A Mother’s
Promise “Be careful what you ask for.” I have heard that a million times in my life. I knew what was meant by it, but I am not sure if I ever really thought much about it until the “ask” By DeAndra Yates came to pass. We ask but do not really prepare for what the answer is. I think we have an idea but can so easily be caught off guard with the outcome. In December of 2013, I stood at my kitchen sink and asked God “what is my purpose?” I was a 30-year-old divorcee with a decent job and two wonderful young men that called me mom. Life was good, but I have to admit, I was yearning for more, a clear definition of me being fearfully and wonderfully made, made to do what I often thought about. On January 1, 2014, I hosted a New Year’s Day brunch with some of my closest relatives and I presented a toast, thanking God for not allowing the rising gun violence in our city to come near our family. Celebrating the fact that my boys had good male role models and that with our family values and upbringing, there was no real fear that such tragedies would come our way. As a family we toasted, ate, and enjoyed our blessings. One shot changed our lives forever! That toast, that gratitude, and that yearning for purpose all came to a head when a stray bullet shattered a window at a home where my eldest son, DeAndre, was dancing with friends at a birthday party. I am almost positive that he had his eye on some pretty girl when a bullet pierced the back of his head, not only shattering his skull but our lives. To receive that type of phone call is a parent’s worse nightmare – your child not coming home or not coming back to you the way you saw them. Tragedy had struck. My son was pronounced dead. I was asked to come and identify his body. I collapsed. I cried out, asking God, “How did we get to this place?” He whispered, “Remember, you asked for purpose.” In my heart, I wished with everything within that I could have taken that conversation back. I did not want anything to do with this type of pain, no matter the purpose. As days went by, my son regained life – barely, but he was still here. He had been resuscitated and rushed into surgery. Over the next 37 days his life, my life, and my younger son’s life seemed to be touch and go.
26 Special Needs Living • February 2021
DeAndre survived! My once tall, dark, athletic, and handsome son lay almost lifeless in a hospital bed. As a mother, all I could think was that his hopes and dreams had been snatched from him. In the six and half years following my son’s shooting, life has taken an incredible turn. God truly revealed the purpose for my pain. I asked for it. Walking in purpose has come with some challenges, major ones. My youngest was diagnosed with autism three years later, and major depressive disorder six years later. I had to become a champion and advocate for both boys, being their biggest cheerleaders on the good and bad days. Consoling them and loving them despite documented and evident deficits. We have found resilience! Dre has defied all odds. I promised him when he was on life support if he would fight to live, I would be his voice, arms, and legs. I told Darrius, my youngest, that he will never have to walk his journey alone. What has not killed me and my boys has made us stronger. We do not get to travel together like we used to, we cannot crawl in the bed and watch movies together and laugh and eat ice cream with Dre, but the one thing we still have is one another. We are adapting and navigating our new journey, one day at a time. We have a bond of faith and love that is unbreakable. We have a testimony to share with others, one that exemplifies the definition of family determination to never give up. Yes, it can be very difficult on the days that Dre is in the hospital or Darrius is
