Wayne’s family is used to the physical threat of racism.
In Philadelphia, Miss., where a relative on his father’s side lived decades ago, members of the Ku Klux Klan have been known to ride home in hoods, according to legend. family. Relatives often kept a handgun in their lap as he sat on the porch.
Generations later, Celestine fell victim to a similar grudge.
The massacre at Tops was gruesome enough. The prolonged racial segregation made the following days even more exhausting.
Wayne was not satisfied with the answers the country gave. The stagnation of gun control efforts frustrated him, along with the idea that such killings were an inevitable aspect of American life. The idea that the pandemic has helped fuel the violence seems cruel, given that his family has endured so much suffering over the past two years.
Wayne’s grandmother was hospitalized after contracting the coronavirus, and in September 2020, she passed away. When Celestine was busy, his grandmother came to help raise him.
No more around.
During funeral preparations, sometimes Wayne’s eyes are fixed on a particular place, and his mind wanders. His children are worried. What price will he pay when his house is empty? When he had more time to linger and see what happened, would things have been different if he’d just woken up earlier that Saturday and visited her.
All that hindsight is for later.
Wayne Jr., 27, stopped by a beauty parlor to get a colored thread in his twists. It looks red to his sisters; it means pink. The women had their nails done, all in shades of pink. And Wayne wrapped his three sons in preparation for their funeral with a black suit jacket, white shirt, and pink tie.
