Isaiah : My son's Story

Where do I begin? I’m wrought with emotion and I suppose the only way to begin is to tell my story as the mother of an African American boy in the wake of the Trayvon Martin case.

In late October 2003,I was in a minor car accident rushing to see my Paw-paw (my grandfather James Renfro Wallace) in the hospital. I was just entering the 20^th week or so of pregnancy and law enforcement at the scene insisted that I be taken to the hospital. I insisted I be taken to the hospital where my family was gathered to pray for and with my grandfather. That day our family prayed with the man I grew to learn so much about my history from as he clung to life in the intensive care unit; we also prayed for the little life inside my womb as I was taken to the maternity unit of the same hospital.

The baby I referred to as “Angel” was a boy and the family rejoiced and cried because we knew as one man in our family was on the verge of going home, a new man would join us. And that day the enormity of what bringing forth new life hit me with a new sense of purpose. I was caring a man-child who God had already told me to name Isaiah, Hebrew for “God is My Salvation”.

That day changed my life as much, if not more, than the day I learned I was pregnant. Because that day I knew God had given me a unique responsibility—to raise a child in a world in which some will loathe his very existence once he started to become a young man. You see, I had never forgotten the tales my Paw-paw told of his youth and the hatred he faced.

I immediately took (and still take) my call seriously. And I truly needed to; if you believe in the full gospel and know we exist in more than the physical realm, you’ll understand what I mean when I say the enemy began to attack. Shortly after I was baptized as Isaiah grew just below my heart, I was faced with my son’s mortality (side note: from infancy to adulthood, Black men have the highest mortality rates in the U.S.) . I went into pre-term labor at 28-weeks after giving a presentation in my first doctoral class about the racial identity development and resilience of African American men.

I was told that cold December night that I would immediately be air-lifted from the rural hospital in my college town (Dekalb, IL )  to a nearby city (Rockford, IL) in order to increase my son’s chances of survival. I was told if he was born that night at just 28weeks of gestation he would face possible brain injury during the birthing process, blindness, and the inability to breathe or eat on his own. At best he would have mild brain damage and slight delays and worst he would die.

I endured a number of steroid injections to help Isaiah’s little lungs develop at a more rapid pace. I endured a slow drip of magnesium sulfate that sent a fiery sensation through my veins that was slightly relieved by the ice pack that had to remain on the site of the IV. Isaiah’s entire family prayed for the active labor to stop and for Isaiah to remain in my womb until he could survive on his own. Those eight weeks of hospitalization and constant doctors’ visits allowed me to reflect and dream of the life I’d love my son to have.

Isaiah was born the same month as his great-grandfather, my paw-paw, who ultimately succumbed in March the month Isaiah was actually due.

At 36 weeks, I began active labor again and was admitted to the hospital on February 12, 2004. During those 12 hours of labor, Isaiah’s heart beat was faint and almost undetectable but we continued to pray.  At 12:16am on Friday February 13, 2004, Isaiah Bruce Shelton entered this world with a forceful cry and the most intense dark brown eyes I’ve ever seen.  That day I vowed to that little soul with the eyes of a million generations before him that I would always protect him.

I never thought, however, that the same danger Paw-paw faced in the 1930s and ‘40s as a young man would be the same danger Isaiah and the millions of other young African American boys face – the possibility of having your life taken for no other reason than being a Black man.

I will work to protect Isaiah and ALL of our sons. Isaiah’s very existence has given my life purpose!!!!! He is my baby, my gift from God, my lite, my joy, my lil trooper, my vessel to future the generations of my family…

Last night, I watched the miracle that God blessed me with sleep. I feel his heart beating strong and hear his slow and steady breath. And pray no lunatic ever harms him and I pray society accepts this beautiful child when he is taller, his voice is deeper, and he is more independent in this world. I pray for a world that sees his HUMANITY!

I hope each parent shares the story of their son. Show the world he is HUMAN not some endangered “species” but HUMAN.

Please share your son’s story below.