By Constance Pickard

It’s been 42 years since my daughter, Shante’ Marie Ford, was killed by her biological father. 

I was told by a doctor I would never have children. But then I had my son, Earl, and then two years later came Shante’. To me, it was a miracle. 

I don’t have that many memories of Shante’. She was only 2 ½ months old when she died. But I do remember the joy I had when I got pregnant with my daughter. I am grateful God allowed me to have her. 

My ex-husband was a minister, but I realized once we had our son that something wasn’t right with the way he was acting. I came home once and he had shaved my son’s hair all off. He once threw a glass mug at me so hard it could have killed me. It hit the door and shattered and a few minutes later he acted as if nothing had happened. That was hard. I just poured myself into my children, and I made happy times with them. 

The day Shante’ was born, I was so excited. I went to the hospital for my scheduled C-section. It was overshadowed because my husband hit my 2-year-old son in the eye before I left. 

Shante’ was born 8 lbs, 3 oz. She had round chubby cheeks and a pouty little mouth. Her hair was curly and her eyes were wide and alert.

A lady on the other side of the building where we lived had kept all of her baby girl clothes, little tiny suits and everything. I would dress Shante’ up, sometimes changing her outfits two or three times a day. 

One thing I remember about Shante’ is that she didn’t like to be cleaned up. When I would take off her diaper, she would scream and scream. I remember one time I left her lying on her side and when I came to check on her, she stared at me with a look that said, “Don’t touch me no more.” She probably thought I was coming to mess with her again. That was so funny to me. 

Shante’s brother, Earl, was very protective of her. I will never forget the first time we took her to church. And you know everyone wants to hold the baby. He would stand right there as she was passed from person to person. He would not let her out of his sight. He loved his little sister. 

Shante’s death left me broken. It wasn’t until after her funeral that her father admitted that she had not fallen, as he had claimed. He hit her and cracked her skull. 

I didn’t know how I was going to make it. It was close to unbearable. I thought about running into the wall around Dead Man’s curve. 

But I still had a 2-year-old to try and care for. I suffered for many years, with pain, anger and hatred that bottled up inside of me. I had to learn that if I was going to be able to survive, I was going to have to forgive my ex for this awful act he did. Through all of that, I’m grateful to be here today. I honor my daughter’s memory with a fashion show and fundraiser annually that benefits the Shante’ Marie Ford Arts & Crafts Scholarship Award Fund. I have been able to tell my story in a book and talk to other women to let them know that you can survive on broken pieces. 

Photos by Michael Indriolo