What in hell was going on inside my house?

Sampson didn't knock on the front door, or ring the bell, which dangled on red-and-blue wires.

He just waltzed inside as if he lived there.

Same as it's always been. Mi casa es su casa. I followed him into my own house.

My boy, Damon, streaked into Sampson's outstretched arms, and John scooped up my son as if hewere made of air. Jannie came skating toward me, calling me “Big Daddy” as she ran. She wasalready in her slipper-sock pajamas, smelling of fresh talcum after her bath. My little lady.

Something was wrong in her big brown eyes. The look on her face froze me.

"What is it, my honey bunch I asked as I nuzzled against Jannie's smooth, warm cheek. The twoof us nuzzle a lot. “What's wrong? Tell your Daddy all your troubles and woes.”In the living room I could see three of my aunts, my two sisters-in-law, my one livingbrother, Charles. My aunts had been crying; their faces were all puffy and red. So had mysister-in-law Cilia, and she isn't one to get weepy without a good reason.

The room had the unnatural, claustrophobic look of a wake. Somebody has died, I thought.

Somebody we all love has died. But everybody I love seemed to be there, present and accountedfor.

Nana Mama, my grandmother, was serving coffee, iced tea, and also cold chicken pieces, whichno one seemed to be eating. Nana lives on Fifth Street with me and the kids. In her own mind,she's raising the three of us.

Nana had shrunk to around five feet by her eightieth year. She is still the most impressiveperson I know in our nation's capital, and I know most of them the Reagans, the Bush people,and now the Clintons.

My grandmother was dry-eyed as she did her serving. I have rarely seen her cry, though she isa tremendously warm and caring person. She just doesn't cry anymore. She says she doesn't havethat much of life left, and she won't waste it on tears.