Teen’s life after bullet wounds
Youth looks to future despite hardships
CHICAGO — He suddenly felt as if a hot wire had torn through his chest. It hurt to breathe.
Jonathan Annicks wasn’t sure he’d been shot. It was after midnight when he’d dashed outside his family’s house to retrieve a phone charger from the car. A hooded stranger had jumped from a van, fired seven shots, then sped away. Incredibly, only one struck Jonathan. The 9-mm bullet plowed into his left shoulder, punctured both lungs, fractured his spine and lodged in his right side of his rib cage under his arm.
At 18, Jonathan’s life was about to take a cruel detour.
It was early April and there were already signs that 2016 was going to be a very violent year in Chicago. By fall, the city’s homicide rate approached 600. Shootings exceeded 3,000. Gangs and guns — on average, police seized an illegal weapon every 61 minutes — are the major culprits.
More than 70 percent of those killed here this year were on a special police list of people with criminal records of gang histories. But there are others who’ve been caught up in the mayhem. Some incidents are particularly heinous, others inspirational.
Jonathan Annicks’ story is both, a life transformed, but not defined, by a single bullet. His injury had devastating consequences. He’s now paralyzed from the mid-chest down. Over the past six months, his journey has been marked by resilience, change and a determination to look ahead.
“I couldn’t stress about why I had been shot,” he says. “It wasn’t worth it to stay sad because then I would just be making my life harder and I realized that very quickly. … There was no point in sulking over something I couldn’t change.”
Jonathan was shot on April 10 in Little Village, a neighborhood about 20 minutes from downtown. His home is on a boulevard that’s a dividing line for opposing Latino gangs, police say, and he may have been mistaken for a rival gang member.
Jonathan says it’s pointless to think about the shooter. “If I lived with spite every day, then I don’t think I would be able to function properly,” he says. “I’d be very miserable if I were worrying about what he’s doing or where he is.”
Instead, he’s focused on rebuilding his strength and learning new ways to get out of bed, shower and dress. It took time, too, to overcome the “why me” feeling and the sense of guilt that he was putting new pressure on his family.
“People had to shape their lives in order to accommodate me,” he says, “but after I realized they were there because they loved me … I didn’t have anything to worry about.”
His mother, Herlinda, has been a steady source of comfort since she told her son in the emergency room: “Whatever the outcome is, you’re still here. You are who you are. We’ll be fine. We’ll deal with it.”
She has been his cheerleader and champion, juggling her job as a trust bank administrator with taking Jonathan to the doctor and physical therapy. His brothers, Josh, 17, and Jacob, 14, have pitched in, too. But its Jonathan himself, says his father, Mike, who has been the main source of strength for his family.
Jonathan’s limited mobility now poses the biggest obstacles at home. The family has decided to stay in their home but face enormous expenses converting it to make it handicapped accessible and having a ramp or lift built outdoors so Jonathan can get in and out by himself. Someone now carries him or takes him down the six outdoor steps in his chair. A separate fund has been set up to defray his medical costs.
In September, Jonathan began college at DePaul University.