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My father was murdered when I was two. Duane, even though he was only a year and 18 days my elder, he became a father figure to me. I would have done anything for my brother - I loved him so much.

With the help of a friend I got father into a wagon, when the crowd had gone. I held his head in my lap during the ride home. I believed he was mortally wounded. He had been stabbed down through the kidneys, leaving an ugly wound.

My father died when I was young, and after he did, my mother had it tough. Very tough.

When I was 11, I spent eight months in the hospital with rheumatic fever and almost died.

My father was gone when I was three years old.

I lost my mother when I was very young, and my father when I was in college.

Three days after my brother died, my father was in the hospital. He just did not want to live anymore. Before, he was fighting and loving life.

My father was unwell when I was 11, had a stroke at 14 and died when I was 18. My mother going to work at seven in the morning and coming back to look after him and me and my brother left its mark on me.