While the names of Black men lost to homicide are etched in countless headlines and statistics, there is no grand register—no digital or physical list—that acknowledges the wives left behind. Yet, Ms. Catrela Perkins (Pictured here with her late husband, Mr. Stephen Perkins)
has found herself added to an invisible roll call of women, quietly shattered by the loss of their husbands, forced to pick up the jagged fragments of broken hearts and broken homes.
It was in the wee hours of a typical September 29, 2023, morning that Catrela Perkins’ life would change forever. One minute, Ms. Perkins slept soundly beside her husband; the next, she was a widow. While her children slept not far away, a reckless ambush turned her world upside down. The media has covered the shocking homicide of Stephen Perkins, triggered by the Pentagon Towing Company, the two men working for the towing company, All Star Recovery LLC, and the Decatur police. But amidst the national coverage, Ms. Perkins remains largely invisible. The world has only seen glimpses of her grief, not her.
“Catrela is a beautiful sister. She is very friendly, down-to-earth, and warm. Call her, and you will see what I mean,” Anthony Burgess, a member of the community where Mr. Perkins was slain, stated.
William J. Stewart described Ms. Perkins as Stephen's ideal wife. “They were like a power couple. They loved to do family stuff, and they loved to stay in shape. Jada and Avani would play basketball, and Steve was there. Avani was doing gymnastics. Steve would give them the shirt off his back. He loved his wife. I remember when he told me he would ask Catrela to marry him. He was a little nervous about it, but he knew she loved him, too.”
Catrela Perkins is more than the widow of a great man who was shot and killed in his driveway by those charged to serve and protect us. She is a calm, caring mother to her children, Jada and Avani. The way they cling to her, it’s clear that she is their anchor, their source of comfort in a world suddenly gone cold. Before the tragedy, Ms. Perkins was driven by ambition, with dreams and goals of her own. But now? Her life has taken a sharp detour. Her focus has shifted entirely to one singular mission: “My only goal and focus right now is to ensure Steve gets justice,” Ms. Perkins stated with conviction.
Catrela Perkins is part of this invisible sisterhood—a club no woman ever wanted to join. Each name on this unseen list represents a life interrupted by violence, a family forever changed. But who’s responsible for picking up the pieces? Is it the police? The courts? The towing company and affiliates? Yes, but none of these answers suffice because homicide is familiar normalcy in the Black community. A woman losing her husband and children losing their father isn’t solved with handcuffs or a prison sentence alone. Homicide creates a climate of fear and a sense of vulnerability that makes people question their safety, their worth, and whether justice will ever indeed be served. William J. stated that he has to be a pillar of strength for his wife and family. “I have a son who needs to know how this world can be.”
William J. classified Mr. Perkins’ mom as strong, but he could not imagine the depth of her pain. “His mom would call, and Steve would do whatever he needed to do for her. He would cut her grass, whatever. She told me, ‘I could see if he had a wreck or was sick, but to have him shot down by the police….’” William J.’s voice continued to crack during the interview. “My grandmother lived for 92 years, and all she talked about was how low-down people could be. We have always heard what the law enforcement will do. But to have it hit your doorstep is crazy.”
In the aftermath of a homicide in the Black community, the script is all too familiar. As for Stephen Perkins -the loss reverberated far beyond their home. It hit the community—the friends, the neighbors, and the local store owners who waved to Mr. Perkins every morning. Black communities are often close-knit, and the murder of one of our own is more than an isolated tragedy. Churches offer comfort; neighbors shake their heads in disgust. Maybe a riot breaks out. If the death was gang-related, there might even be retaliation. It’s a trauma that echoes through the streets and the schools. We see t-shirts, social media tributes, and vigils, but the grief doesn’t end when the candles burn out. It lingers, heavy and unshakable, casting a long shadow over everyone left behind. Communities may rally, but at night, when the house is quiet, and the world moves on, the family remains trapped in a cycle of loss, left to relive the trauma and to wonder why justice often feels so elusive. This is because life eventually resumes until the next tragedy inevitably strikes.
The good news is that Ms. Perkins' resilience is remarkable. Catrela is a positive person who seeks refuge from a Higher Power to take the sting out of death, and she is comforted by many family members and friends. She has benefited from counseling and is still receiving emotional support. Ms. Perkins is strong-willed, humble, and soft-spoken. She trusts that she will be fully healed, but to suggest that she “get past” this is insulting.
