“Ky, please pray, your cousin is missing and has not been home since Wednesday.”
I received this text as I was leaving a talk at the Schomburg on a Thursday night. Let’s just say I immediately lost my appetite and a sense of worry overwhelmed me. Where was he? I spent the rest of the night praying before falling asleep. I knew he didn’t have any friends so if he was missing something probably happened to him. I thought the worst, as we all do in times of turmoil. My mind went over all of the times I could’ve told him I loved him or been there for him and yet I chose not to. Life is so short and within a blink of an eye, your whole existence could change. I imagined life without him for a split second and couldn’t bare it. He needed to come home.
The next morning I received a text from my mother saying my cousin came home in the middle of the night. Thank you, Jesus. A sense of relief came over me until I questioned his whereabouts for the last couple of days. Apparently, he was riding the trains back and forth. Not the same train, different trains. I am not surprised by this revelation but I am worried. His condition is seemingly getting worse. Continue reading “One Black Man’s Silent Struggle”