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My One and Only Son

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I have a daughter who, at the time my son was born, was four years old. The both of them were born in the month of November in the same week. I was in labor with my daughter for three days; my son, it was only two hours. I remember that day in the afternoon he was born. It was a nice sunny day. My doctor didn’t believe that he was coming. He sent me home from the hospital.

As soon as I got home I had to turn around and head back to the hospital. My doctor was not at the hospital. I guess he had returned to his office. The nurse had me in the delivery room. She and I were so nervous. I was nervous because my son was coming and I told the nurse that I had to be cut down there and she told me that she had never done that before. The nurse kept asking, “Where is the doctor?” I kept saying, “I hope he hurries, because I can’t stand it anymore! I closed my eyes and when I opened them there stood my doctor and the nurse was putting his gloves on his hands. I was so happy to see him. He told me to push real hard. My son was born. He was eight pounds, three ounces. The doctor put him in both of my hands and all I could do was kiss him, kiss him, and kiss him. The nurse said to me, “Can’t you wait til we clean him up first?” I said, “No!” Then they took him from me and weighed him etc. I kept saying my baby, my baby. That was a happy day for me.

Then years later, a day of ...I don’t even know what to call that day. I know that that “happy day,” repeats itself in my mind and I try to find happiness to overcome the sadness, the pain, the hurt, the guilt, the mood swings, the days that I don’t feel like getting out of bed, the days that I don’t want to be around anybody or do anything, the days that I don’t want to talk on the phone, the days that I didn’t want to live life, the days the sun went down and I would cry until my eyes were so swollen, and my nose was stuff-up, the times I couldn’t sleep.

This was a day that I remember well. I was taking my youngest daughter and my oldest granddaughter to a place off of Broadway Street that was on the river to feed the ducks and to look at the boats that was docked very close by. We never made it because I turned around right before entering the place. I had gotten a phone call on my cell phone from a friend of the family that told me that my son was dead. This was February 29, 2004. This was the month that my youngest sister was born. I was born March 1, 1955. I didn’t believe it. I ask him if he was sure it was my son? He said yes because he was there and my son was on the ground in the street not moving. He said my son had been shot in the chest. I found out later that night that my son was shot in the heart and it was a case of mistaken identity.

My son was on the ground for a long time until the coroner came and removed him. I drove down J Street and pulled over on J St. and 10th. I got out of the car and ran over to a building and slid down to the ground and started screaming and crying. People were passing by me, they looked as if they didn’t know if I was crazy or not. It seemed as though my legs gave out. I then thought about the children in my car. Finally I got up and got back in the car. The children were asking me what was wrong and who was on the phone? I didn’t know what to tell them. I sat in the car until I was able to drive home. People that I know were calling me from the crime scene. I was two-hours away and couldn’t drive. Finally I spoke to officer who confirms that it was my son because my son’s father had I.D. our son. I even spoke to a women news reporter who mentions that there was over a 100 people there and had nothing but good things to say about my son.

My brother who is a firefighter came to my aid and drove me to the crime scene by then it was around 12:00 midnight. While I was there looking around, there were candles on the ground and a teddy bear someone had put on the fence above the candles. Suddenly the police came. I told them who I was and offered to show them my I.D. They just told me that they were sorry for my loss. Before my son was murdered he use to always say to me, Mom, I’m your one and only son.” I wanted to tell him not to say that anymore because it made me feel that I would one day lose him. The day that he was murdered I felt very angry at the person who killed my son even thought till this very day I don’t know who killed my son. Then I realized that I must forgive in order to move on with my life because I am still a mother of two daughters and I also have two-granddaughters from my oldest daughter who love me.

Oh yes, I wouldn’t want my mother to lose me! With time I have begun to except that my son is gone. There is not one day that I don’t think about him. He was twenty-four. I always remember when he was a baby and growing up, and how much he loved me. I saw him one-week and a day before he died. He had hugged me and kisses me on my cheek and said that he wanted to live in this town. He was going to college studying computers and music.


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