The Deliverance

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The moment had finally arrived. 

My first day of law school was one week away, and the next morning I would be driving to

Washington, D.C., to move into my new apartment. 

I had been to D.C. many times before, but this trip was different. This time, I wasn’t just visiting. I was moving toward a new chapter. 

I was excited about what was ahead, but it was a bittersweet excitement. I was leaving so much life behind, my family, my city, and especially my brother Ace. 

Ace was in his fifth year of battling the full onset of bipolar disorder, and helping him manage from crisis to crisis had become a total family effort. So even as I looked forward to the promise of my career ahead, I couldn’t shake the heaviness of the challenge I was leaving behind for Ace and the rest of my family. 

I could tell Ace was uneasy about my leaving too. He seemed like a parent bracing for the empty nest. 

Out of the blue, almost two weeks before my departure, he announced, “I told Dad that I’ll drive up there with you.” 

“Are you sure?” I asked. 

Ace’s struggles around this time were often triggered by his recurring decisions to stop taking the medication his doctor prescribed to stabilize his condition. By the time any of us realized he had stopped, Ace was usually already in full-on manic mode, cold sweats, paranoia, thoughts racing so fast they generated panic and fear. 

His doctor once described it as extreme anxiety, a mind spinning so quickly it threatened to break free. 

We were still trying to identify the triggers, still trying to protect him from them. 

As much as I wanted him to travel with me, I wasn’t sure how a trip to D.C. in the middle of his struggle could be good for either of us. I waited for Ace to say something that would give me confidence he could handle the stress of the trip. 

Instead, he just smiled. 

“I’ll be fine. You do realize I taught you how to walk in Liberia, right?” 

Then he added, “Anyway, Dad is going to be traveling when you have to leave, and I think he’ll feel better if one of us is with you.” 

I didn’t question him further, but I did plan to talk to Pop that night. 

Had he really asked Ace to join me? There was so much on my mind already. Why would he throw Ace on me now? 

I met Pop outside as he pulled into the garage. 

“Hey, Pop! Ace said he’s riding with me to D.C.” 

I announced it, but my tone made it a question. 

“Really?” Pop replied, surprised. 

His response said a lot. 

Apparently, not only had he not asked Ace to drive with me, but his look was almost hopeful. 

As tough and consistent as Pop had been in leading our family through Ace’s crisis, he never showed worry. He was our rock. 

I realized in that instant that he, too, struggled watching Ace struggle. 

So I abandoned my plan to ask for help changing Ace’s mind. Instead, I decided to show

Pop I was hopeful about Ace’s decision. 

“Yep,” I said. “I’m really glad he’s coming with me. It’ll give us some one-on-one time together.” 

Then I added, “We’re leaving Saturday morning.” 

The week leading up to our departure was a whirlwind, culminating in a long Friday of

loading my belongings into my new Volkswagen Jetta. My larger furniture was packed in a trailer hitched to the car. 

I finished at midnight and headed to bed, exhausted. 

When I fell asleep, Ace was still up talking to Pop. He didn’t seem ready to sleep, but I was determined to get at least a few hours so I could drive the first stretch. 

But almost as soon as I fell asleep, I was startled awake.

My alarm clock read 12:30 a.m. 

I had only been asleep for twenty minutes. 

“Hakim! We need to get on the road,” Ace called. 

“Huh? We agreed we’d leave in the morning. I just laid down.” 

“I don’t think I can sleep,” he said. “I’m wide awake. Let’s just go, and I’ll drive the first leg.” 

I was furious. 

I needed sleep. 

But Ace was agitated, and I didn’t want to make things worse. So I reluctantly agreed. 

“Okay. Let me get dressed and say goodbye to Ma and Pop.” 

As we pulled away from our parents’ house, I was still mad. Ace was driving, and I was exhausted. 

There was no way I was going to sleep while he drove. I sat up, watching him for any sign of stress. 

I didn’t realize I had dozed off until I felt the engine stop and opened my eyes. 

We were parked. 

“Where are we?” I asked. 

