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City provides update on efforts to start violence intervention program

City provides update on efforts to start violence intervention program

Yahoo28-05-2025
After months of the City of Dayton talking about fighting back against gun violence, they provided an update on where the new violence interruption program stands.
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News Center 7's Taylor Robertson learned more about the program at the monthly NAACP meeting and will break down the latest LIVE on News Center 7 at 11:00.
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Four children have been killed in the City of Dayton in the last five months, according to the police department.
The NAACP town hall had a panel discussion to highlight the ways people can get involved in their local government. However, several people brought up the topic of violence in the city.
Over the past year, Mayor Jeffrey Mims has been working to bring the Cure Violence Global Program to Dayton.
Once implemented, the program would be made up of people in the community who detect and interrupt conflict before it happens.
'Having violence interrupters that are trained to work in those spaces is what we're in the process of doing right now. The health department is writing up the REP for that right now,' Mims said.
As previously reported by News Center 7, Mims said he wanted the program up and running before Memorial Day, but that has not happened.
The city is now waiting on the health department and its guidance for support and services, according to Mims.
News Center 7 will continue to follow this story.
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I lived in fear of my cousin Tarlie's death for more than seven years. When the text arrived from my aunt, Tarlie's mom, my husband and I had put our children to bed and were sitting outside on our patio. 'She just passed. It was peaceful and her dad and I were both at her bedside when it happened.' Tarlie died on Memorial Day, shortly after her 31st birthday. When she was 23, she was diagnosed with a form of melanoma so aggressive but benign looking that three dermatologists were fooled by its appearance, and by the time it was recognized, it was too late. Melanoma spreads through the bloodstream and lymph nodes, moving so painlessly and invisibly that it can metastasize for a long time before anyone knows. Related: As I read my aunt's text, a rush of hot, electric energy ran through me. I felt my consciousness rise out of my body and then crash back down. I cried while clutching my heart as if it might fall out and shatter. I remembered how much Tarlie wanted to live for her parents and herself. She told me her two big fears were her own suffering before death and the suffering of her mother and father. 'Odds are I will die in the coming year of a long, excruciating death, leaving two miserable parents behind,' she had texted. As I sat outside in the dimming summer light, alive in the world that no longer held my beloved cousin, I wept and agonized over how to respond to my aunt. 'Crying for your loss and Uncle Jim's,' I wrote. 'You're such an amazing mom. Thank you for raising such an incredible human being. I love her so much and will all my life.' It was fitting Aunt Lisa's and my first words together after Tarlie's death were via text messages. In the years after her diagnosis, Tarlie and I sent each other more than 850 pages of texts. Our phone calls often lasted up to two hours, which was a time commitment we couldn't always make, but we could text from anywhere at any time. We texted when Tarlie found an unusual lump on her stomach while traveling with her mom in Madagascar, more than four years after her initial diagnosis. We texted a few weeks later after a doctor told her the melanoma had advanced to stage IV, the final stage. We texted as she waited in an airport security line a few days later, flying from her home in New York City to her Indiana hometown to tell her parents in person. Later, we texted as she lay in a hospital bed struggling to breathe through the side effects of immunotherapy, waiting to see if she'd need to be intubated. 'If I die, I want to just die and not know it,' she wrote before pulling through that particular time. But even though Tarlie and I talked frequently about her potentially dying young, I sometimes felt like a hypocrite. Intellectually, I knew she could die. She had asked me to sit on the phone with her several times while she opened terrifying test results. I understood the realities of her prognosis. Related: Still, I chose to believe she would live. I loved her so much that I knew I could never prepare for the pain of losing her. When I was a child, I prayed I would never outlive any of my siblings, and I loved Tarlie like a sister. If she died, my first great fear would come true. I also worried it would kill her parents. Tarlie is Aunt Lisa's only child and the love of her life. Because I chose to believe Tarlie would live, I never asked her the questions that scared me the most: What did she want me to do if the cancer killed her? What kind of responsibilities would she ask me to fulfill for her? What would she want me to do to support her parents? The day after Tarlie died, Aunt Lisa asked me to come back to Indiana for a small service. Tarlie chose to have her remains composted — turning her body into rich soil, reimagining her place in the world she loved so much — so she would be in Seattle with a green funeral home by the time I arrived. 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As she pulled the dress over her head, I realized there are only a few other people whom I have helped zip into dresses. As a child, my mother in her loose, floral dresses for church. As an adult, my own daughter. A handful of close friends. And now Aunt Lisa. 'I think it's a little too loose. It's losing your waist a bit,' I said. 'I don't think I have a waist anymore.' We both laughed. Then Aunt Lisa took down a dark navy bubble dress with a pattern of white flecks. 'What about this?' She put it on and stepped in front of her mirror. When she turned around and asked me what I thought, she looked more like Tarlie's mother than ever. The same bright smile, smooth nose and sense of style. A woman of extraordinary grace and power who fiercely loved her daughter into life and then beyond it. Related: It's been three years since Tarlie died. 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To be overwhelmed by a mixture of agonizing grief and boundless gratitude for that miraculous love. To keep showing up for the ones left behind. To live in ways that honor the courage and compassion Tarlie brought to the world. Virgie Townsend is the award-winning author of the short story collection 'Because We Were Christian Girls,' inspired by her own experiences growing up and leaving Christian fundamentalism. She has written for The New York Times, Washington Post, The Sun Magazine, Harper's Bazaar and other outlets. You can find her online at Do you have a compelling personal story you'd like to see published on HuffPost? Find out what we're looking for here and send us a pitch at pitch@ Related... My Husband Died Abroad. As I Boarded The Plane Home, A Flight Attendant's Innocent Comment Broke Me. After My Wife Died, I Found A 4-Word Text Message In Her Phone That Hit Me Like A Sledgehammer I Was Devastated When The Love Of My Life Died. 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