When Rickey Felder was 5 years old, he started to ask questions about being infected with HIV.
His adoptive mother, Eunice Smith, used to tell him a story to soothe his fears.
"There's a glory train that'll be coming around the bend one day," said Eunice, as she held the little boy nicknamed "Scooter" on her lap.
"And there's a conductor on the glory train who'll say, 'All aboard,' " she told him.
"And you just take the conductor's hand, get on that glory train and everything will be OK."
Last week, the glory train arrived for Rickey Felder.
He was 17 years old.
He died from multiple health complications related to AIDS.
He will be buried today at Calvary Cemetery in Glenmont.
Rickey struggled his entire life with illness after being born to an HIV-infected, crack-addicted mother in New York City.
Eunice, the only mother he ever knew, took care of Rickey, a hospice patient, at her apartment in a Central Avenue high-rise.
Too sick to eat, near the end he was down to about 60 pounds. That's half of what he weighed as a sophomore at Albany High School years ago, the last time he was healthy enough to attend.
In recent weeks, Rickey took morphine to dull the pain. He wore Pampers so he wouldn't soil his bed.
A hospice nurse or home health aide came each afternoon for two hours.
The rest of the time, it was Rickey and Eunice.
She was up with him through the night, every few hours, rocking him in her arms, changing his diaper, cooing and singing him back to sleep.
She kept him at home as long as possible. He died at the Hospice Inn at St. Peter's Hospital last Thursday, just a few hours after he was admitted.
"He suffered every day since he was a baby," she said. "I'm thankful he's at peace now. Free of pain."
Eunice Smith is a short, stocky woman who exudes faith and strength. She gets by on a modest monthly disability check. She suffers from diabetes and heart problems. She last worked several years ago in the cafeteria at Philip Livingston school. The kids called her "Grandma."
In 1989, Eunice was living in Brooklyn and knew Rickey's mother. At birth, he weighed 4 pounds, 12 ounces. He was a sickly baby.
"I walked that crack right out of him," Eunice said. She recalled cradling and pacing with baby Rickey through hours of crying jags and convulsions as he withdrew from the crack cocaine his mother passed into his system at birth.
Eunice, a single mother with five children of her own, had offered to help her friend. Their agreement was that Eunice would raise Rickey until his biological mother kicked her drug habit.
That never happened.
Eunice and Rickey moved to Albany just after his first birthday. His mother never re-entered his life.
Eunice eventually cleared bureaucratic hurdles and legally adopted Rickey five years ago. It was just a formality. She cared for him like a blood relative his entire life.
Rickey attended Giffen and Philip Schuyler schools and Albany High. He was always small for his age and never grew taller than 5 feet 2 inches.
But his courage was extra-large.
"He was a proud person. He'd straighten up and walk tall to the cab to go to the doctor's office," Eunice said.
Even when he was ill, he displayed a lot of personality.
His stepsister, Theresa Dickerson of Brooklyn, remembered him cooking for his extended family, everything from tacos to fried chicken to sauteed shrimp.
He learned to cook by watching Emeril Lagasse on TV. He liked to season his dishes with Emeril's Essence. He even said "Bam!" when he cooked.
He learned to drive one summer at Paul Newman's Double H Ranch, a camp for sick children in Lake Luzerne. He dreamed of buying a Lexus coupe.
As a teen, he wore baggy jeans, a white T-shirt and Timberland boots. He was proud of his braided hair.
"He had a lot of courage in him," Dickerson said. "Even at the end, he was strong."
According to the state Health Department, 112 youths under the age of 19 were living with HIV or AIDS in the Capital Region as of December 2005, the last period for which statistics are available.
Those who work in HIV/AIDS outreach services remember Rickey as someone who stood out.
"He touched my life," said Ann McDonough, who worked with Rickey through the Farano Program for Families in Albany.
In his final weeks, Rickey grew scared.
"I know I'm dying," he told Eunice. She nodded silently.
Soon, he was too weak to speak. He tried to communicate through moans.
She rocked him once again on her lap, the way she did when he was a baby.
She told him the story about the glory train.
"Just climb aboard the train, Rickey."
She whispered in his ear.
"Take the conductor's hand. It's time to go home."