“At a rest stop,” Ace said. 

“But where are we? How long have we been driving?” 

He looked defeated.“I’m sorry, but we’ve only been on the road for about forty-five minutes. I’m exhausted. I just want to rest for a few minutes, then we’ll get going again.”

“Are you serious?” I said, exasperated.

Ace had made me leave Atlanta at 12:30 in the morning with no sleep, and he couldn’t even drive forty-five minutes before stopping. 

Now we were in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night, at a rest area. 

I was awake and alert when Ace returned to the car with his coffee. He was in a pensive mood, staring out at nothing in particular, when he began to speak. 

“Listen, baby bro. I know Dad talked to you already, but I want you to know how proud I am of you. You were always the smart one. I knew that when you were a baby.” 

I looked over at him. 

“And Dad is really proud to be able to pay for your school,” he continued. “That’s why I chose to play college football. I didn’t really like football so much, but I felt like I was helping Mom and Dad by getting an athletic scholarship. That gave them extra money when it was time for the rest of you to go to school.” 

He paused. 

“So what you’re doing now was planned for you a long time ago. Work hard and don’t mess this up. Everyone is counting on you doing well.” 

His words hit me so hard that, for a moment, I forgot where we were. 

Ace was battling symptoms of mania, but he powered through them so he could give me that pep talk. 

I hadn’t realized how much I needed to hear it. 

The months before had been filled with activity, our grandfather’s passing, the trip to Egypt on our parents’ study tour, Patricia’s wedding. I had been preparing for a new life mostly on my own, with very little self-reflection or emotional support. 

Ace’s words came right on time, especially because they came from him, the person who had every excuse not to be a support to me. 

Before I could respond, he continued. 

“I’m sorry I made you leave before you could get some good sleep. I just started feeling

weird, and if we didn’t leave right away, I wasn’t sure I could make it. And it’s really important to me to be able to make this trip with you.” 

I didn’t know exactly how to respond. 

I just offered to drive for a while so he could get some sleep. 

Unfortunately, my driving didn’t last much longer than Ace’s first forty-five minutes. 

I pulled into a gas station, choosing a space at the far end so no one could see us sleeping.

But just as I let my seat back, Ace woke up.

“What’s going on?” he asked. “Tired already? At this rate, we’re never going to get there.” 

Was this some kind of joke? 

He was the reason we were in thisis mess, driving in the middle of the night with no sleep. 

We both got out of the car and sat on different parts of the hood, locked in conversation in the heat of the night. 

Then, without missing a beat, Ace continued where he had left off. 

“Don’t focus on the ladies in D.C.,” he began. “They’ll be there when you’re done. You’ll be a hot commodity with a law degree. So don’t be distracted by the ladies.” 

Then he looked at me. 

And don’t let that girl visit you at school.” 

He was talking about a girl I had just started seeing. She had been at the house the night before we left. 

Ace had met her briefly, but otherwise had nothing to say about her except, “She’s not for you.” 

“Here, let me drive,” he said as we both jumped down from the hood to restart our journey. “This area doesn’t seem safe. And Dad is going to be really pissed if I let anything happen to you.” 

We switched seats, and he was behind the wheel again. 

Believe it or not, these stops, starts, and breaks happened six or seven more times during our trip, gas stations, rest areas, even a Waffle House. 

But even when Ace was driving, I felt like I had to stay awake to keep him awake. 

It was crazy what was happening, and even crazier knowing none of it had to be happening. 

We could have just waited until morning to leave. 

But something positive was happening too. 

Each time we stopped, Ace used the opportunity to talk about life. 

At Waffle House, he talked about children. 

“I see you with our nephews,” he said. “You’re great with kids. You’ll be a great father one day.” 

Then he told me, “When you get frustrated with school, if thinking about us doesn’t motivate you, think about being a dad one day. Find something to keep you motivated. Never give up. And remember, life is a long-distance run, not a sprint.” 

At another gas station, he talked about our parents. 

