I was six weeks old when my mother was shot and killed on the front porch of our home in Chatham, a neighborhood on the South Side of Chicago. She had stepped outside to smoke a cigarette. A man was walking down the street when a vehicle approached him from behind. The man jumped over our fence as shots rang out from the car’s windows.
My mom was struck by one of the bullets and died. My grandparents, who were inside the house watching me, still grieve their middle child, 22 years later.
My grandparents raised me in that same home. They’ve invested everything in me, my education and my career. If it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t be where I am now, working toward a graduate degree in journalism at Columbia University in New York City.
If it wasn’t for them, if they didn’t miss me so much when I’m away, I’d never visit home.
I was heartbroken to learn that Arshell Edward Dennis, a 19-year-old student at St. John’s University, was shot and killed earlier this month in Chicago while he was visiting his ailing mother. He died just hours before boarding a plane to go back to school.
It’s hard to ignore the parallels: We’re both from the South Side of Chicago, we both chose to attend school in New York, and we’re both aspiring journalists. What happened to Arshell is something I think about too often. For most college kids, going home is joyous, or at least mundane. It is a chance to wash laundry and catch up with old friends. It is a chance to see parents or grandparents, and to feel safe.
For me, going home is more complicated. I love my city. But I’m from a high-crime neighborhood. When I go home, I feel anxious. I’m worried I will get shot.
