In 1990, I worked the 2 p.m. to 10:30 p.m. shift. I would get home at 11:00 p.m. every night. On a Friday night, I pulled into my driveway, as always. I picked up my stuff from the passenger seat. When I opened my door, there was someone standing there.
He was assuming the position to hurt me. He grabbed at my purse. I wouldn’t let go. Someone opened the passenger door, stuck a gun into my car and shot me. Since it was at point-blank range, it blew off the right side of my abdomen. The man I saw grabbed my purse and they ran, leaving me for dead. I never saw the man who shot me. Never saw the gun. It was three days before the doctors could tell my husband and children that I would live. Even though this was 30 years ago, my family and I are still in emotional pain, and I’ll never fully heal.