I'm Still Here- What didn't kill me made me stronger and sharper

By Tamyara Brown

At the gestational age of 26 weeks a late term abortion was performed. Jensen "Brick" McCall survived. Nurse Grace called his mother to let her know her baby was still alive and the mother said, "let him die." Twenty -five years later he is on a mission to meet his murderer and get an answer to one question. He decides to take a Greyhound trip to California where he meets misfit Janae Morrison a drug addict and cutter who running from her demons. Discoveries of the truth, faced with the decision on whether to give life to the person who wanted him dead. Fighting his feelings for the misfit Janae Morrison while rebuilding his life, and not being recruited into his old lifestyle. All in All he will understand what didn't kill him only made him stronger and sharper!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tamluvstowrite Publications
• Release date: Mar 3, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386024811

Tamyara Brown

Tamyara Brown is an Amazon Best-Selling Author. To date, she has written eight novels, published in three anthologies, graphic and web designer, blogger, and the host of the podcast B.L.A.H Diaries. Tamyara loves being creative, and her mission is helping others have the audacity to turn their mess into a masterpiece one book at a time. Tamyara currently lives in Buffalo, NY. She has six beautiful children, five grandchildren, and several bonus children.

Book preview

How it began

Yesterday

A miracle baby name Jensen

On a  long, cold steel table was a row of babies birthed to die  on December 4th, twelve abortions were performed that day. The day wasn't a normal one cold,no snow on the ground,rain fell from the sky and warmer than normal. Veronica the nurse who ran this shift became ill and  I decided to cover for Veronica. The babies I lined up  next to one another were frail, and turning a pale blue. It was  six blacks, five white, and one Hispanic infants fighting for their lives. I watched the clock and when it struck a new hour one baby after another stop moving and breathing. I placed the stetsthscope on their chest checked for a heartbeat, and then documented the time of death. The Brown baby with steel gray eyes cried, kicked his tiny legs after eight hours. I bundled him up and he cooed. I checked this vitals, skin rich with color, and soft. He was  healthy, and at that moment A miracle named Jensen lived. God was all over him, he was destined to be here for a purpose.

All the young mothers laid on the gurney in the recovery room most moaning in agony as sharp labor pains riddle their body and guilt made the pain worse. They suffered grueling hours of labor, expelling a baby from their womb meant to be dead upon arrival.Labor , sadness, fear, & sin tore through each teenager for hours during the process. All of them under the age of eighteen, too young to make such a decision on whether to keep their baby. Watching them suffer I was once was that sixteen year old girl making a choice to  kill my baby. I assist mothers in late term abortions. The fetuses are babies no matter how tiny or small they are a human being. I stayed at a job I hated to see a miracle to know God wouldn’t allow rows and rows of babies to die but day after day it never happen.

I’d check their vitals, , read over the speech of what will happen, how they should react, and answer any of their questions. Before  I inject them with salt water, potassium, urea,  put sticks to open their cervix the day before I give the talk and ask the question.

Are you sure? You have a choice, agencies will adopt, welfare will help you.

Most forced by parents because of their promising future of attending college, others because of  lack of money and maturity, and the young lady Gloria.

I don't  want a dark skin baby. What if he is black and ugly? He better off dead than dealing in the ridicule I live with.

Each girl nods their head yes bellies already forming the bump, visible they are pregnant, any where from sixteen to twenty four weeks.

The solution injected into their veins, sticks inserted in their vagina twenty four hours before a baby is  supposed to be delivered dead. On this day every baby was born alive and fighting for their lives after the abortions failed.

They are all alive. Every one of them. We should tell the parents.

No. It was an abortion.

On the doctor's Jackson's command, put  the fetuses in the room and just let death happen. Don't smother them like before then it will be considered murder on our part.  Lay them on the table and let the inevitable happen.

The room temperature set at twenty-five  degrees, the large clock ticking, little bodies that fit in the palm of my hand trembled, some of them covered in burns from the solution, others their limbs  broken by the forceps and  riddled with birth defects. My job was to watch them expire,lay them on the table, gasping for air, their little chests rising and falling rapidly until they lost the will to live. Some of the babies died within minutes, others in hours, but none of them normally  lived. I'd  close each of their eyes, dip my fingers in water put a cross on their forehead and said a prayer for them. I’d pop  a valium and Percocet in  my mouth to cope with the guilt  that would eat at my core for the rest of my life. Nurses don't cry for babies not wanted it was my job to stay strong.

God, let just one baby live, please. I whispered.

I wrapped them in a receiving  blanket put them in a red hazards bag to be thrown away as medical waste. Trashed as if they never existed but they never leave my thoughts maybe it is why God never gave me a baby because of my sins.

I am a murderer and though my name is Grace I never stop to save them. Every baby would eventually stop fighting, their small cries silenced by the grim reaper except this one brown baby. His tiny legs kicked, his cries soft but strong, eyes the color of silver dollars, and his arms flailing. Eight hours had passed, he was still alive, breathing, and the small miracle I asked of God had happen to let  just one baby live. 

