For high school, Terry went to Dunbar. I have zero positive things to say about that "educational" establishment. However, I did have great memories taking the vans from work to pick up the boys en masse to make sure they got back to our neighborhood safely. Having them all loaded up, and hyper from a day of school and listening to all their stories kept me laughing. They would all crowd around like 10 deep in my office and on the corners and later on our front porch in their matching uniforms of royal blue shirts and khakis. They ate too many gross, unhealthy snacks from the corner store and stood around goofing around until past dark. My favorite things about the uniforms was that I could always tell who didn't go to school that day because they would be in street clothes. Made it easy to pick them out and yell at them.

Terry graduated from Dunbar. Its a big damn deal and I was thrilled to get to watch him walk across the stage. Graduation rates in Chicago at the time in our neighborhood were 49% and I don't blame the kids almost at all. Terry was an overcomer and he made it through.

When I ran the summer jobs program, Terry didn't come correctly and he came too late and I didn't hire him. The year he graduated, he was upset he didn't have a job and asked me to help him. I told him who was in charge and if he wanted a job he should show up everyday and ask for one and tell them he was willing to do anything at all, including clean the toilets. I guess it worked. Here he is working his job at the coffee shop down the street. He loved that job and had pride in getting it.

Spike Lee made a stupid movie in Chicago that makes me wanna swear a lot at him and he called it something even more dumb. Chi-raq. Don't ever say that mess around me. Anyway, Spike Lee was in the neighborhood and stopped and met all the boys and took pictures with them. Spike Lee has his arm around Terry in this pic. Poppie is in the front with the maroon sweatshirt.

this pic is from my IG. Its the day Terry came to see me while we were home visiting Chicago for the first time since moving to NC. He came and found me to tell me he had gotten into community college. I was so proud. Whenever I asked him, Terry always had a plan. To make it out, to be better. He had dreams. Boxing, the AirForce, College. He always let me know he was gonna make it.

Terry was kind. He was the kind of guy that would see me struggling with the baby stroller and MJ and rush over and carry it down my stairs for me. Many days after I left the ministry and moved down the street, Id come out my front door and finding him and Poppie sitting there on my porch. As long as we knew each other and familiar as we were, he never dropped the Miss from the front of my name. The kids at the ministry center where we worked called us all mr. or miss. and our first name. Miss Sarah. But as the boys got older, and became like family they dropped the Miss. None of my boys called me Miss Sarah, except for Terry. He seemed to add that extra layer of respect and I didn't correct him, much. I wasn't afraid in our neighborhood, and I wasn't disrespected many times. One of the few times I was by an older man from the neighborhood on the street while walking alone, Terry called out and let him know not to mess with me. Im thankful for Terry and that I had the grace to know him and love him and be a part of his story.





























