On a cold night in December 1989, at age thirty five, my life should have been just

beginning, but instead it ended. My son, my baby, Kenny had been shot. On the way

home from work a cold brisk night in December, my daughter and I were going home.

She had a part-time job with me, to earn credits for her senior year. It wasn’t an unusual

Friday night; police were racing up and down the road for whatever reason.

This particular night was a little unusual. I t wasn’t quite 7:30, yet five or six police cars

raced passed me almost hitting my car. One came an inch from hitting us. I decided to

follow him but I changed my mind. I think now to myself, if only had I followed the

police car, I would have found out, they were racing to the scene where Kenny had been

shot.

I went home to the most devastating news in my life. My daughter Julia (Pooh) as every

one knew was thirteen years of age, waiting by the front door, crying and frighten to tell

me the most heartbreaking news of my life, Kenny had been shot. My worlds as I had

always known it ended that night. Nothing would ever again be the same. My husband

had already gone to the scene to be with him.

I thought of this little bundle of joy, I once held in my arms now lying in the street

drowning in his own blood. Just the thought was enough to make my heart stop. I never

thought anyone would hurt him in this manner. I never would dream of anyone wanting

to hurt him.

All I could say was, Dear God, no. My daughters jumped in the car. My body began to

to shake as though all of the muscles died. I screamed silently. I never made it out of

my car. I backed out into a one-way street, almost backing into a police car, I did not

see. My thought was with all the police cars I saw racing up the street, there weren’t any

left. Then I realized he was on his way to my house. He put on his flashing lights and I

stopped I don’t think he thought I saw him. I don’t remember if I did. My thoughts

were on Kenny, and why was he coming this way anyway.

He stopped his vehicle and walked toward me, and then I realized he was our neighborhood

Police officer who knew Kenny. He asked me if I had heard the new. I replied yes and

asked how he was. His voice and the look on his face gave me the answers I needed

not good. He said it didn’t look good. I died then, at least a part of me. The only thing

That held me back was the sad little faces that sat in the car with tears streaming down

their little faces. How could I let them see me in the state of mind? I knew they

wouldn’t understand.

I got out my car and walked over to the police car, screaming silently. The office called

up to the scene on his radio and asked if I could come to the scene. They said no and my

heart stopped again. I though Kenny was dead. As he was on his way to the hospital I

screamed silently. While they were talking I was praying Kenny was alert enough to hear

and to know it was me who was calling.

He asked them to what hospital they were transporting him. They said Prince George’s

General Hospital. I wanted to leave my car and start running. The thought was there

and so was so was my husband, pulling up in front of the police car. He looked sadden

confused and distraught. He tried to hide it, but I knew him well enough to know by

the look on his face things were not good. He told me to take my car home and ride with

Him. I don’t how but I parked. All I could think about was Kenny. I had just talked to

him less than four hours ago. A part if me died at that very moment. I wanted to run,

scream and lay down in the middle of the street crying tears that would flow forever and

ever. I wanted to run in the front of a car so that my heartbreak and hurt would be

instantly over. I screamed Kenny’s name silently.