I pick him up, cradle him, wrap him in a blanket,and his silver dollar eyes pierced my heart. His skin wrinkled, after birth dried in his creases,  his skin the color of a Hershey bar, mounds of thick curls so black it shine. I press the stethoscope to his chest his breathing isn't labored, his lungs strong and clear. I sat him on the apgar scale, his number was a seven, he was healthy, weighed in at five pounds and ten ozs. .Babies didn't survive the cold, the solution injected to kill them., the forceps pulling at their tiny skulls causing brain damage beyond repair. A miracle happened on December 4, 1992.

His mother if she saw him would keep him I know it. I open the chart, dial her number and the second ring she answers,

Hello.

I am the nurse who helped you today,  Grace McCall. Your baby is alive. He is breathing, weighs 5lbs , 10oz. I can bring him to you. He is healthy and so cute.

What? He is... She stutters.

I know a miracle, right? The abortion didn’t take he is healthy. You're handsome is still here

What is his complexion is he dark like me?

He is brown like a Hershey bar and the most beautiful silver eyes.

Let him die. I don't want no dark skin baby.

She snapped.

I can help.

Let him die, okay. I had no baby.

If it is money, housing, or services like welfare and Catholic Charities can help. I will give you money for formula, clothes, crib, and you won't want for anything. Ms, I can help you, please take your baby don't abandon him, please. He is a miracle.

I can't ,okay. Let him die. He is dead to me and just let me forget him. I had no baby, okay.

She hung the phone up and  I rocked him, tears from my eyes fell on his tiny face. He smiles at me and his fingers grabbed my thumb. I can't let him die I can't watch him take his last breath. He is here for a reason this beautiful brown baby God chose him to live.

You have purpose little brown baby. I guess God wants me to take care of you. I just can't let you die so I will take you home and give you a home, name you Jensen Brick McCall.In Scandinavian the meaning of the name Jensen is: Hebrew John 'Jehovah has been gracious; has shown favor.

He is going to be powerful, and a force to touch lives and change for the better.

I wrap him in my coat, open my duffel bag, put him in the bag. I create his birth certificate just like I did his death certificate. Give it to Regina to registrar and her reply,

The mom came to get him. He  has a death and birth certificate now. A damn shame these young girls think abortion erases the fact they made a baby out of wedlock.

"Yes. I'm going to help her out everyone needs support. We all make mistakes!

I could never do your job day in and out be the one who ensures they are dead. How do you sleep, Grace Ann McCall?

I look at his tiny face,  his large smile, and I wipe the corner of my eye.

As of today I can because I saved a life instead of taking one. I saved a baby named Jensen so he can fulfill God’s purpose.

Meeting my Murderer

Fear has never been apart of my make-up but today standing in front of my murderer’s house the feeling has taken control of my body. It is crawling through my skin, my hands are shaking, and my teeth are chattering. My skin feels clammy, my heart thumping through my chest and with each step I take I feel as if I am losing my breath. I want to turn around and run but I have to face her and let her see me.

I observe the scenery, a white picket fence, a small garden, a two-story brick house with a porch. She is living the American dream, in the driveway are two vehicles, a mini van and a BMW.  The total opposite of the lifestyle of rundown projects, streets filled with trash and gardens filled with crack vials and dirty needles I grew up around it is what she decided I deserved the less of what she offers her other children.

I am only three steps away from my murderer’s house and my stomach is churning, my face drenched with sweat from the California heat. Each step my feet feel like they are weighed down by lead boots, breathing heavy,and my fingers are swollen. I push the doorbell button and wait to meet my murderer. The bells chimes three times before she peeks through the window glaring at me, her nose scrunched and her hand scratching her hair. She cracks open the door and raises her eyebrow, the sound of two children laughing and screaming.The woman in front of me was well aware I was alive but in her mind I was dead to her. She expected her baby boy to be born dead on arrival December 4th, twenty-five years ago. She expected my cries to be silenced by the saline solution injected into her womb. I am the only person I know with a death and birth certificate. I am the only person I know who cheated death so many times that I have the devil scratching his head saying, this boy is invincible. Or maybe just maybe God has covered me for a bigger purpose.

She stared at me for a long moment before opening the door I stood as tall as a basketball player, my espresso complexion resemble hers and my steel gray eyes filled with unexpected tears stared her down. She pulled the door open and she walked out and hands me a tissue. She is the woman I friend requested on Facebook and she deny me by blocking me from her page just the way she removed me from her life by paying a doctor to kill me.  I coughed to spit up the lump caught in my throat it was anger strangling me. Fear was cutting off my circulation. Several emotions picked at my broken heart. Love was beating at a fast rate, but hate was creeping in and causing a war with two of the most powerful emotions known by God.

Can I help you, sir? She finally had the courage to ask.

I pulled off my beat headphones and ran my tongue across my teeth.

Don't act like you don't know me ? I snap.

