One of these pictures is perhaps my greatest treasure. When I look upon it, I can still vividly recall that very moment when I took that picture. It was in April, 1979 just afternoon on a seemingly perfect spring day. It is a picture of my now ex-wife divorced in 1981) holding our firstborn, our daughter Jennifer Nicole – whom we lovingly called “Nikki” This photo was taken on the lawn at my father’s house, our first stop as we brought Jennifer home from the hospital. Looking back, I realize now that we were both still kids ourselves, both me and my ex-wife the still in our teens.
We had met in high school while both of us were participating in the ROTE program. (for those unfamiliar with “ROTE”, it stands for “reserved officer training corps” a quasi-military type elective course provided at most American high schools and colleges) We were both only 15 at the time. A serious relationship would only come later. At 17 we became inseparable and by 18 we were married. Both of us coming from impoverished families the ceremony was at the Polk county courthouse in Barlow, Florida. The very next day I enlisted in the army, following a path both my older brothers too before me, believing that a military career would provide the means to take care of my family.
In late 1978 my days as a soldier abruptly ended with a duty related accident at Ft. Sill, Oklahoma. By the end of December 1978 I was honorably discharged and thrown back into civilian life. In less than 10 weeks I was to be a father.
The birth of any child is a memory all parents cherish. Nothing I can say can define the anxiety both of us felt as we counted down the days, wondering when the moment would come. Of course, there were always the relatives on both side of the family around only too willing to offer their advice and insight. Some would swear it would be a boy, others just as convinced it had to be a girl. But for us, it just didn’t matter. I can remember the first time she took my hand and gently placed it on her swollen stomach, and the sparkle in her eyes as she whispered “feel this” and how amazed I felt as the child within her womb kicked – and I felt it!
Then the moment came when we knew it was time. We were so certain as we rushed in a frenzied panic that hour drive from the rural area of the county where we lived to Tampa General Hospital. But it was a false alarm. The water had not broken. Only a day later the real thing came around. I’m sure I had a puzzled look on my face as she told me her water had broken. But we again quickly sprang into action.
Then came the too many hours of anxiously waiting in the soon-to-be-daddy room. For reasons unknown to me, I wasn’t allowed to stay with her. They would call me when it was time. Many hours passed, but nobody called me. Then a nurse came in and I knew something was wrong. She quietly whispered to follow her, and I silently did. We went into a small room and a doctor joined us. There had been unexpected problems An intern had misread the monitors and after almost 8 hours of labor out little girl was determined to be brought into the world, but the birthing canal didn’t open as it was supposed to. Their voices echoed in my ears as I struggled to listen. They explained in an emotionless monotone that they had to perform an emergency “c-section” The doctor touched my arm and assured me that my wife would be alright. But then told me that my daughter might not make it. I don’t remember what else was said. In that moment everything around me ceased to exist. Something within my very soul died. I can only now vaguely recall the many more hours that passed before again a nurse approached me and I was allowed to see my wife. As I entered the room our eyes met and our pain became one as I then held her in my arms, both of us crying. She asked me if I had seen Jennifer yet – the first time I heard our daughter’s name spoken. I said no.
Another nurse stood nearby and told us that we could see Jennifer soon. At the moment of birth she was stillborn. Because of the complications during delivery she had come to life while still in the womb. Her first breath filled both her little lungs with the fluid in the womb and she quite literally drowned. It took some time to perform the c-section and pull her from the womb, and in that time she was deprived of oxygen. There would be brain damage, but they wouldn’t know how severe.
As that evening passed into the morning, we periodically got updates. Faceless doctors and nurses doing what they could to keep us informed, yet never willing to answer the infinite number of questions we had. Only much later would we come to know that the unexpected complications were the result of inexcusable incompetence. But none of that mattered as we only wanted to see our newborn daughter and know she was alright.