By PAUL GRONDAHL, Staff writer Albany Times Union
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
When Rickey Felder was 5 years old, he started to ask questions about being infected with HIV.
His adoptive mother, Eunice Smith, used to tell him a story to soothe his fears.
"There's a glory train that'll be coming around the bend one day," said Eunice, as she held the little boy nicknamed "Scooter" on her lap.
"And there's a conductor on the glory train who'll say, 'All aboard,' " she told him.
"And you just take the conductor's hand, get on that glory train and everything will be OK."
Last week, the glory train arrived for Rickey Felder.
He was 17 years old.
He died from multiple health complications related to AIDS.
He will be buried today at Calvary Cemetery in Glenmont.
Rickey struggled his entire life with illness after being born to an HIV-infected, crack-addicted mother in New York City.
Eunice, the only mother he ever knew, took care of Rickey, a hospice patient, at her apartment in a Central Avenue high-rise.
Too sick to eat, near the end he was down to about 60 pounds. That's half of what he weighed as a sophomore at Albany High School years ago, the last time he was healthy enough to attend.
In recent weeks, Rickey took morphine to dull the pain. He wore Pampers so he wouldn't soil his bed.
A hospice nurse or home health aide came each afternoon for two hours.
The rest of the time, it was Rickey and Eunice.
She was up with him through the night, every few hours, rocking him in her arms, changing his diaper, cooing and singing him back to sleep.
She kept him at home as long as possible. He died at the Hospice Inn at St. Peter's Hospital last Thursday, just a few hours after he was admitted.
"He suffered every day since he was a baby," she said. "I'm thankful he's at peace now. Free of pain."
Eunice Smith is a short, stocky woman who exudes faith and strength. She gets by on a modest monthly disability check. She suffers from diabetes and heart problems. She last worked several years ago in the cafeteria at Philip Livingston school. The kids called her "Grandma."
In 1989, Eunice was living in Brooklyn and knew Rickey's mother. At birth, he weighed 4 pounds, 12 ounces. He was a sickly baby.
"I walked that crack right out of him," Eunice said. She recalled cradling and pacing with baby Rickey through hours of crying jags and convulsions as he withdrew from the crack cocaine his mother passed into his system at birth.
Eunice, a single mother with five children of her own, had offered to help her friend. Their agreement was that Eunice would raise Rickey until his biological mother kicked her drug habit.
That never happened.
Eunice and Rickey moved to Albany just after his first birthday. His mother never re-entered his life.
Eunice eventually cleared bureaucratic hurdles and legally adopted Rickey five years ago. It was just a formality. She cared for him like a blood relative his entire life.
Rickey attended Giffen and Philip Schuyler schools and Albany High. He was always small for his age and never grew taller than 5 feet 2 inches.
But his courage was extra-large.
"He was a proud person. He'd straighten up and walk tall to the cab to go to the doctor's office," Eunice said.
Even when he was ill, he displayed a lot of personality.
His stepsister, Theresa Dickerson of Brooklyn, remembered him cooking for his extended family, everything from tacos to fried chicken to sauteed shrimp.
He learned to cook by watching Emeril Lagasse on TV. He liked to season his dishes with Emeril's Essence. He even said "Bam!" when he cooked.
He learned to drive one summer at Paul Newman's Double H Ranch, a camp for sick children in Lake Luzerne. He dreamed of buying a Lexus coupe.
As a teen, he wore baggy jeans, a white T-shirt and Timberland boots. He was proud of his braided hair.
"He had a lot of courage in him," Dickerson said. "Even at the end, he was strong."
According to the state Health Department, 112 youths under the age of 19 were living with HIV or AIDS in the Capital Region as of December 2005, the last period for which statistics are available.
Those who work in HIV/AIDS outreach services remember Rickey as someone who stood out.
"He touched my life," said Ann McDonough, who worked with Rickey through the Farano Program for Families in Albany.
In his final weeks, Rickey grew scared.
"I know I'm dying," he told Eunice. She nodded silently.
Soon, he was too weak to speak. He tried to communicate through moans.
She rocked him once again on her lap, the way she did when he was a baby.
She told him the story about the glory train.
"Just climb aboard the train, Rickey."
She whispered in his ear.
"Take the conductor's hand. It's time to go home."
By PAUL GRONDAHL, Staff writer Albany Times Union
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