I handed her the death certificate and she read each word.  She became fixated by the name John Doe 3524. The cause of death was a simple code p96.4 (Termination of pregnancy. Gestational age 26 weeks.) Her name in bold times roman Gloria Simpson Picoult. Large size raindrops of tears fell from her eyes, her hand trembles, and she steps out and closes the door behind her. She takes a seat because the secret she’s hidden was standing in her face at 6 feet five, alive and breathing. She had a lot of explaining to do to her husband, two children, and most of all me.

You are not suppose to be... I took her hand and place it on my heart let her feel the beat of it.

Here in front of your house or alive?You owe me  but one thing in life and that is the reason why you didn’t want me. I don’t want shit from you  like your love, your hugs, respect, or your embrace. I lived without it for twenty-five years. It is evident you don’t want me and real shit I've stopped desiring you in my life. The nurse Grace told you I was still alive and you told them to let me die. You looked at me lying on the table after eight hours in a cold, dark room fighting for my life and you didn't care. I need to let you go and move on with my life. So I traveled from Syracuse, N.Y. to California to get resolution because you have messed up my life.  You have appeared in too many of my dreams and you have never gotten out of my mind.So, I am not leaving off your property until you give me an answer. It is all you owe me in this world and after that I can walk out of your life for good. I can erase you from my world and move on.

I sat in the seat, dropped my duffel bag on the ground, and folded my hands. She sat next to me and touched my hand. I jerked it away and turned my head because I could hear her sobbing.  I wouldn’t look her in the eyes because then I would find understanding and forgiveness. I refuse to see it my anger blinded me. I glance at her and could see guilt eating at her inner core. It hurt me to stare at the woman who didn’t want me. It ate me up because the center of my core was hungry for her love but the anger inside of me deny the need to ever connect with her love. The war inside of me was a hell of a one because hate wanted to win but inside my heart love was overruling hate. I had to move on and let the woman who is my mother and murderer go.

I could start this story from this moment but to understand me you’d have to look at my yesterday. How I became the man I am today? My life was not pretty, I've lived when I was suppose to die, did the unthinkable to rid myself of pain. I lost more than I won, slept on the steps of the library, raped, lived in these most inhabitable conditions. I've been an unwelcome guest in many homes and called just, the foster kid.

My murderer became my quest in researching my purpose. I am here today to  because some young man is on the same path to understanding why he is still living when death was calling. I hope my story will help some young man grow, live, and fight for his pursuit of happiness and freedom. To fulfill the purpose the way I was given n the opportunity. In society's eyes I was just dead man walking, but in God's eyes I was on a mission assigned by him. If you're born you're meant to be here and understand that what is meant to kill you might just make you stronger and sharper. My life began the day I left my life in Syracuse and not the day I was left for dead. I found my murderer but in this journey most importantly I found me.

Brick

My Story

Lost and Found

What didn't kill me only made me stronger and sharper.- Jensen Brick McCall

Yesterday

They were all on their knees, hands behind their heads, and guns in their faces my brothers from another mother arrested for sales of narcotics and the murder of Chyna and Mortez Payne . I stood in the cut as the D.E.A and F.B.I  at five o’clock in the morning, snow falling heavy, the sharp wind cut against my face, my eyes water, drops of snot froze on my face. As they knocked down the door with a battering ram I jumped, looked around, and cursed under my breath.

Dartes yelled, Get the fuck down you're all under arrest,maggots. In the air I could smell breakfast sausage cooking, the scent of bread baking, and the mixture of the chemical called water being smoked.

Like roaches they all attempted to scatter but each officer grabbed them putting their guns to their temples, slamming them on the ground, stepping on their back aim and ready to shoot. Twenty-two men including our leader were caught red handed drugs, weapons, and money all over the place. I sold their soul to the devil for Chyna, Mortez, and Grace. I play pretend , became a grimey snitch ass bitch who is preparing them to be eaten by the pigs.

For weeks I sat down with Dartes  and his partner  giving  away their truth with details, videos, and audio recordings of crimes committed.  My prize for my snitching  immunity from ever spending a day in jail and a bus ticket out of Syracuse.

Snow fell heavily covering them , some of them shivered with anger, while the young heads wondered who snitched them out and began plotting revenge. The others thought of how they messed up their lives and the outcome of never seeing the streets again. Detectives Dartes and his whole tribunal brought out three boxes of weapons, 4c iced tea cans full of heroin, water, cocaine,and pounds of weed.  One by one each were read their Miranda rights,thrown in the van, shackled, another part of my history, and my make shift family gone. Like all my foster family they are on borrowed time.

I couldn't let my mission be stopped and I had to find my murderer and justice had to happen for Chyna to rest in peace.  I swing the duffle bag with all I owned to my name on my shoulder , and money from a job I was about to do. I am a free man but my mind is still held captive. Deaths is around me, guilt smothers me and I’m bound by not being able to save Chyna and Ms Grace. I made a promise to never let another woman die, to lose her soul without attempting to save her.  Their deaths rest heavy on my head and heart . It would be in honor of Chyna, her son Mortez, Grace and redemption of my sins. To find my murderer and make her tell me why she didn't want to raise the child she birthed.

Chyna is dead because of me, the goons think she snitched on them so they decided to kill her and her son. She told them it was her who talked to the Feds, they took her to