Death has no favorites. It comes suddenly, with no compassion. My nephew, Harold Jones III, whom I held in my hands as a baby, who followed behind me countless times down to the corner store, and whom I had just seen the week before, was gunned down in Kissimmee, Florida, last year. His murder was gut-wrenching to our close-knit family. It was something we had never dealt with, and it was something we hope to never again feel. People deserve to grow older and live their lives to the fullest. Life is not supposed to be taken and discarded.
Gun violence has been so ingrained in our society that we have just become accustomed to it. We have become numb to the violence. I can hear my nephew telling me, “Auntie, you know I love you.” He towered over me, and when we hugged, all I got was chest. It was our ritual, every time I saw him. I watched my wedding video last week. I could see him walking in and taking his seat before the ceremony. I only wish I could hug him now.