All I can remember is how beautiful my mother was with her dark skin and long hair. (As I said in the last issue, I was only six years old when she died.) On holidays and on her birthday I still grieve and cry. It took many years to comfort myself. If not for the man upstairs, my heavenly father, I would have run myself crazy. So, thank you, Jesus.
Remember, there were nine children. I’m number eight and I have a little brother. He was only a baby when our mother died, so he never had a chance to see her. After her death, my father moved us to Miami, where he was born and where his sister lived. I was 7-years-old. We lived in my aunt’s big house until my father found an apartment across the street. After a year there, we moved back to the District. We had a big house in Southeast D.C., so big I was scared to go into the basement. (Remember: I was only seven and only in second grade). It took a while, but I eventually stopped being scared and went into the basement.
When my father went to work, we would run outside and play (after school, of course). One day, two friends and I were playing by the train tracks. One friend spotted the tunnel, so we decided to go inside. We started counting the lights inside and discovered each was 15 feet away from the other. We counted about 25 lights.
Then we heard a noise like a humming sound. “That’s the train!” we said. I’m telling you we were far inside that tunnel. We started running our fastest. I turned around and saw a little light. The noise got louder and louder. It seemed as though we were never going to get out of there. Then the light grew bigger and brighter and the noise got even louder.
Even though I was the youngest of the three, I was in second place running out of the tunnel. We finally saw the beginning of the tunnel and ran faster and faster. The two of us got out of the tunnel, which was a blessing from God. Our other friend came out just 40 seconds before the train came in. Thank you, Jesus! If we hadn’t escaped, no one would have ever found us.
