I would like to tell a story about how I lost my son to Chicago gun violence. On May 6th, 2018, my son was gunned down around 9:15 p.m. He died at 9:47 p.m. He was shot nine times in the back. I was devastated. That was my only child, of 32 years of age.
I last spoke to him at 2:47 p.m. on that Sunday. We were supposed to have met up Monday, after I got off work. As I thought about how he died, the number nine came to mind. He lived in his mother’s womb for nine months; it took nine bullets to kill him; he died at 9:47 p.m.
When I looked up the number nine, it meant the perfect movement of God. Jesus died within the ninth hour. It was exactly seven hours between the last time we talked and when he died. He was shot one block north of 79th Street.
Last week, on May 6, I celebrated his one year in his new life. We talk every day. I hear his voice in my head all the time.