On May 10, 2016, I got one of the worst, devastating phone calls— that my son had been shot several times, about five blocks from my house. I just couldn’t believe it because he had just finished cooking breakfast for me and his son. He told me he was going up the street to his girlfriend’s house, so they could take all of the kids to the park. I stayed home, trying to finish my finals for my bachelor’s degree program.
He went up there, but I had several phone calls asking me, “Where is Rock?” I said that he was up the street at his girlfriend’s house- they took the kids to the park.
My baby sister stated my nickname: “Nay, don’t get scared, but he’s been shot.” She was up there at the crime scene, and she stated he looked at her and was talking to the paramedics.
Due to my mobility, I went to the hospital, and as soon as I went through the double doors, I heard “Code Blue.” But, God and my son came before my eyes to let me know he was not going to make it. My son loved everybody.