Shattered Heart

By Mary Ann Jackson-Baker

“How do you forgive the unthinkable? How do you begin to wrap your mind around closure to the deep-rooted memory of such a devastating incident?” “I worked my fingers to the bone to give my son a future, but that boy didn’t have a chance in the world. It wasn’t Lima that killed him, but I still hate being there now. Christians are suppose to be able to forgive, but I can’t let it go. I have searched the depths of my soul for some shred of forgiveness to extend in his direction, but God has not granted me that grace…” “Forgiveness is not about letting injustice reign. It means walking bravely into the future with every scar and callous you’ve incurred along the way.” “My prayer is to one day forgive the murderer of my only child because with God all things are possible.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 21, 2017
• ISBN: 9781684098545

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Shattered Heart 

Mary Ann Jackson-Baker

Copyright © 2017 Mary Ann Jackson-Baker

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

New York, NY

First originally published by Page Publishing, Inc. 2017

ISBN 978-1-68409-853-8 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-63568-000-3 (Hard Cover)

ISBN 978-1-68409-854-5 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Acknowledgment

Uncle Charles,

It’s been a long journey. I’ve loved the time we’ve shared bonding. I loved my drives over to South San Francisco, CA. early in the mornings. You’re a blessing in my life. Thank you for your labor of love. Now I can say my Book is complete.

Love you, Mary Ann

C.T. Jackson is the younger brother of the author’s father. A 1970 graduate of Harvard College, and a 1973 graduate of Harvard Law School, he is retired from the U.S. Postal Service Law Department.

In loving memory of my only beloved son, Stephen LeRoy Glover Jr.; the late Gloria Stene Jackson-Banks; the late Donald Eugene Baker; the late Lanel Chambers.

To my husband, William Tracy Eugene Baker

Ajenae Glover

Akeel Glover

Paul A. Curtis

Jontez White

NaTosha White

Juergen Waldick

RM Alvarado

Robert L. Jackson Jr.

Lucy Banks

Bettye Baker

Angela Brewster

LaPorsha Baker

John E. Jackson

Johnnie L. Jackson

Stacey Lynn Moore

Robbie Ann Jenkins

Denise Hill

Thaddeus Hill

Jamie Wilson

Titus Brown

Betty Mines

Janice Dewberry

Ronald Dillingham Jr.

Cherril L. Threte

Clarence James

Parthesia James

I appreciate everyone’s words of encouragement during my journey. With God, all things are possible

Preface

According to FBI statistics, an estimated 15,980 murders were committed in the United States in 2001. For those incidents in which the murder weapon was known, 69.5 percent were committed with a firearm.

Of the 13,762 murders for which such information was provided, 47.5 percent were black. Of murders with a single victim and a single offender, 93.6 percent of black homicide victims were killed by black offenders. (https://m.fbi.gov/#https://www.fbi.gov/news/pressrel/press-releases/crime-in-the-united-states-2001-1).

This is the chronicle of the mother of a twenty-four-year-old murder victim and her struggle to accept the loss of her son. It follows her journey through the shock of hearing the news, through the crisis over removing life support, and through the funeral of her son and the trial of the perpetrator.

In the end, it explores the damage done by the pervasive tribalism of American society at large, and the difficulty their mothers have in inculcating a sense of empathy in young black men, who are taught to see themselves as having to be dangerous and tough enough to face a hostile social environment.

Introduction

Stephen LeRoy Glover Jr. was born and raised in Lima, Ohio, where he attended elementary school, junior high, and high school. He participated in sports: basketball, football, and soccer. He was a very quiet young man, who loved being around his family and friends. He embraced fatherhood to Ajenae and Akeel, as well as to their older siblings, Jontez White and Paul A. Curtis.

Chapter 1

A Knock at the Door

The sun had not yet risen on the morning of June 2, 2001, when my world came to an abrupt end.

Bam! Bam! I’m in the bed sleeping. I hear the urgent banging at the front door. I run immediately to the door; I don’t even ask who it is. I open the door, and there is someone standing there, yelling at me that Stevie’s been shot! Stevie’s been shot!

I can hear the sirens in the distance. I turn and run to the bedroom where Greg is lying, half awake. I can hear my panicked voice telling him, Steve’s been shot! I start to dress, and he does too. I’m shaking and murmuring, Oh Lord! Oh Lord!

I’m shaking like I’m having a seizure, and I’m looking for my jewelry, unable to keep my hands from shaking and wondering why I am even thinking of my jewelry.

