Last night is one I would rather forget ...
I was in my trundle bed, enjoying a good night's sleep, when there was an incessant pounding at my door that jarred me awake. Stumbling out of bed, so as to get my slippers and my cane, I hobbled sleepily to the front hall and to the front door. I opened it. I was shocked to see a policeman staning on my front porch.
The policeman had a very serious look upon his face. The expression on his face quickly sent pins and needles running up and down my spine. My heart started pounding. I knew that a policeman standing on one's front porch could never be good news. Whatever he wanted couldn't be very encouaging.
"Are you Mrs. Delken?" he inquired.
"Yes," I responded, fear gripping me like an icy cold hand.
"Well, I am Officer Chan, and I am here to inform you that your grandson, Michael Ray, was killed in a drive-by shooting. Happened about three hours ago. Downtown. He was walking home from work when a car drove up. A person inside that car pointed a gun out the window of the car and shot your grandson, point blank, in the face. He died not long after. He didn't suffer; it was quick. We apprehended the suspects," the policeman explained.
At the news, I sank to my knees. I was surprised to find myself screaming, "No! No! NO!!" and sobbing into my hands like a little girl. I felt someone's hands on my shoulders. The policeman had come in to try to console me, but I was beyond consoling. My grandson was dead. My world as I knew it came crashing down on me, like a thousand jagged pieces of glass.
The policeman helped me to a chair and let me cry. He tried his best to console me, but I was way beyond that. I was grief-stricken. My grandson. My beautiful, smart, handsome grandson was only 19 years old; he was working to put himself through college. He had a future ahead of him and was thinking of going into the Marines. Now thanks to somebody's stray bullet, my grandson was probably lying in a morgue, a white sheet covering his body.
I had to make funeral plans and have my husband call family and friends to inform them of what happened. My husband was at work; he worked the graveyard shift aft the factory up the raod from where we lived, as a way of making more money for us. Meanwhile, all I could do was sit there in shock and cry.
I knew the hardest days lay ahead for me. Not only me, but the entire family and those who knew (and loved) Michael Ray the best.
~To be continued.~