There are no words for this. All the language that I know is inadequate for what I want to express, but for Darren I will try. I can’t describe him with cliches and platitudes – I need to do better than that. He deserves better than that.
My husband was an incredibly, intricate blend of toughness and gentility. He was loyal…fiercely so. And he was ethical; the right thing to do is what guided his internal compass. I admired this quality, perhaps the most. For that’s what made Darren good and he was good. So, if people want to know what kind of man he was….this is it. He was who you wanted for a friend, a colleague and a neighbor.
However, it is I who was blessed so richly that I had the privilege of calling him my husband and my best friend.
–Kathleen Goforth
Until last Friday night I had never heard of Darren Goforth and probably never would have were it not for a random act of violence that took his life. He was a ten year veteran of the Harris County Sheriff’s Department whose beat took him around the Cypress community. From all accounts being in law enforcement was something that he had felt called to do, a vocation. I’ve known other people who also felt that they were called by a higher power to be peace keepers but for one reason or another they were not able to make it through the grueling process of becoming an officer. I remember being quite surprised at how much testing and education is involved. Like many I had always assumed that if one wanted to be a policeman it was just a matter of signing up and undergoing a background check. I learned that there is so much more to it than that. It seems that many are called but few are chosen. Frankly I find it to be such a dangerous and sometimes thankless career that I can’t imagine why anyone would want to do it and yet there are men like Darren Goforth who somehow feel compelled to serve society in one of the most hazardous jobs that there is. Continue reading “In the Heat of the Night”
I believe in miracles and the power of prayer for I have seen wondrous things. Just last week I smiled at photos of a little boy named Holden in his football uniform and at his kitchen table preparing for the beginning of the school year. It wasn’t that long ago that hundreds of us were storming the heavens on behalf of Holden and his family. When he was only an infant he was diagnosed with leukemia. He spent much of his early life undergoing tests and treatments in Texas Children’s Hospital. His milestones were marked by chemotherapy and painful procedures. Somehow he kept a delightful smile on his face and his family maintained a remarkable strength and faith that in spite of all of their trials, everything would one day turn out well. His grandmother called him Holdie Pants and often declared that she loved him to the moon and back. His first friends were other very sick children, some of whom did not make it. Weeks and months and years went by and the hope for Holden continued unabated. One glorious day the doctors declared that his leukemia was in remission. A reminder of just how sick he was surfaces each time he must regularly undergo tests to determine if his cancer has returned. So far he has done well. Now he appears to be just a very normal little boy but those of us who know him realize that he is a heavenly miracle standing in front of us. 
I simply can’t resist weighing in on Donald Trump one more time even though I risk hurting the feelings of some of my favorite people. I have been amused, baffled, and even angered by his supposed popularity among certain segments of the population. I’m an informal student of human nature and so I have taken it upon myself to attempt to make some sense of the Trump phenomenon. I’ve forced myself to watch his press conferences and his rallies even though it nauseates me to do so. In the process I believe that I have determined just what makes his campaign tick.
Years ago the daughter of a friend was traveling down Beltway 8 on a lovely Saturday morning when the driver of an eighteen wheeler lost control of his rig and slammed into the young woman’s car. The wreckage was horrendous and when the first responders arrived they realized that the passenger in the car was near death. They immediately requested the aid of the Life Flight helicopter which arrived quickly and then transported my friend’s daughter to Memorial Hermann Hospital in the Houston Medical Center. Dr. James “Red” Duke and his team were on call in the trauma center and they immediately swung into action. With a lifetime of knowledge the good doctor used his skills to virtually bring the severely injured woman back to life. Her wounds were so life threatening that in another place and time she might have died. Instead she was under the care of one of the premier trauma surgeons in the world. She lived to tell her story in spite of the odds against her survival.
On the evening of October 4, 1968, I found love twice. It began with an exchange of wedding vows to Michael Lynn Burnett, my soulmate and best friend. The day ended with my first encounter with New Orleans, Louisiana, a magical place that immediately caught my fancy and burrowed into my heart just as Mike had done. For forty seven years now I have found bliss with Mike again and again, especially in the most difficult times. I have also returned to New Orleans over and over and never tire of the feeling of being in a place that somehow speaks to my very soul. I will always be a die hard native of Houston but if I ever needed a second home I suspect that I would feel as comfortable in New Orleans as I do in my place of birth. 
All It Takes Is A Little Love 