“Make sure to call home to Mom and Dad every week. I didn’t do that at UMass. That was selfish. But you’re the baby, so it’ll be real bad if you don’t stay in touch.” 

Then he became more serious. 

“They’ve got their hands full with me. So keep checking on them. I need you to do that for me.” 

But it was while we were sitting on the hood of the car at another gas station, trying to wake ourselves up, that he hit me with the conversation that made me emotional. 

“Hey, listen. I’m really sorry about all of this,” he began slowly, as if this conversation was the one he had really been waiting for. 

“I just don’t know what’s going on. I know I’ve really disappointed Mom and Dad.” 

He looked away. 

“If something happens to me, you better step up.” 

Ace was talking about his condition. 

Sometimes his battle became so intense that it was easy for us to forget that the Ace we grew up with was still there, fighting as hard for himself as our family was fighting for him. 

He was fighting harder. 

“What do you mean?” I asked, not waiting for an answer. “You haven’t let anyone down.

You’re sick. It’s not your fault.” 

Then I raised my voice. 

“And what do you mean, ‘If something happens to me’? Take that back, or I’m turning

around and going home.” 

I was terrified. 

“It’s just hard because it doesn’t stop,” he said, his eyes watering. 

“Hey, man,” I said. “Hard has never stopped you before.” 

I reminded him of something he had once told me. 

“Remember when you said I would be knocked down over and over in life? You told me not to worry about getting knocked down. You said to just keep getting up each time.” 

Ace nodded. 

“You said it was how I got up on the football field that impressed you most. You told me to remember that what matters is how you get up.” 

Then I stood directly in front of him. 

“Tell me you won’t give up. Tell me that right now, or I’m turning around and going home.” 

He looked at me. 

“If you want me to do well, you have to promise me you’ll be there when I get home. Every time.” 

Ace was sitting on the hood of the car, and I was standing in front of him, waiting for an answer. 

He stared at me for a moment. 

Then, deadpan, he said, “I liked you more when you didn’t talk.” 

The tension broke. 

“You were just a big-head baby,” he continued. “Your head was so big I questioned whether Mom and Dad brought the wrong baby home from the hospital.” 

He looked at my head as if he were examining it. 

“I can’t believe you’re about to be a lawyer. Lucky they don’t have restrictions on head sizes for lawyers.” 

That joke was not new. 

Ace had been telling some version of it for as long as I could remember. 

Whenever his friends were around, he would introduce me by saying, “This is my baby brother. We got him from Africa. He thinks he’s Mom and Dad’s child, but we found him in the jungle and shaved his head. That’s why he doesn’t look like the rest of us.” 

Then he would start talking about my head. 

“Look at this thing,” he would say. “It’s so, so big. He’s got a watermelon head.” 

Everybody would sit around cracking up while he made fun of me. 

Then he would tell them my feet stank. 

Sometimes he would make me take off my shoes, and he would stick them in the fireplace so the heat and the smell from my shoes would go up the chimney. 

When he did that, I would cry like a baby. 

I would get so mad at him. 

So mad. 

So mad. 

So mad. 

It is strange how a child can cry as though he is completely miserable and still know there is nowhere else in the world he would rather be than close to the person making him cry. 

That was how I felt about Ace. 

Even when I was furious with him, I wanted to be wherever he was. 

So when he started on my head again that morning at the rest stop, I knew what he was doing. He was pulling us back into the language we had always shared. 

He was reminding me that he was still Ace. 

And I was still his baby brother. 

I broke down in tears as we hugged in front of the car. 

I still think about how we must have looked. Two Black men, one six-foot-four and the other five-foot-eight, hugging at an interstate rest area at seven in the morning. 

We arrived in D.C. later that morning. 

We unloaded the car and trailer, threw everything into my new apartment, returned the

trailer, and came back exhausted. 

We both passed out. 

But not long after we fell asleep, Ace was standing over me again. 

“Hey, get up and take me to the airport,” he said. 

He opened my eyes. 

“Huh? Your flight isn’t for five more days.” 