Many hours passed before we were finally told that we could see Jennifer, but to do so we would have to go to the neo-natal intensive care unit. Neither of us knew what to expect, but nothing could have prepared us for what we were about to see. First we were led into a small room where we had to thoroughly wash our hands, then a nurse gave us gowns and latex gloves to put on. Only then were we led into the neo-natal unit, and to an incubator. Our Jennifer lay inside. She had all forms of wires and tubes attached to her, with various machines on each side. Someone stood nearby and in a explained that our Jennifer had her lungs filled with fluid, causing double pneumonia and was in critical condition, dependent upon the machines to keep her alive. She also suffered serious brain damage and was having seizures. We were told that if she made it the first few days her chances were good that she would survive. But for now they would keep her in an induced coma until she was strong enough to breath on her own. We could only look down upon our little girl and pray that she would know that we were there.
The following day my wife was discharged from the hospital, but we didn’t want to go home. We were only allowed to visit Jennifer about an hour each day. After a few days we finally did go home but no sooner did we arrive that the hospital called and said that Jennifer had gone into cardiac arrest and we should return immediately. We drove the two hours back to Tampa General Hospital and spent the rest of the day and that night in the waiting room. Jennifer had been revived but was still in a coma. For at least a week after that we refused to leave her. Mostly we stayed in the waiting room until they would allow us to go into the neo-natal unit and be with our baby girl. Sometimes they would allow us a few minutes even when they were not supposed to. We were told that we couldn’t sleep in the waiting room, so we would take turns sleeping in the car so that one of us would always be there.
Then the day came when we were told that they would allow Jennifer to wake up. We both stood at the side of the incubator for several hours before her little body, still attached to all kinds of tubes and wires, started to move - the first movement we has seen of her - my wife squeezed my hand. Then Jennifer cried, a soft cry, but the most beautiful sound we could ever hope to hear.
As the days passed we were allowed to touch Jennifer through the holes in the incubator. As I touched my little girl’s hand, her tiny fingers wrapped around my own finger and she refused to let me go. Somehow she knew who I was and that we loved her and she didn’t want to let us go.
As coincidence would have it, at the incubator beside Jennifer was a little boy born prematurely to a friend of ours (Terri Simpson) from Plant City. At the time following my discharge from the army we were renting property from her father. But only a few days after he was born he passed away. I never even knew if he was given a name as the sticker on the incubator only said “baby Simpson” But I’ll never forget the look on Terri’s face as we watched from across the room as they told her that her little boy had passed away, as the color drained from her face and the anguish physically overwhelmed her…a bleach blonde teenager mother already experiencing a pain that no mother should ever have to know.
As the weeks passed Jennifer grew stronger and one by one they began to remove the tubes and wires that had sustained her. Soon we would be allowed to hold her for the first time. When that day came, my wife silently cried as she sat in a chair placed next to Jennifer’ crib and the nurse gently placed our daughter in her open arms. All else ceased to exist that moment. Then came my turn. I can still remember the anxiety and fear as if it were yesterday. It was one day after my 19th birthday when I nervously took that precious gift into my arms and marveled as she wiggled, then opened her eyes to look up at me – for the first time I realized that she has my eyes, that she was truly daddy’s little girl. Then, like a little angel she snuggled up and went to sleep in my arms.
About a week later we were finally able to take Jennifer home. She was strong and she grew healthier each day. But the botched birth had its consequences and we knew that she had suffered brain damage. To control the frequent seizures we had to give her liquid Phenobarbital several times a day. Because of the medication Jennifer slept a lot and rarely cried, others noticed but were too polite to comment.
With the pride of new parents we left the hospital with our baby girl and went straight to my parents to show her off. That is where that picture, that I now so dearly treasure, was taken – Kathy Marie proudly holding Jennifer on the front lawn of my father’s house.
Many moons have passed since then and yet each time I look at that picture I’m transported back into time, to that moment. A little over a year later we had our son Daniel Brian, who was born perfectly healthy. A week after the divorce was final, my ex-wife remarried. Because I refused to take part in the divorce proceedings or even go to court, my ex-wife was given sole custody. A few months later I learned that she then allowed her sister to legally adopt our son.
From that year on I have been almost continuously incarnated, with the exception of just a few months in early 1982, the again in early 1983. in February 1983 the deaths of Aleisha Bryant and Lawrence Lamberson resulted in these capital charges being brought against me. By early 1984 I was on death row, where I have remained ever since.
