Barbara Maxwell

When I met Barbara Maxwell, 64, last fall, she was in deep grief over the deaths of two of her sons. “I’m sure it’ll get better,” she said, “but right now I still feel like it just happened yesterday.” In February 2022, her son Justin Maxwell, 31, overdosed in an Alabama prison — about 10 months shy of his first parole hearing. Just five months later, her youngest son, Jordan, 29, was shot to death. To this day, no killer has been caught.

He stands at the shore. He is alone. He has done this before — The salt air is sharp and clean. He wonders what lies on the other side. He prays this time will be different. pouring himself into the silence, Will they hear him? Hello — can you hear me? Once again, nothing. For years he tries again and again, his voice carried by wind and wave. Hello — can you hear me? Then, at last — He can hardly believe it. How can this be? Hello… is it you? I have searched for you, but could not find you. How are you?

The man stood out on his balcony It looked out on the beach and ocean From there he could see for miles As he stood there all of a sudden the wind picked up with no warning It whipped through the trees causing them to bend violently His wind chimes which were carefully hung outside played a tune mimicking the rhythm of the wind It grew dark with huge oppressive clouds hanging over the city The tempo of the waves also changed as the sea grew rough as they pounded the shore It was no longer...