"Your name is TERRY BERRY?" I said to the boy in front of me. I think this was his 6th or 7th grade year."Yeah," he said."I don't have time for this," I replied irritated and assuming and started to walk away to help out in the kids after school program. I can't remember what Terry wanted, but I figured he was giving me a fake name for some reason and I wasn't going down like that."Sarah, he's for real!" Marquis McCoy assured me.Terry looked sheepish and defeated with these wide eyes that gave me pause and my steely exterior softened and I guess I decided I did have time for him. I can't remember the rest of that day, but that was how we met.And the last day I saw him, earlier this year at Poppie's funeral....his eyes were the same. That part hadn't changed. You could look into Terry's eyes and see him.Really see him..if he let you.I was mad at him. So physically angry at him that I almost shook when I saw him walk in at Poppie's wake and I made some rude noise and muttered some inappropriate words until Donnell's look silenced me. Terry left quickly that night. As Poppie's funeral ended the next day, I knew I had to talk to Terry. As I looked at him deep into his eyes and told him I was mad at him, I loved him just the same, Jesus would forgive him and that he could and should come to North Carolina with me and Mike and start his life all over again, I can't explain what I saw.Of course He prayed with me, Terry never denied a prayer for him or with him. We hugged, but not for long enough. I can feel that hug in my arms and chest today but now its aching and pulling.We both cried as we stood there, mostly for Poppie - and for how hard life was and how your choices don't always feel like an actual choice. And I cried because I think I knew he wouldn't come back with me to NC. He stood there as I walked away, and he was a grown man yet still his eyes could break my heart for grief. I have a hard time seeing the boys I still claim as mine as grown men now. They have been grown in many ways for far too long now, expected to carry weights that men I know twice their age would buckle under.I know he lost hope, and I did too.That's probably why we had to move.Satan can be a convincing liar, the darkness looms, generational chains are real, and there aren't as many paths out of the south side of Chicago for a young, black kid as there are traps and deep holes of despair.This is the 3rd boy that died this summer. The 2nd that I had counted/still count as one of mine. When Poppie died, I posted about it on social media and a well meaning friend who is definitely not from Chicago said some words about being careful what I post about my home to not give people the wrong idea and perpetuate stereotypes.Im sidestepping that freight train of condemnation and emotion. Im responsible with my knowledge and my grief and writing and speaking is my adamant, staunch reclaiming of hope and standing up to the devil and his lies.The truth is that we don't know that the devil has Terry, so do not lose heart.And here is the story that Id rather not share, but God is bigger than my comfortability.One time when I was shy about sharing what God had done in my life because it was awkward and messy, My friend and brother in Christ CW told me in his calm, wise way that to not tell people what God did in me, was to rob Him of His glory. Im not a big revelation or visions from God type of person, but maybe I need to be.So, God is big. Bigger than me. and in my despair I often forget. I rock my son to sleep every night in his dark room and I try to pray. The night I got all the calls and texts about Terry's death I was deeply troubled. Not shocked, which I grieved even more. It wasn't the anxious, panicked crying and pacing that came with Poppies death. It was this quiet, afraid, despair that the darkness had won. It was this foreboding "knowledge" that the darkness is stronger and that it had circled Terry and dragged him away triumphantly.I sat there remembering how Terry always had this supernatural weight and levity upon him. How he didn't fight with words. How his eyes always told a different story. His quiet strength. How he always seemed to rise up and then be dragged back down. How Terry was never the same after his best friend Venzel was murdered at age 14, potentially right next to him on the street next to mine. And how he didn't cry at that funeral.In the dark, as I held my gift of grace and rocked him to sleep I felt my heart and faith falter a bit. I cried out in my head to God and it was lament and questioning and despair and God quieted me, almost audibly, with the word "Stop." And I did. I stopped rocking and I sat there motionless. God reminded me that I don't know everything. That His story and His world is far more intricately woven that I could ever imagine and that is a good thing. I thought something along the lines of "whatever." God graciously unfolded for me a scenario, a story, a version, that I have no way of verifying but it's bigger than me and what I could have thought or come up with.After Poppie's death, Terry understandably began to struggle mentally. We all did, I'm sure but Terry's struggle was consuming and overwhelming. He was admitted to a psychiatric facility twice since July.**this is a fact. **What God gave me that night was the possibility that God and Terry spent time together in this space. In the hospital.Terry was killed a short time after his second release. **this is also a fact**The scenario or version of the story of Terry's life that God showed to me was one where God knew the hands and circumstances of this world were too strong for Terry, so he quickly brought him home to heaven after they had spent time together as to not have Terry stumble any longer. It sounds crazy, yep. But it sounds grievously beautiful and supernaturally benevolent. That's all I have. I can't defend it, and none of us can ever prove if it happened or not but God is big and what the devil means for bad, God can use for good. Genesis 50:20We know that God uses all things to work together for good for those that love him. Romans 8:28And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and their will be no more death or mourning, crying or pain. Revelation 21:4The Lord is not slow in keeping His promise, as some understand slowness. Instead He is patient with you, not wanting any to perish, but everyone to come to repentance. 2 Peter 3:9*********************************************************************************I couldn't go to the funeral today, but lots of texts and a few facetimes video chats got me through the day many miles from where I desperately wanted to be sitting. The stories and pics on FB of Terry from some of his friends, and his groupies/fans and even his enemies are just telling one side of a story about Terry's life. But its not the whole story, and it feels unjust to be watching this all and not pushing back. So here is my contribution to the celebration of Terry Barry and his too short life here with us. Im better for knowing him.-In middle school, Terry was a part of this series in the Chicago Sun-Times newspaper about violence reduction strategies and the importance of recreation. Terry was in 5th grade and contributed to this story sharing about how gang violence in his neighborhood affected his ability to play at the park and how he enrolled in martial arts for protection and for a recreational outlet. Later, Terry became serious and dedicated to boxing. He was good, very good and he used to come into my office and tell me how hard he was working. Boxing kept him focused and off the streets, for a long time. Nobody wanted to fight Terry. Nobody. To an extent, that kept him and all our boys kinda "safer." He had such a sweet smile, you would never know his hands were a deadly weapon all by themselves. I know that transportation to the training center began to be an issue as Terry got older towards the end of high school, as he had to take the bus through a few different neighborhoods to get there and thats not a safe or wise thing to do in Chicago. The interesting thing to me is that the researchers and psychologists from ISRAEL that were a part of this study in the paper identified that the kids that participated exhibited responses and thought processes similar to kids across the world who grew up in violent war zones, yet to my knowledge this did not lead to any outpouring or offer of counseling or resources for these kids.