Through the years I often tried to find ways to get in touch with my children. But I wasn’t able to hear even so much as a rumor. Either my family, the few who stayed in touch, did not want to tell me, or my children had fallen of the face of the earth.
Years and years passed but I never gave up. Often I would write letters to radio shows, asking them to play songs and make dedications. One nationally syndicated radio show “ Delilah after Dark” would sometimes read my letters on the air, then play a song for “Nikki” Each time I hoped that she would hear it, but she never did.
The in the summer of 2003 a friend suggested I get someone to look at state records on the then new “internet” For months I saved every cent I could with the hopes of hiring an investigator, only to have it come back with no “Lambrix’s” in state records under either Jennifer’s of Daniel’s name. But then I found out that they could also search state records for just their first names and dates of births. Again I anxiously
Waited for news from the investigator.
Exactly five years ago this week the letter arrived from the investigator. A single sheet of paper with two names and addresses, the only two matches – but they matched perfectly! My little girl “Nikki” was now 24 years old and lived only a few miles away. Her last name had been changed, but everything else matched.
It took me days to write and rewrite that first letter. What if it wasn’t her, but just by coincidence another Jennifer Nicole with the same date of birth? Jennifer was a common name. I began the letter with an apology if I was wrong, but that “you
might be my daughter” I sent her a poem that I had written many years before just for her. Then I waited. What if it was her but she didn’t want anything to do with me?
Several weeks slowly passed and each day my hope faded. Then there was a single small envelope from the Jennifer I had written. I nervously held it, afraid to open it for fear of the response within. I sat on the edge of my bunk just looking at the envelope and then finally I opened it. Only a single folded page within, and as I pilled it out I prepared myself for the rejection.
Then there it was in my hand, unfolded. And it began “Dear Daddy” and I cried. Like the scribble of a young child, it was difficult to read. But it was her – it was my little girl and she was happy to hear from me and wanted to get to know me. A few days later I got another letter from my ex-wife. They had moved to the adjacent county in 1986 when she remarried (for the 4th time) and had been living just a few miles away all these years. She explained how Jennifer had suffered permanent brain damage and was mentally handicapped, with the functional capacity of somewhere between a child and a young teenager. She didn’t think it was in Jennifer’s interest to know me since I was on death row, as they assumed I would be executed and Jennifer couldn’t deal with that.
But Jennifer got my letter and wanted to get to know me. Through the next few weeks we exchanged several more letters. Then my parents offered to help by picking Jennifer up when they came to visit so we arranged to get Jennifer on my visiting list. Before long, there she was - after all these years I was having a visit with my daughter. As she came into the visiting room I gave her a big hug as if I didn’t want to let her go. Her smile lit up the room and she giggled as only little girls can do. Then we talked for hours and she told me about the little kitten she had and the movies she liked and the friends that she had known forever and on and on, and throughout it I could only smile.
In recent years we had many more visits. I came to know that more than anything else she just wanted to have a normal life. She wanted a boyfriend, then a husband and a family of her own. And I just wanted her to be happy.
Last year she met someone she fell in love with. Now 29 years old, although limited, she is capable of independent living. She wanted to be loved and he loved her. He too has limited mental capacities, but able to work a job and drive a car. Suddenly I realized my little girl was grown up. After so many years of praying that I could be part of her life, she now wanted more…she wanted to be Billy’s wife.
How could I let my little girl go? But it wasn’t my choice. What mattered most is that she would be happy. Jennifer and Billy married and I haven’t seen her since. They had moved further away to be closer to where Billy worked and with a very limited income, they simply couldn’t afford to visit.
A few months ago Jennifer gave birth to her first child, a healthy little girl they named Sarah Anne. Now I anxiously await the day that I might meet my new grand daughter, knowing that it may be some years. But like with my daughter, I will not give up hope, because I know that as long as hope remains the impossible might yet happen. It pains me to know that my little girl now must struggle just to pay the bills and yet there is nothing I can do. I assure them that I understand that they can’t afford to visit and I will be patient. But in my heart of hearts, it cuts to my soul knowing they are so close and yet so far away. And each day I pray the day will come when I get to see my little girl – and my granddaughter, and I will.
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