Silent Cry (15 page)
Football season was now in full swing. Even as I drew nearer to my due date, Nate
insisted I come to all of the Cowboys games to watch him play. I went faithfully,
but it wasn't as thrilling as it once had been. How I wished things were different.
If only I hadn't gotten pregnant
, I thought to myself.
What would things be like
in my life right now?
One Sunday night after a game, Nate was in an exceptionally good mood and asked
me if I wanted to go with him to the state fair. He was in high spirits, and it sounded
like fun. I was getting very close to my due date and feeling restless.
We went to the fair, and I ate anything and everything in sight. I just could not
stop eating! Nate was making fun of me and seemed to be enjoying buying me more and
more food. Before long I was totally miserable. I told him I wanted to just go home
and rest. I had eaten too much and didn't feel well.
Nate took me back to the apartment and told me he was going to go out for a while
but would check on me while he was gone. Just then, I felt a sensation like a needle
pricking me in my right side. “Ouch!” I cried out.
Nate poked fun, “You just don't want me to leave, do you?”
“Go on,” I said, “get out of here!” and I meant it. I was so full of food I didn't
care if he came or went â I just wanted to lie
down. There it was again. “Ouch!”
It felt like a needle jabbing me.
Why did I eat so much?
Nate came back a little later, and I felt the sticking pain again. He decided to
hang around just in case I needed him. The needle pricks kept returning. It didn't
seem to fit the description of any labor pains I had heard of or read about, but
I decided to call the doctor just in case. While I was on the phone with my physician,
it happened twice more, and he told me to come in immediately: I was in labor.
We drove from Coppell to Medical City in Dallas. On the way there, I could not seem
to get comfortable. I kept squirming around in my seat, and then it felt like someone
was jabbing me in my side with a needle. When I arrived, the medical team examined
me, and I was already dilated. Within one hour, Nathaniel Newton III (Tré) was born.
On October 15, 1989, God blessed me with a beautiful baby boy. It was the most precious
gift I had ever received. For the first time in months, I felt the sun come out in
my soul. I was deliriously happy as I held that little bundle in my arms. It was
a turning point.
God revealed himself to me there in my hospital room. I felt him whisper my name.
I felt him wash away my sin and shame. I knew I would love this little boy for the
rest of my life. As surely as I knew I would never leave this little baby, I knew
God would never leave me. As much as I knew that little boy could never do anything
that would make me stop loving him, I knew God would love me forever, no matter what.
I understood God's love was perfect, and there was nothing I could do to cause him
to take it away from me. It was like receiving a warm embrace â I felt God again,
and it felt good.
The whole hospital seemed to celebrate. Nate Newton just had a baby boy â a son!
He pranced around the hospital
cracking jokes and shaking everyone's hand. He bought
pizza for the entire floor. Nate was on top of the world. He had a son! I was lying
in my room, thinking,
Wow, he's really happy!
Then, just as soon as that thought
came, another took its place:
I wonder how long this will last.
It was almost like I wasn't even there â the whole place was buzzing around Nate,
congratulating him, slapping him on the back, asking for autographs. I was just part
of the background scenery, but I didn't care. I had Tré. Tré was the world to me
now. I looked into his eyes, and I melted. No matter what happened with Nate, I would
have this child to love. That was enough.
I had prayed for this little baby every day, no matter how sad I felt or how much
fear, doubt, and shame I experienced. I prayed he would embrace the reality that
he is God's son. I looked at my little boy, and tears welled up in my eyes. One of
the nurses expressed concern that I seemed so sad. She didn't understand. I felt
like I had a chance to make things right in my life again. It was like turning over
a new page with no mistakes on it. I knew Tré was special. I was proud to be his
mother. I was overwhelmed that God had trusted me with his life. I kept quoting the
prophet Samuel: “For this child I prayed; and the L
ORD
hath given me my petition
which I asked of him: Therefore also I have lent him to the L
ORD
; as long as he liveth
he shall be lent to the L
ORD
” (1 Samuel 1:27 â 28).
“O God, I love you,” I whispered. “I can feel how much you love me. Thank you. Thank
you for giving me this peace. Thank you for giving me something so wonderful in the
midst of something so bad. Thank you for this baby boy.”
The tears kept softly flowing, but they were not tears of sadness; they were tears
of release. Several nurses hovered nearby, and as they checked my vital signs, they
were concerned at my tears. All I could say to them was, “I'm overwhelmed with love.”
I am so accustomed to being unstable that the only stability in my life is being unstable.
Josh Lucas
T
he six weeks following Tré's birth were beautiful. My family came to help out with
the
baby,
and I found a great deal of comfort in spending time alone with God and Tré. I pushed
it to the back of my mind that I was living with Nate in an unmarried relationship.
I was focused on taking care of Tré. Feeling God's presence again in my life was
so fulfilling that I didn't want to deal with anything that might hinder the reconnection
I felt. I knew I would have to deal with it sooner or later, but later was better.
December came, and Nate and I shared another birthday. But the next day it was like
someone had flipped a switch. Nate was a different person again. He started coming
in late at night, or not at all. He was drinking more, and his language became increasingly
coarse. Sometimes he came in at two or three in the morning and demanded that I get
up and fix him something to eat â and not just a sandwich; he wanted a complete meal.