“Nah,” he replied. “I had Dad change my ticket to tonight.” 

I sat up. 

“What?” 

“I need to get back home,” he said. “I’m feeling too anxious here.” 

I could hear it in his voice. This wasn’t a joke. 

“You need to start focusing on what you need to do,” he continued. “I’ve done my job getting your big head here.” 

Then he softened. 

“But I’m glad I got to see your place and help you start getting set up. You’ll be fine.” 

I didn’t want Ace to leave. 

We had just arrived. He was supposed to stay for five days. Somewhere in my mind, I think I had imagined that we would explore the city, get something to eat, laugh about the trip, and give me time to become comfortable with the idea of being there without him. 

Instead, almost as soon as he delivered me to my new life, he was telling me he had to go. 

But I was also encouraged that he could recognize his emotions and know when an episode might be coming. 

I knew that leaving was probably the right decision. 

That didn’t make it hurt any less. 

We didn’t talk much on the way to the airport. 

I kept thinking about our conversation at that one gas station, debating whether to bring it up again.

I didn’t want anything to happen to Ace, but I wasn’t sure whether bringing it up was smart. 

I didn’t want to scare him. 

I didn’t want to upset him. 

I didn’t want to let him walk into the airport without hearing him promise me again. 

He got out at the curb. 

I jumped out to say goodbye, still nervous. 

Before I could say anything, Ace started. 

“Let’s just make a deal. You handle your business here, and I’ll be there each time you come home. Okay?” 

Trying to be direct, I said, “I really need you, Ace.” 

“I know, baby bro,” he said. 

Then he put me in a miniature headlock with his massive

arm. 

“Of course you do. You always have.” 

Still holding me, he started laughing. 

Then, as if he couldn’t allow the moment to become too serious, he offered one last parting shot. 

He rubbed my head. 

“I’m going to do some research on this when I get back home, because I’ve never seen anyone in our family with a head so big.” 

He looked at me with mock concern. 

“I don’t think it’s right Mom and Dad have to pay your tuition if you’re not their kid.” 

It was the same joke he had been telling since we were children. 

The same jungle. 

The same shaved head. 

The same watermelon. 

The same story about the baby brother who thought he belonged to the family. 

Only this time, standing at the airport, I understood the truth beneath the joke. 

He had spent my whole life telling people I wasn’t really his brother while making sure I never doubted that I was. 

We laughed some more. 

“Remember to call Mom and Dad,” he said one more time, giving me the soul handshake. 

Then he started walking away. 

“Ace!” I yelled. 

Without turning back, he kep

t walking. 

“I said I’ll see you when you get home. Leave me alone!” 

I stood there watching him until he disappeared into the airport. 

I reflected on that trip with Ace every time I drove back and forth to D.C. during law school. 

Every time I felt overworked, tired, or confused about who I wanted to be, I thought about that trip. 

His struggle only became more difficult as time went on. 

As I learned more about the disease he was facing, I became more and more appreciative of the effort he put forth to make that trip with me. 

For Ace, with his racing mind and the fear that created a racing heart, that trip must have been one of the hardest things he ever did. 

Yet he did it for me. 

He fought through the terror and uncertainty just to make sure his little brother didn’t have to face a new chapter alone. 

Some might see the struggle Ace endured before he passed away in 2009 as a great tragedy. 

For me, it only solidified my childhood belief that giants are real, and that real giants always come to the rescue when it matters most, even when they live with the knowledge that they may never be able to rescue themselves. 

There will never be another like Asa Grant Hilliard IV. 

And the wisdom of my heart is this: 

Through his illness, Ace made sure he was part of my deliverance into manhood and independence. 

He knew how critically important he was to me, and he spent what strength he had to be on

that road with me, to give me the lessons I needed, and to be my brother when I most needed one. 

That trip taught me that we are never delivered into our next chapter alone. 

All of us are carried forward by people who choose, even in the middle of their own storms, to show up for us anyway. 

Their love, their courage, and their sacrifice travel with us. 

every mile, 

every memory, 

and every time we find our way home.