The justice Ms. Perkins seeks is not just about compensating her family for their loss—it’s about holding those responsible accountable and making sure the system that allowed this tragedy to happen is corrected so that other families don’t have to endure the same suffering. But until then, the scars on her family and community remain open wounds, a constant reminder of the lives left disintegrated by one act of violence. This is why the dollar amount on a lawsuit cannot be treated as hush money—a check meant to close the chapter on justice. No sum or settlement can mend the fractured pieces of a family torn apart by senseless violence.
Let’s not forget to Say Her Name.
Ms. Catrela Perkins didn’t ask for this. She didn’t volunteer for her life to be thrust into the public eye, nor did she choose to become a symbol of survival. She was catapulted into this position, pushed into a battle she never wanted to fight. Yet, here she is, standing tall, a soldier for peace and justice. Not because she’s some sort of superhero, but because she has no other choice. Her husband’s death handed her this role on a tragic platter. Her strength to keep her husband’s memory alive should be commended, championed, and supported.
Stephen Perkins wasn’t just a name in a headline. He was a family man, plain and simple. His family was his top priority, and Catrela’s greatest joy came from spending time with him and their children. “Stephen was always involved in our kids’ activities, whether basketball or just having family nights at home,” she remembers. "I lost my best friend.”
But our wreckless misunderstanding of the trauma reduces the description of his death to the “Decatur Towing Murder,” a clinical term that strips away his humanity and the existence of a whole wife left behind.
Say Ner Name: Catrela Perkins.
Stephen Perkins wasn’t a statistic. He was a gentle giant, loved and admired by all who knew him. He had big plans, too—dreams of opening his own gym and expanding his fitness advocacy. But now, those dreams belong to a widow who never expected to be fighting this fight. At the very least, a striking gym towering over the city should be erected in the name of Stephen Perkins.
Ultimately, the question remains: What happens to women like Catrela Perkins, whose stories slip through the cracks, unseen and unaddressed? The answer lies, in part, in the untold stories of men stepping up to support the invisible women who endure the devastating loss of their husbands to homicide. As William J. shared, “I went to see Stephen’s mom to check on her. I told her I was going to help seek justice for my cousin. It strengthened me when she said, ‘No, he was your brother.’” This moment of solidarity speaks to the importance of men supporting not just the women left behind but the entire community in the wake of such a tragic loss.
The literature reveals that many survivors cope with stress by relying on family members, but this reliance often comes with a burden. Sharpe (2015, 2017) notes that up to ten family members and friends may experience complicated stress following a homicide, often leading to poor health outcomes for those who may never seek therapy. While fictive kin and close friends may offer support, they are often ill-equipped to shoulder the weight of loss without formal resources.
Therefore, while Lee’s (2018) findings emphasize the potency of family and friends as essential support systems, the feasibility of expanding therapeutic options for more Black men needs to be investigated. This is especially crucial because although survivors may benefit from family support, the perspective of those receiving that support remains under-explored. Addressing this gap is vital to breaking the cycle of complicated grief and stress within the Black community.
Beyond family and community support, we must also form a coalition of awareness about the enormous problem of unjustified homicides. Writers can play a critical role in this effort, giving voice to the invisible sisterhood of women who endure these tragedies. We can amplify their struggles and rally more support by bringing their stories to light. The pen is my weapon of choice, and through it, I hope to add gallons of black ink to the growing list of invisible women whose stories must be told.
Dr. Dedra Muhammad is an educator, counselor, and author from Madison, Alabama, dedicated to uplifting the community through mentorship and leadership.
References
Lee, X. W. (2018). Race-related stress and coping among African American adolescents in
urban, racially homogenous communities (Doctoral dissertation, Tulane University
School of Science and Engineering). Retrieved from
origsite=summon
Sharpe, T. L. (2015). Understanding the sociocultural context of coping for African American
family members of homicide victims: A conceptual model. Trauma, Violence, & Abuse, 16(1), 48-59. doi:10.1177/1524838013515760
Sharpe, T. L. (February 10, 2017). Individual and Collective Trauma: Coping with Homicide in
African American Communities [video file]. Retrieved from
African-American-communities
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