Reconciliation {Kitty Kat Sequel}

Time Apart.

April, 2007
New York

The five-hour drive from Rochester to Brooklyn was less exhausting than this week. It is taxing to have to be the one to plan your father's funeral because none of his other ten children want anything to do with him— even after his death.

Gerald was selfish and cared only about himself and his reputation. When Jay confessed to him his illicit actions, instead of being there for his son, he abandoned him. It was an effortless choice for Gerald, as he has done so to all his children. Even after Jay explained to Gerald how he was trying to clean up the Carter legacy and that it was because of Gerald's messy past catching up with the family that things turned ugly, it didn't matter. Jay was considered the golden child, but that was no longer the case, and he felt like his son betrayed him. For 15 years, the two men didn't speak to one another.

In 2006, Jay received a phone call from a physician in Louisiana regarding his father. He was the only person listed in Gerald's emergency contacts. He was shocked to learn that his father had been diagnosed with stage three lung cancer earlier that year and had been in remission for a few months until now. The cancer came back, and it progressed to stage four.

Gerald ran out of money to receive further treatment needed to prolong his life. Even though his prognosis was poor, Jay didn't hesitate to step in to pay for his father's medical bills moving forward —despite their nonexistent relationship. Since that day, the two have spoken briefly every week on the phone but have avoided the touchy conversations and face-to-face connections that were years overdue.

The last conversation the two men had with each other was a few days before Gerald passed. He knew that he was about to die, and he gave his final wishes to Jay. He also told Jay that he was proud of the man he became despite the past and that the Carter legacy was indeed in good hands because of Jay's perseverance. It wasn't complete closure, but it was enough for Jay to let go of the abandonment issues and anger he felt towards his last living parent.

As Jay drove down the busy highway in his world, he thought about so much. At 41, he's been through more than some people have at 60. Now, he could look back on many things and be grateful that it happened. For the first time, he was okay with just being Shawn Carter.

Jay recalled how reality had set in on Christmas Day in 1991 as he sat on his makeshift bed, staring straight ahead at nothing. The walls were plain; there were no pictures, Christmas decorations, gifts, Beyoncé, friends, family, or anyone else. It was just him and four plain, white walls.

Hov was supposed to be invincible and invisible. That was his brand, his reputation, which he lived by. It was what pushed him from the anxiety he struggled with to this God-like figure for his community. In prison, you have no identity. You're just another guy as opposed to being the guy.

The anxiety of being in closed spaces for an extended period crippled him at the beginning of his sentence. He loved the boardwalk in Mississippi because it was a safe, open space. Being alone in closed spaces reminded him of when he was a little boy —alone in that Brooklyn apartment, hoping his mother would return, but she never did.

Jay knew exactly what Beyoncé meant the last night they were together. When she said, "This character, Kitty Kat, has changed my life. It's given me a disguise to hide my trauma, and I'm tired of hiding," he was so proud that she recognized it early and decided to leave quickly. He, on the other hand, didn't choose to leave the game fast enough. But besides that, he always wondered how she was living as just Beyoncé and no longer Kitty Kat. Did she struggle just like him? Did she get married and have children? Did she become the nurse she always wanted to be? Every day, he wondered.