Looking out of my bedroom window, I saw God in the crimson, mustard and plum colored leaves. Although it was dark, the moon’s glare reflected off of fall’s colors. Every day seemed to bring something new; days of darkness and days of light. The dark days brought thoughts of death, memories of past pain. The lighter days gave me joy, especially when kicks of life moved inside my tummy. I went from being able to move around easily, to holding onto items to ensure that I didn’t take a tumble. Swollen legs hid my ankles. Dr. Price took me off of bed rest.
As I laid there, I heard the faint sound of a song coming from the spare bedroom, Vanessa’s playlist.
I told the storm to pass, storm you can’t last. Go away, I command you to move today.
I sang this song, ‘I Told the Storm’, back in the day with the choir.
Death can’t shake me, job can’t make me, bills can’t break me, disease can’t take me, you can’t drown me while God surrounds me, That’s what I told the storm.
The tears fell and fell, saturating my pillow. Tomorrow morning was sentencing. I thought it would be appropriate to pray the same words that Christ prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane the night before His trial. Before falling asleep, I prayed the Lord’s Prayer. I couldn’t kneel down beside the bed as I normally did, so I sat on the edge and clasped my hands together and began to talk to God.
“Our Father which are in heaven, hallowed by Thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors…And forgive our debts, as we forgive our debtors. Forgive us…”
Gripping the sheets, while rocking back and forth, I whispered. “Heavenly Father I know what I must do; just like Jesus knew that He had to do while praying in the Garden of Gethsemane. He didn’t want to, and I don’t want to, but give me a listening ear to hear your voice.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
John, Tracy, Vanessa and I arrived at the courthouse thirty minutes before the trail began. Vanessa flew in a few days ago and John was adamant that he attend. “I was there when they called you to identify him. I want to see this all the way through.” He wasn’t taking no for an answer and I agreed with him. I grew accustomed to him by my side.
The building was active with people. As we got closer to courtroom number thirty-three, I saw people milling around. I recognized some of them as local TV reporters. Instead of waiting in the hallway we entered and sat in the second row on the prosecutor’s side. I noticed Ms. Bryant seated on the defendant’s side surrounded by family or friends. Their looks were intense as they listened to the defense lawyer.
When Ms. Bryant glanced my way, our eyes met for a second.
Just before it appeared that the sentencing would begin, I saw Keisha out of the corner of my eye. I waved her over where we were; she settled into a seat directly behind me.
I stretched my hand over my shoulder and greeted her. “I’m so happy to see you.”
“You know I was coming.” She told me, as she glanced over at the people sitting on the other side. “I wanted to see this bama.”
I patted her hand which was resting on my shoulder. I turned around and noticed that the courtroom didn’t look anything like the ones on TV. It looked like it seated one hundred people. What struck me most was the orange and brown décor; it resembled the colors of a warm living room. I envisioned hardwood floors and a large wooden area surrounding the judge; but not here. Interior decorators carefully planned the matching earth tones. I wondered why.
The door in the front of the courtroom opened; two marshals brought Jeffrey Bryant, handcuffed, into the courtroom; wearing black pants, a white shirt, a black tie and what appeared to be a pair of personality glasses.
Umph.
He looked around to see who was there, when his eyes met his mother’s, she mouthed to him. “Be strong.”
When he saw us, he quickly turned his eyes and sat down next to his lawyer. I’m sure Keisha’s gaze identified us as Brian’s family.
The courtroom clerk’s voice grabbed my attention. “All rise.”
We all did. Once the judge rushed through the door and took his seat, we sat, as well.
Suddenly the courtroom clerk’s voice permeated the room again. “Calling the case of the District of Columbia v. Jeffrey Bryant. Mr. Bryant, are you here?”
Answering in his stead, his attorney responded, “He is here.”
I wonder if everyone in the courtroom could hear my heart pumping against my chest.
The judge went through a litany of questions for the murderer and read the facts of the case. When asked if the facts were true, Jeffrey bowed his head then slightly raised it, responding, almost in a whisper. “Yes.”
Where were the tears?
Looking through some papers the judge peered over his glasses. “Thank you, Mr. Bryant. Does the prosecution have anything to say?”
The prosecuting attorney rose from her seat. “Judge Hamilton, I’d like to call Mrs. Lachelle Jackson to the stand to present her victim impact statement.”
John, Vanessa and Tracy all tried to assist me as I stood. I was determined to get up without any assistance and walk to that stand in the same manner.
I mouthed to them, “I’m okay.” They stepped into the aisle to let me pass.
As I walked up to the stand I heard whispers in the courtroom, but felt the tugging of the Holy Spirit.
And forgive us our debts…
Hush Holy Spirit.
As we also have forgiven our debtors.
I didn’t want to. But, I felt the power of the Holy Spirit bubbling beneath the surface. It spoke to me.
“Your Honor, I am Brian Jackson’s widow. I’ve lost a big part of my life. My husband was a pillar of this community. He mentored boys and worked to ensure that you would never see them standing before you.”
The murderer’s eyes were big as saucers and his mouth gaped open. He didn’t know that I was going to say. Neither did I.
I cleared my throat and continued. “I’ve spoken with my husband’s assistant coaches and I learned that the defendant was involved in his much younger brother’s life in a positive way, before this tragedy. I asked the coaches if the defendant knew my husband and they said no. The football field was typically crowded with kids and parents before and after the game. They never met face to face.”
As I began to end my statement I glanced at his mother. Her eyes were closed with her hands clasped in a praying position. I read her lips as she repeated the same prayer. “Thank you, Lord.”
“The one thing that I would ask you to consider is the defendant’s positive influence on his brother, before this tragedy. I’d ask that you consider Jawan, and his mother, as you sentence him.”
The judge removed his glasses. “Thank you, Mrs. Jackson. I’m sure that wasn’t easy. The court appreciates your candor. You may step down.”
As I walked, my eyes focused on my seat. There was no urge to look at anything besides my seat and my support. I wanted to beg the judge to lock him up forever. But, the Holy Spirit guided my spiritual fortitude and I was obedient.
Once I sat down, the judge continued. “I have letters from the defendant’s mother and her pastor. They both reiterated that Mr. Bryant was a good student through school but lost his way with drugs. They gave the same backstory provided by Mrs. Jackson. Is there anything that you would like to say to the court, Mr. Bryant?”
He looked behind him and found his mother. Dabbing her checks with a tissue she mouthed the answer to the question that his eyes asked. “Say, I’m sorry.”
He obeyed his mother. “Your Honor, what I did was an accident. And I’m sorry.”
That’s when his tears began to flow.
“It’s time for the sentencing.” The judge’s stern baritone voice announced with decisiveness. “After taking everyone’s statements into account, I hereby sentence Jeffrey Bryant to twenty-five years to thirty years in prison.”
I released a long sigh. The murderer was twenty-seven years old; he could be released from prison at the age of fifty-two. He should be relieved that he would still have some of his life to live.
That was when I began to look at him. I watched as the marshals handcuffed him. He wasn't any taller than five foot eight. Brian would’ve beat him down in a fair one-on-one fight. I kept my eyes on him as he went through the door. Just before it closed, he turned, looked at me and said, loud enough for everyone to hear him. “Thank you.”
I just sat there. Is it over? I knew the answer to that, and it was, no. I’d live with this for the rest of my life. But this part of the story was over, and that offered some relief.
John rose to talk to one of the lawyers, while Tracy held my hand. “You ready, honey?” She asked. “I am.”
Helping me rise and keeping me steady on my feet, Tracy put my coat around me.