I wish I never had gone to Church Avenue that morning back in 1973. Because what I saw that day never leaves my mind, like an awful photograph it appears out of nowhere. So clear, so vivid, and so horrible.
The woman stood in the street near the corner of East Second Street. She was screaming so loud, you could hear her all the way from Beverly Road.
Her cries were blood curdling.
They were sounds of anguish, they were sounds of tragedy.
She stood there trembling uncontrollably, her body was in shock.
“Mom, Mom, Mom” “Oh, my God Mom”
In one hand she held a pair of black shoes, in the other she held two pocketbooks. There were people around her trying to console her, yet she was deaf to their comfort.
“Mom, Mom” “Oh my God Mom”
The young woman was standing right behind a gigantic "Kings" concrete truck. There near the rear wheel closest to the curb, was the crumpled body of her mother. A long trail of fresh blood, and clothing stretched all the way to East Third Street. It was the most awful scene I have ever seen in my life.
The young woman’s mother was certainly dead.
As I stood there frozen near East 3rd, by Korner Pizza, I could hear the sounds of Police cars and ambulances in the far distance. There wouldn't be much need for them, it was too late for the young woman’s mother.
I don’t know why I went to Church Avenue that morning, because I just turned around and went back home. Whatever my Mom asked me to buy was just forgotten that day. Just lost in the tragedy of some young woman who just witnessed her mother die.
I couldn’t help but think about that young woman that evening and about the tragic loss she suffered that day. And I know I must have hugged my mother a little tighter that night, and worried about her more than ever when she crossed the streets of Kensington, from that day on.
A day that I will always remember, somewhere along time ago, in the Kensington of my youth so many years ago.