Within forty months, my entire immediate family would suffer and succumb to a series of gut-wrenching illnesses. My older brother Stan died at 54 of bile duct cancer on December 21, 2017. Just fourteen months later, on Valentine’s Day 2019, Momma passed away of brain cancer with Dad by her bedside. As the world was on the cusp of the COVID-19 pandemic thirteen months later, I awakened early March 10, 2020 to find that Dad had peacefully made his transition during the night. Being a cardiac patient, Dad died of a broken heart. It would only be a matter of thirteen months again before death would come calling. My older brother Kenny, 54, who had beaten previous odds, was no match for his final battle. He died of pneumonia, a complication due to COVID-19, on April 24, 2021 while in my arms. 

Yet my struggles do not begin here. For many years it was difficult for me to find my voice, a result of childhood trauma. The silence remained until I discovered God’s strength within me to make some noise. When I found the courage to face my past, God’s gift of writing became my haven. Now Maya Angelou’s words resonate profoundly: “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” And I’ve got a story to tell. So, I will write until The Lord calls me Home.