me and initiated a vicious cycle. My bi-weekly sessions were utilized to give voice to the repressed little girl who was afraid of her feelings and longed for her mother. I would spend days forcing myself to remember all the things I tried to forget. Then I would spend hours chronicling these events. My therapy sessions were always intense and reduced me to tears as I confronted my feelings – the ‘Empty Chair’ gave me the opportunity to express my bottled feelings to Barbara and became a monumental process in my healing. Sometimes, if I closed my eyes, I could picture her sitting in the chair. It was a momentary memory which was always interrupted by her nodding off if I pictured her too long.

  Kathleen continued to encourage me. Some days I felt like I was making progress at being whole, and sometimes I left her office feeling emotionally depleted.

  Two days later, Jamel arrived at my apartment around seven-thirty in the morning. I thought I was dreaming when the door bell rang and was surprised to see the hot cakes and sausage from McDonald's, which Jamel presented after kissing me on the cheek. Although I was expecting a dinner date, I appreciated Jamel’s spontaneity. After removing our breakfast from the styrofoam, I put our food on plates while Jamel set the table. We laughed as we admitted that neither one of us had ever been on a breakfast date. Over coffee, while sitting on my couch, I told Jamel about seeing the therapist.

  "I'm not really embarrassed about it," I told him, finally able to look him in the eyes. "I know I need to be there."

  "Then that's what's important." Jamel pulled me into his arms, and I snuggled against him. "To everything there is a season. I had my season in therapy."

  "Don't patronize me."

  "I saw a therapist for almost a year when I was a freshman in college."

  "Why?"

  "The only man I had known as my father walked away from me when my mother divorced him. In anger he told me he wasn’t really my father, and then he was gone. My mother finally admitted my biological father was her college sweetheart who had been sending checks to maintain his anonymity since graduating from Harvard Law School."

  "Do you know who he is?"

  "Yeah, but I resolved that a long time ago. If he wants to be anonymous – so be it."

  "Didn't you ever want to meet him?”

  "I wanted him to want to know me."

  Pain seemed to be a normal part of life for everyone – it merely took on different faces. Jamel appeared to have moved on – that meant there was hope for me. I could move on, too.

  Later that afternoon, I continued my story. Being separated from my siblings was a pain that left a permanent scar.

  January 3, 2005

  In January of 1989 the twins were placed with a foster family that became a pre-adoptive home. It took me a while to like their foster parents, Mr. & Mrs. Teague, because I wanted them to take all of us. Romen told me to be happy because they were together and would grow up in a family. The Teague's also told the caseworker they would bring the twins to visit us at least twice per month.

  Romen lived on the other side of the Holy Family campus, and we didn’t get to see him often. The girls and boys only came together for school, chapel services and special events. We always sat together on Sunday, and we intentionally lingered at the front door of the school to see each other every day.

  Afreeka was sent to several foster homes but returned within thirty days because she was angry with everyone. My heart sank each time she left – I desperately needed to be with her, much more than I wanted her to be in a family without me. My mom was gone, the twins were gone and the thought of losing Afreeka was petrifying. Every time she left I couldn't eat. I could go for eight days without food, and then I would only eat dinner while I waited for Afreeka to return.

  When Romen turned fifteen he was moved to the Whale's Tale Shelter in Lawrenceville. H
e hated being separated from us, but this gave him the opportunity to play basketball at Schenley High School. He made us promise we would always stay in touch and that Afreeka and I should try to stay together. Before he left, he gave me his gold chain, and I swore that I would never take it off. Romen kept his promise to maintain contact by calling, and visiting us. Afreeka and I surprised him by attending a few of his games.

  The moments of happiness were few and my demeanor remained sullen. I was diagnosed as depressed. Hope became a myth, and happiness was far out of my reach. Except for my nightly ritual of crying myself to sleep, my emotions flat-lined, and I only smiled when Romen visited. Afreeka was the only person I talked to at Holy Family – silence became the outward manifestation of my despair. Six months later, I replaced my nightly crying sessions with books. I lived vicariously through each of the characters – their plight was always easier to accept than my own, and they always had a happy ending to their story.

  My life continued to be cloudy and gray. Even though I could quote every cliché I had committed to memory from the Bible, I didn’t believe any of them. They were trite and only led to false hope. I had wept for more nights than I could count, and I was still waiting for joy. My life was one rainy day after the other, and I had never found the rainbow in spite of all the storms I had been through.

  Until next time…

  Jamel attended church with me on Sunday. He confessed that, since graduating from high school, he had only gone to church with his mother during school breaks and holidays. Kiarra sat with us and we exchanged unspoken signals and giggles like two school girls. My best friend was happy for me.

  When I returned to work after the Christmas holiday Francine seemed a bit contrite. I had become engrossed with my own healing which diminished her effect on me. This was actually good therapy for Francine. She was used to being in control, but she was helpless as I struggled with myself. Although I apologized to her for my outburst in November, she had chosen not to apologize to me until now – two months later.