Seventeen years...

November 12, 1991

It was late in the evening when he finally came home. He was anxious about something, even at my young age I could tell. He and I sat at the kitchen table while he ate his favorite, cornbread and milk. My sister called. They spoke briefly and then that's where it gets fuzzy.
I don't remember what started the fight, I just remember there being a fight. Carol, my mother, decided we would leave and go to her boyfriend's house. I didn't want to go. I cried and cried, but we still went. I don't recall the drive over, which would have been about twenty minutes long, I only know what happened once we arrived. She was on the phone, to someone, I'm unsure who, and they must've told her they heard gunshots at our house.
The next memory I have is being back at the house, surrounded by officers and other important people. There was this man, he was holding me. I was terrified. I knew something had happened, I was, afterall, only six years old. The moment I saw through the window, I knew that was an image I could never forget. First I saw the blood trail. I do not know why there was a bloodtrail but the footprints in the kitchen are forever etched into my brain. With the desire to not look but knowing if I didn't it would never be real to me, I tore my eyes away from the kitchen to search out my brother. People were huddled in the living room, around something on the couch. No, not something, someone. The site that I next saw was not only horrific but something no child should ever have to see. I will spare the details, but my brother's death was ruled suicide by a shotgun wound to the head.
The next few days were a whirlwind. His funeral was a closed casket.
Ricky's death may have been ruled a suicide, but there is one universal truth as to what could have prevented his demise. Had he not been involved with or addicted to drugs, I have complete faith he would not have met his end so many nights ago.
Fast forward a decade. On November 4th, we also lost another, Markus, to a drug overdose.
Needless to say, November is a pretty rough month. I thank God daily that I was never inticed by drugs. I only wish I could say the same for not only my brothers, but all the other brothers and sisters who's lives have ended prematurely due to the high they kept seeking until their last moment. Nothing, no high, could ultimately be worth breathing your last breath.