A mother's pain

“It doesn’t end on the street,” she said. Her 13-year-old son was shot in the head on October 4, 2007 by a gunman police believe was targeting someone else. His mother, Karen Old, sat across from me at a conference table. She wore a beautiful gold necklace and matching earrings and a pin with a picture of him on her chest; right by her heart. I saw the strength in her eyes and heard her heart beating through her words. “It doesn’t end on the street. I need to know,” she said. It wasn’t that she needed to know who murdered her son; she wants to know what is going on in the Department of Youth Services. “Who’s in charge? Are they reforming youth who are incarcerated? I need to know. This is not acceptable,” she said. Then she looked down, then away, almost in embarrassment, then said, “It wasn’t acceptable before. But it took violence to touch me personally. Before I could stand.” I fought to hold back the tears; I looked away, and then back into her eyes. I felt what she was feeling, but why? Violence hasn’t touched me like that. But with all that is in me, I want to reach the young man who has the heart to pull a trigger and kill, because I know at night the young man that killed her son is hurting. My supervisor, Eleanor, walked into the conference room. Karen asked Eleanor what it is that we do. Elenor began to talk about the work of the Black Ministerial Alliance. I sat and listened. “Talia,” Eleanor said, “you can tell Karen about what you do.” I imagined myself closing my eyes and screaming to the top of my lungs ahhhhhhhhhhhh!! I feel restrained. I feel like I am in a straitjacket! Untie me! I told Karen what I do. “I coordinate a high-risk youth network,” I said. There are people who think that working with eight youth doesn’t impact anything. But I know being with my boys four days a week spared some mother the pain that Karen Old has to live with for the rest of her life.