Seven Days the Journey Home

By Patricia Baines

An unlikely turn of events and an unforeseen diagnosis of non-Hodgkins lymphoma changes the path of 23-year old Marquel Towner. Aware that her nephew is fighting for his life, Patricia makes the journey home to help care for and spend time with him. Through her nephews illness, she gives a riveting, up-close and personal look into the daily challenges and life-changing moments that she and her family face in the awake of this terrible enemy. This is a true story of one aunts love and the inner struggles she faces with her dying nephew. This book of human love, loss, and personal stories as told by family and friends will make you laugh, cry, and be inspired, as you come to realize that there truly are ANGELS who walk among us.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 31, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477257814

Book preview

SEVEN DAYS

The Journey Home

Edited by Carol L. Lorenzo

Patricia Baines

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© 2012 by Patricia Baines. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

published by AuthorHouse 08/27/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-5776-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-5781-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012914337

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Courage is not the towering oak that sees storms

come and go;

It is the fragile blossom that opens in the snow.

Alice M. Swaim

In loving memory of my nephew, Marquel Towner

To my nieces and nephews for the joy they have brought me over the years

Acknowledgments

My journey with my nephew has by far been the most difficult road I have had to travel. By God’s grace I have not had to travel this road alone, nor had he. The journey did not end with his passing; it only took a turn.

First, I thank God for his tender Mercy and all sufficient Grace. He is my Rock.

I would like to acknowledge the love, support, and encouragement of my family and friends who care deeply about me. Without them I never would have had the courage to write this book. I thank them all for indulging me as I asked countless questions to help me fill in the gaps where my memory failed me.

The constant listening ear of my best friends Bernadine Vactor, Dr. Sheryl Heron, and Renee Turner during the fragile beginning of this book was immeasurable. I am deeply grateful for our relationships that have developed and grown stronger over the years.

The guidance and direction from my friends Dr. Tammie Quest, Dr. Lorraine Williams, and Dr. Varnada Norwood helped me to stay grounded. I am indebted to them for their generosity and time.

I would also like to extend special thanks to Kathy Negrelli who gave freely of her time and attention, for her hours of reading, re-reading and her contributions, and to Jacqueline McLean for her encouragement and her willingness to read my manuscript. My heart is filled with love and gratitude to the many other gracious readers as well. I cannot thank enough Carol L. Lorenzo, my editor, for her talented ability to pull it all together. Her insight, sharp eye, and excellent criticism has steered me gently in the right direction.

Finally, I am at a loss for words to express the joy and deep appreciation I have for Lois Marie Baines, Annie Caraway, Adina Johnson, Sheryl Heron, Renee Turner, Katrina Cook, Maldarious Tyson, Harold Willams, DeAnn Picket, Milicia Barrett, and Sandea Wright-Jones for sharing their wonderful, funny, and emotionally moving stories with me. I shall forever keep them all in my heart.

It was August 13, 2011, Saturday evening. I had just flown back from Los Angeles and arrived in Atlanta at seven in the evening. I made it home, showered and climbed into bed. I was exhausted, tearful, and when I fell asleep my heart was heavy. It was a little before one o’clock in the morning when my eyes opened and I looked at the clock. My spirit became extremely quiet. I whispered my nephew’s name: Marquel, I am here. Do you feel my spirit? My lips moved to make sure I was heard. It’s okay, man, don’t worry. I am here. Do you feel me? I am here. I said a prayer for him and dozed off to sleep. At six a.m., I received a call, the voice on the other end saying, Cuz, you alright? I replied, Yes, I am alright. I drifted off to sleep. The phone rang again, but by the time I fumbled to find and answer it, the person had hung up. In my heart I knew why I got the phone calls. I felt it at one o’clock in the morning, but I had to be sure. I lay there another hour and then called my mom in L.A.

My mom picked up. Pat, he is gone on to heaven. I could tell she had been crying and was exhausted. I asked, How is Marie? (my sister, Marquel’s mom) She replied, She is lying down next to me. She got a little rest.

I asked her what had happened and she told me. It was late in the night when Marie came and said, Momma, Marquel looks a little funny. My mom was putting clothes into the washing machine. Marie went back into the room and my mom followed. My mom went to Marquel, looked at him and then touched him. She looked at her daughter and said, Marie, I think he died. It was one o’clock in the morning.

I called my best friend, Sheryl, who lives in Atlanta. She was in Florida on her way to her cousin’s christening. Before I spoke, she knew though she waited to hear the inevitable. Mornin’, Pat. How are you? What’s up? as casually as she could ask, a silent response to what she had already felt. Marquel is gone, was all I could say. She whispered, When? He died early this morning, after midnight. Sheryl then told me that she awoke that morning and at first she’d thought the song of birds had filled the room, then she felt it was his soul. She felt it and knew Marquel had left the earth. I told her I felt it and knew it too. She understood now what she heard that morning with the birds in song was Marquel entering heaven. The beauty of song made perfect sense.

I prepared to go back to Los Angeles, where I had just returned from less than twenty-four hours ago.

Marquel was my nephew, who had been diagnosed with lymphoma a year and a half earlier in March, 2010. Lymphoma is a cancer of the immune system (the lymphoid tissue and lymph nodes), and there are two types: Hodgkin’s and non-Hodgkin’s. My nephew Marquel had non-Hodgkin’s. One of the differences between Hodgkin’s and non-Hodgkin’s is the