Memories enfold me
Arms that held me close
Feeling that is always there
The gentle love that flows

Warmth that glows within me
I feel this every day
Passion in her beauty
The love won't fade away

Child within me feeling
This very gentle touch
Reaching for her tenderness
The warmth I feel so much

Passion of her treasured
Within my eyes I see
Reflections of the beauty
That lives inside of me

Hands to reach out softly
The softness held within
The treasured love is offered
As each new day begins

Precious shinning moment
By soothing gentle hands
Reaching out to hold me
Returned with love so grand.


~ Francine Pucillo ~
Šused with permission



02/16/53 - 05/26/80

You're gone but never forgotten.

My mother, Lynn Marie McCurry, was born February 16,1953, in Louisville, Kentucky. She was an only child. My mother was a very beautiful, kind, loving, and compassionate woman. She was very trusting.

She graduated high school in 1970, from Fort Rucker in Dothan, Alabama. My grandfather was in the Army so they moved around a lot. It was a dream of my mother's to go to college, but other plans were in store for her.

She meet Roger Gibson and they later married. My oldest brother Roger Dale Gibson, Jr. was born August 27,1972. Then two years later on August 06,1974 my sister Cherie was born. Roger and her were married for about five years then they divorced. 

She meet my dad, Alan McCurry, in 1976 and I was born September 12,1977.

They were so happy together and a year later my baby brother Jason was born on September 25,1978. My mother loved her children more than life itself. She put all her dreams on hold to be a full time mom. Then a few years later all her dreams and aspirations came to a tragic end.

That horrific day - My dad worked the night she was murdered, on May 26,1980. It was about seven in the evening, we were all getting ready for bed. My older brother and sister were six and eight years old while my baby brother and I were only one and two years old. 

There was a knock at the door and my mother answered it. Their names were Horace Dunkins, Jr. and Frank Harris. They were only seventeen years old and looking for money for drugs. Our dad had a go-cart for sale so they used that as an excuse to get in. My mother turned her back to get the key and Horace had a knife. He grabbed her from behind and put the knife to her throat. Then with my older brother and sister watching helplessly, they dragged her outside and tied her to a tree and begin to brutally rape her and they stabbed her sixty-seven times. They just left her for dead. 

My uncle Danny and my dad found her lifeless body early the next morning. No one could believe it, that any one could do this to someone.

Years later, in July of 1989 Horace Dunkins was executed. Frank Harris is still in prison and was up for parole about five months ago in Alabama. He was denied, thank the good Lord. He will be back up for parole in the year of 2006. We will continue to fight to make sure he spends the rest of his life in there. 

My older brother Roger died in January of 1992 in a car crash. He took to his grave the horrible memories of that tragic night. My mother died when I was only two so I never really got to know her but there is a void in my life. All I do is know she is looking over us everyday and know her memory will live always through her children and grandchildren.






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