Marilyn’s insight into the dire plight of survivors of homicide victims comes not from surveys, not from academic study of cohorts, but from decades of experience walking step-by-painful-step with families of the killed in the midst of their rawness and their pain, and this in a city where the gutting bass drumbeat of death can feel distressingly steady. One day, talking about her own father reminded Marilyn of the many fathers in Oakland she has dealt with in the aftermath of homicides, of the guilt that staggers them when their children are lost forever, when they have not been around or involved in their childrens' lives. “Mothers are often mad at the fathers, but the kids don’t care,” said Marilyn. “All they know is they want their daddy. They don’t care who their daddy has been running around with, they don’t care if daddy don’t have a job, they don’t care that he ain’t had a bath, they don’t care about that. Children just want their fathers. And then in the end, when I end up talking to the fathers that didn’t do anything for their kids, they say, I always thought I had enough time.” It is not so much the father’s lost opportunity that is so moving, though it can be heartbreaking to witness the hopelessness and regret. What moves is how ready their children would have been to forgive, forget, and forge a relationship. What moves is the soft and beautiful human vulnerability of youth, the simplicity of their needs and the incredibly positive effects of a little love and attention. Even to a young man who has come to carry a gun or commit crimes or be involved in the risky life of the streets, the craving for adult attention is hard to miss.
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