I remember when my uncle Mitch was murdered,

and it was an early morning, and I was at my grandma's house.

And I remember hearing her scream.

I never heard my grandma voice like that ever in my life.

Tireek Glasgow was eight years old when his uncle was murdered

in Philadelphia.

Tireek was raised by his grandmother, a woman of faith.

He says she prayed for strangers as much as she prayed for her own daughter.

My grandma raised us in the church, and every time I went here, her voice

said, was a song.

It was her dear friend, so her acknowledge,

and the work of sometimes testifying to some of the trials and

tribulations that she'd been through, that our family

been through, that she did just one last old account.

But this sound was different.

The sound wasn't about bringing hope.

This wasn't a sound that was about praise.

She was looking for something, and it wasn't there.

And I remember going to the room, and my aunt's

they kind of pulled out the way, and I just sit next door.

I never really got it until, you know, I grew up,

and I was stood there, you know, he was killed in front of his door.

...