480 Codorus Street: Surviving Unpredictability

I was now a nineteen-year-old widow with three kids. Not too many people witness a murder. Then return to that same home and be reminded daily about the death of the person who was shot there and later died. Not just any person died there, but your husband and the father of your children. I am so sorry. Even though it was years ago, some memories never, fade. I cried day in and day out; I could not get it together. He died the same way his mother died, gun violence. Remembering how hurt he ...