I was exhausted from taking care of the baby, but to refuse him meant an argument,
and I didn't want him to wake up Tré. Once or twice he grabbed me hard and shoved
me against the wall. It frightened me. Nate had always had a temper, but he had never
physically hurt me before. I told myself we were all just really tired from taking
care of a newborn.
I still had one more month of maternity leave, and I was trying to figure out child
care. The thought of leaving Tré with someone else terrified me, but the thought
of becoming financially dependent on Nate terrified me even more. Nate's
early morning
rants were bringing up very bad memories, and I was determined not to find myself
in the same position my mother had been. I wanted to keep my job; Nate wanted me
to stay home with his son. We argued about it, but my arguments were halfhearted
because I agreed with Nate â I wanted to stay home with Tré. I wanted to take care
of him. I wanted to protect him. I wanted to raise him.
I turned in my resignation. I had saved enough money that if I was careful, I could
live for up to a year without needing a penny from Nate. This gave me comfort. For
the first two weeks following my resignation, Nate was thrilled that I had decided
to stay home with Tré. In short order, however, he began complaining that I was dependent
on him. He grew irritable, argumentative, and insulting. The Cowboys were not playing
well, which made his mood even blacker. The season ended early, leaving Nate with
lots of free time and few obligations. He'd disappear for several days at a time,
then reappear as if he had just stepped out for milk.
There was no commitment; we just sort of acted married whenever it suited Nate. He
still loved to go on road trips and loved showing off Tré. By the time Tré was four
months old, we were taking trips as long as three weeks at a time to visit family
members and friends in Louisiana, Florida, North Carolina, and Georgia. I didn't
mind because things were good when we traveled. He beamed with pride whenever he
introduced Tré to someone.
I was developing new clarity about my relationship with Nate. My role was to drop
everything and make myself available to him whenever he needed me. Whenever he didn't
need me, I receded into the background to wait patiently until he needed me again.
He didn't treat me badly, but the time he spent with me wasn't about loving me or
being with me; it was about Tré.
He was proud of having a son, and I was his son's
mother. I didn't have freedom to make plans on my own because I always needed to
be available whenever Nate called. Wherever we went, Nate introduced me as his wife.
People naturally assumed we were married. We acted married. We had a son. I think
even our closest friends had just assumed all along that we were married. I often
felt like Nate and I were strangers.
It was October 1990. I had been at home with Tré for a year and was seriously considering
returning to work. However, I had promised Nate that I would not go back to my career
until Tré was at least two. When my lease came up, I had to decide if life with Nate
was “good enough” to maintain.
What did I want? What else would I do if I left him?
Sometimes I looked in the mirror and saw my mother staring back at me, but I shrugged
it off. Our relationship wasn't like that of my mother and stepfather. Nate didn't
beat me. I could leave if I wanted to.
When my lease expired, it was up to Nate to decide what to do. Since I didn't have
a job, finding a place to live was his decision. I didn't feel like I should weigh
in much, since I couldn't contribute financially. He had often talked about having
a house with a yard for Tré to play in, and a house sounded nice to me. There was
a little place Nate was interested in near Coppell Deli, a favorite stop for the
players on the way to the airport for away games. The house was small and in much
need of repair, but this didn't matter to me. I wanted Nate to understand that I
was with him because I loved him and because we had a child together. People called
our place “Newton's Shack” and poked fun at it, but it never bothered me. It seemed
to please Nate that I didn't care about money. He was satisfied that I loved him
for who he was and not because of his celebrity status.
We moved into the tiny house, and I went to work making it a home for Nate, Tré,
and me. I was like a domestic
goddess â running all the errands, cooking, washing,
ironing, packing his bags. I even got involved in scheduling his appearances and
researching his endorsements. I was now totally financially dependent on him, and
he was totally emotionally dependent on me. He was used to having me at his beck
and call. But it wasn't long before things got worse between us again. Nate stayed
out late all the time and didn't communicate his plans. A woman accused him of fathering
her child. He denied it flatly, but he had hired an attorney. I never had any proof,
but I was always suspicious he had paid her off. I knew he was sleeping around â
many of the players were; it was part of the life.
Nate spent more and more time in clubs and on the streets. He would roll in at 3:00
or 4:00 a.m., demanding full-course meals. If I refused, he threatened me or hurled
profanities. I usually found myself doing whatever he asked just to appease him.
One night, Nate stayed out all night and came home at noon the next day. Finally
I'd had enough. I was tired of being disrespected. I was tired of being yelled at.
I was tired of the other women. I told him I couldn't live like that anymore and
asked him to put a deposit on an apartment so I could move out. He cursed at me and
yelled, “You're not going anywhere!”
He moved close to me in a hot rage, and I was scared. I thought he might actually
hit me this time, so I went into another room. Satisfied that he had won the argument,
Nate got undressed to take a nap. I decided I would wait until he was asleep, and
then I'd run out of the house. The only problem was that he was in the bedroom, so
I couldn't grab any clothes to take with me.
As soon as I was sure he had nodded off, I went out to my car and put nine-month-old
Tré into his car seat. I was leaving for good. But when I put the key into the ignition,
Nate came running out of the house wearing only his underwear.
“Where are you going?” he shouted. “You better not leave!”
I put the car in gear to back out, and in a split second, Nate crashed his fist into
the windshield, shattering it on the driver's side. I screamed.
