As time went on, I gave birth to a baby girl I named Winter Rain on August 31, 1999. It wasn't until the middle part of January before I heard anything about the youngster who woke Brandon up, and took him to work.
A girl named Ashley came by to visit for a while, and we say in the bedroom Margaret let the ex and I use. As we were talking, she kept bragging about her boyfriend, but I wasn't connecting the name. So, I asked her for the 15th time, "So, what's your boyfriend's name?"
She rolled her eyes and started cracking up laughing and replied, "For the hundredth time his name is Jeremy".
"Oh, what does he look like? No, let me describe the guy who came to the house, and tell me if he's your boyfriend". I went on describing the guy who came to the house in June of 1999, and I thought I was going to experience heartbreak over Jeremy before I could get with him in a relationship.
On Tuesday, May 29, 2001 my son (and the last kid I wanted) Randall Allen was born. On August 9, 2001 my nephew was accidentally shot and killed while playing at a friend's house. September 11 happened; and right after that, Randall and I spent 4 days in Texas Children's Hospital. I was trying to ascertain the reason my 4 month old little guy was passing blood with every diaper change. On the Sunday after Randall and I arrived in downtown Houston at this beautiful hospital, I was informed that my little boy had a bleeding ulcer.
To Be Continued...