Bound in grief

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In a small Miami-Dade courtroom, Arleen White stared at the man whokilled her 15-year-old son, Anthony, and spoke of her pain -- andher gratitude to God:
''I can't even function. I can't even look people in the facesometimes because I'm full of tears,'' she said.
And yet, ''I give God thanks for this day,'' she said. ``Becausewhen this is all over . . . I ain't got to worry about nobodygunning down my boy in the street because you already did that.''
Behind White were her husband, family members and a small group ofnew friends -- black men and women, all, who understood better thananyone else in the courtroom the complex mix of pain andfrustration in her words.
They have all lost children to homicides in Miami-Dade. And theyhave become ''a club that nobody, no parent, wants to be part of,''according to Queen Brown. Brown became part of the group -- and anantiviolence radio-show host -- after her youngest son, Eviton, waskilled in 2006 at age 24.
''My son was the 200th homicide victim'' of that year, Brown said.
Police statistics indicate that overall crime hasn't increased verymuch in Miami-Dade County since 2003 -- but homicides involvingblacks age 24 and under have been steadily climbing.
They jumped from 47 in 2003 to 76 in 2007, according to theMiami-Dade County Medical Examiner's Office. This year, 50 youngblacks have been killed as of June 28.
These parents don't need to see the statistics to know there's aproblem. Their friendships are the result of shared, horrifictragedies. One bereaved parent reached out to another, and thegroup grew from there.
The parents who have come together in this club with no name spendtheir time organizing and attending antiviolence rallies. They helpone another remember their loved ones on certain milestone dates,such as birthdays or death anniversaries.
And because they believe the problem isn't confined to the streets,they also show up at court hearings on occasion.
Several of the group members showed up at the August 2007 hearingwhere Arleen White spoke to her son's killer. Queen Brown spoke ofthe young people who have been charged in the violence.
''We have law enforcement, homicide working so hard to put thepieces together to bring them into the system,'' she said. ``Wehave the corrections department that keeps them incarcerated. Butfor some reason they have a revolving door that they get out whenthey come in here. And I can't quite understand it.''
She and the other parents were particularly concerned that day:Prosecutors and defense attorneys had agreed to a deal in which thesuspect in Anthony White's slaying, Jason Robert Hall, pleadedguilty to manslaughter. In return, Hall was sentenced to the timehe had already served in jail, 4 ½ years.
Anthony was shot when he opened the door of the family's smallduplex in Little Haiti. A group of men entered the house anddemanded money and ''dope.'' White told authorities she gave one ofthe men $760 from a jacket she wore the day before and a smallcontainer of marijuana stored on a kitchen shelf.
Hall confessed to being the shooter, but he said the gun firedaccidentally. He was just 14 at the time and was charged withsecond-degree murder. He later recanted his statement to police,claiming he was coerced. In time, prosecutors became convinced thatevidence in the case was compromised -- and that winning a''guilty'' verdict was unlikely.
Hall was released after the hearing. White was enraged.
``I thought they would have given him probation or something. Ijust didn't expect them to say he could go.''
THE BOND
PARENTS FIND KINSHIP
IN EMOTIONAL STRUGGLE
The parents who rallied around White in court that day areMiami-Dade residents who lead working-class or middle-class lives.Of the core group of four women and two men, three live inneighborhoods that were considered to be safe from urban violence.Three live in inner-city neighborhoods.
All say they taught their children to avoid trouble.
All say they raised their children to study in school, to be goodto others and to grow up self-sufficient and ready to give back totheir community.
Now, their dreams for their children shattered, the parents visitother families whose children have been killed -- cases they learnabout from newscasts or through word of mouth.
The membership is informal; some participate more than others,depending on their work schedules and whether they are emotionallyready to deal with grief. So far, they have reached out to about 20families.
Although White is the youngest parent, she is the group's elderstateswoman. Anthony died in 2003. The others died in 2006 and2007.
Some of the parents, like Brown and David Jenkins, have shared someof their grief publicly. Most have not. David Jenkins' daughter,9-year-old Sherdavia, died from gunfire in 2006 while playing onthe sidewalk near her home in Liberty City's Liberty Square publichousing project.
The parents say they feel a kinship with one another.
Deirdre Anderson of Miami Gardens gets a gnawing feeling in the pitof her stomach when she remembers that her only son, James ''J.T.''Anderson, never got to attend a prom or graduate from MiamiNorthwestern High. James was 16 when he was killed in a drive-byshooting near his home in 2006. Two other young men who were withJames escaped injury.
Miami-Dade police arrested Richard H. Jenkins, now 21, and chargedhim with first-degree murder and first-degree attempted murder.
Jenkins pleaded not guilty and is in jail awaiting trial. Hisdefense attorney, Kenneth White, declined to comment.
''They leave us with nothing,'' Anderson said of the killers.``That hole, you have to live with. It's not a nice thing.''
For homicide victims' families, grieving is complicated by theunexpected and violent nature of the deaths, said Alesia Hawkins, apsychologist with the National Crime Victims Research and TreatmentCenter at the Medical University of South Carolina. Hawkins doesresearch and clinical work in African-American families affected byhomicide in the North Charleston area.
With deaths resulting from illness or accidents, ''you don't havethe intentionality that someone willfully murdered my child,'' shesaid.
Parents of murdered children grapple with a belief that people whohave not lost a child so violently do not understand their pain.They can become withdrawn and isolate themselves because theybelieve no one else understands, Hawkins said.
Further complicating their lives are experiences alien to them --having to face the police, dealing with things like autopsies, andnavigating through a maze of court hearings, trials and pleadings.
''It's harder to get through the day. I guess I'm living offadrenaline,'' said Jeffery Johnson Sr. His son, Jeffery Jr., was anhonors student who was shot to death May 21, 2006, in Liberty Cityin a dispute over who had the best tricked-out car. The allegedshooter, Antwan Grace, 23, was charged with second-degree murder inthat crime. He pleaded not guilty.
Grace's attorney, Spencer West, said his client ``didn't haveanything to do with the shooting. It's a case of the police havingarrested the wrong man for this crime.''
Johnson, who belongs to the parents group, said coping wasrelatively easy at first. Subsequent months have been harder. Hehas grown weary of the antiviolence rallies and prayer vigils.
``The second year was harder than the first year. This year, itgets harder. Seems like it's supposed to get easier. But I don'tsee results in the crime. I see crime getting worse.''
According to the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention,homicide is the second leading cause of death for young people age10 to 24. It is the leading cause of death for African Americans inthat age group.