I shout sharply, Let’s go! Let’s go! The sirens are louder now. As I get dressed, I hear the phone ringing. I pick up the phone, and right away, a calm but intense voice is telling me, Mary, this is Jana.

Jana has always been close to me; she babysat for Stevie when he was ten. Is it true? I ask. What’s going on? Is it true? Is it true? I hear myself sobbing. Tell me it’s not true. I know, from the sound of her voice, that something has to be wrong. I’m at the hospital now, she pronounces intensely. I’ll be waiting for you there.

Jana’s voice calms me a bit, and after a ten-minute drive with Greg at the wheel, we arrive at the emergency room, which is four blocks away from the house. Oh Lord! Oh Lord! I hear myself murmuring. Please let him be okay. Let him be okay.

I jump from the car and dash toward the ER entrance where I encounter a sea of faces, some familiar, some strange; all of them bearing witness to an ineffable anxiety permeating the air. Amid that sea of faces, we find Jana, who greets Greg and me with a hug.

I know where to go because the hospital is where I used to work, so I don’t need any help locating the ER. As I enter the doorway, I hear a furtive whispering as someone announces quietly to someone else that I’m there.

I look to the right, and there’s Carol. She approaches me. Mary, she says, sit down.

I sit, and as I’m sitting on the floor, I look around the room. Because I’m outside the door, I can see all the bags of blood hanging, but I can’t see Stevie; however, I know it’s him. I hear the doctor say, No, this isn’t good. This isn’t good, as he walks toward me. This isn’t good.

I see bags of blood dangling everywhere. I see Yvette from the lab walk right by me, carrying several units of blood in her hand and trying not to look at me.

I look around, and the doctor is saying, We need to get him to CT scan. They told me I could go up with him but to give them a few minutes. They had me go out into the lobby. As I waited there—it seemed like forever—it occurred to me that I ought to get in touch with my family so they could get there.

I tried calling my parents, but there was no answer. I noticed our family friend, Paul, among the sea of faces in the emergency room. I asked Paul to go to the Glovers’ home. He said he would. I also needed someone to go to Stevie’s grandmother’s home and let her know. Paul said he would.

My god! I thought. I need to call Stevie’s dad. I can’t let him hear this from anyone but me. I called the Glovers’ and got his phone number. I left a message. He called me right back. I told him that Stevie was there, and that he had been shot

As I waited in the ER lobby, I saw Linda sitting over by the wall. I knew she was there as a patient since her sister is my best friend outside of Lima. I approached her and told her what had happened. Then for what seemed like an eternity, I just walked around the ER lobby, looking and feeling lost.

As I wandered, I saw someone I barely knew and asked her what had happened. Who shot him? I heard someone say, Smoke.

My response was Oh no!

Greg had been standing there. He said he would be back. As I watched him walk outside, I still couldn’t believe it. As I walked around the room, I noticed the Glovers were sitting there. I walked over to them and asked them if their mom knew. Of course, she knew. Why had I even asked? Nobody said anything. I got up and walked out of the room. In the lobby, I saw my mother; she was looking exhausted already.

Mom had her oxygen tank with her. I told her what had happened, then we all walked back through the emergency room doors again. The doctor said they were going to take him to CT scan, and we could go upstairs with him. Upstairs, there were IV poles and bags and bags of blood hanging. Stevie’s face was wrapped in white gauze, soaked in blood. We approached and surrounded the bed. I leaned over his broken body, whispering, Mom is here. Mom is here.

Once we reached the CT scan department, I saw Steve, the radiologist, who told us to wait outside. Outside, I just milled around in the hallway. I could see him doing the scan and discussing the findings with the doctor. After a few minutes, they came out and said they would be taking him right to ICU. We followed them to the ICU area. Cindy the nurse came out and said she would come out and get us once they had him in the room.

As we waited for Cindy, we all walked around, looking at each other, not saying much of anything. When Cindy returned, she said we could go back and see him. I walked in. I could see the monitors going and the blood pressures in all of the lines in motion. I was hearing the constant beeping of the equipment and seeing the bags of blood hanging. I went straight to the head of the bed and began whispering to him like he could hear me, assuring him that I was there, and that we were all there with him

The gauze wrapped around Stevie’s head was getting saturated with blood again. I couldn’t see his face. He looked like a mummy, all wrapped up, just lying there, not moving.