His aunts tried to tell him, tried to explain to the 6-year-old boy the horrible thing that had just happened to his mother, the horrible thing that had just happened to all of them.

As Wali Lundy learned of his mother’s death, he couldn’t comprehend it. His father had died three years earlier, but even the frequency with which mortality entered his young life couldn’t prepare him. He was too young to understand death.

He understands now, perhaps better than any 20-year-old should. Between childhood and manhood, death thrust itself at Lundy again, this time grasping for Lundy himself, shrinking him to a shell of himself at 13.

Lundy, now a junior running back at Virginia, survived, then thrived under the guidance of his grandmother, brothers and family. At each tragedy, either by the support of those near him or his own strength, Lundy bounced back like a coiled spring.

Sports helped him, too, which will bring him to the field Saturday when Syracuse plays Lundy’s No. 12 Cavaliers at 3:30 p.m. at Scott Stadium.

Being on that field is a near-miracle for Lundy, as is just being alive. One day, when he was 13, Lundy started having problems keeping food down. Etta Davis, his grandmother and guardian for most of his life, took Lundy to their local clinic. The doctor told her to give him juices and fruits, and he would be fine. Just a normal flu, he said.

The problem worsened. Davis searched for another doctor to solve the problem. Then another. In total, she saw four doctors who all prescribed the same solution as the first. Meanwhile, Lundy withered. He had barely eaten in three weeks, and he usually lost the food when he did. Davis became angry at the doctor’s insistence nothing was wrong with her grandson.

Finally, Davis found a doctor who recognized the severity of Lundy’s condition. He sent them to Philadelphia Children’s Hospital, about an hour from their home in Florence, N.J.

There, on a Friday, doctors discovered that scar tissue from birth had blocked Lundy’s intestines. One doctor recommended Lundy undergo surgery on Monday. A second decided he needed it that evening.

Shaheed Lundy, one of Wali’s three older brothers, rushed home from Rutgers University. When he walked into the hospital room, he nearly cried.

‘And it takes a lot for me to cry,’ said Shaheed Lundy, now 25. ‘I thought he was going to die.’

Lundy likely would have if the operation waited for only a couple days. After the emergency surgery, Lundy stayed in the hospital for nine days. By the time he left, he was the same quiet, happy kid who came to the Children’s Hospital. Within six weeks, he had gained back the weight he lost.

‘Wali’s been running ever since,’ Davis said, traces of relief and joy in her voice.

‘That was a tough day,’ said Lundy of his surgery. ‘That was just another obstacle I had to overcome in my life. God has seen me through a lot of different challenges.’

A lot of nasty, terrible challenges. It started when his father, Brian, died after a stroke at the age of 30 when Lundy was 4. Lundy hardly remembers his father, or anything about his death. Suddenly, he and his three older brothers – Mikal, Jamaal and Shaheed – were left to live with only their mother, Joann, in New Brunswick, N.J. Joann moved her sons to Willingboro, N.J., a more innocuous neighborhood.

Joann struggled to get by as a single mother, but enveloped her boys in love and church. Despite tough times, she always made sure her boys’ Christmas trees were full of presents, and she always rounded up the entire family for Thanksgiving, which she held at her house.

But soon, death would visit the Lundys again. Joann was diagnosed with breast cancer in 1991, three years after her husband passed. In February of 1992, Joann succumbed to the cancer. Lundy’s aunts had to explain what had happened.

‘I didn’t really know what was going on because I was so young,’ Lundy said. ‘I was hurt, but I didn’t know how to be hurt. I was so young, I didn’t understand death.’

He remembers little of his mother. He can see her face. He can’t hear her voice. She stays always on his mind.

Shaheed remembers Wali being Joann’s baby, constantly receiving hugs from her. Losing his mother could have crumpled Lundy, especially at such a young age.

But with all his aunts and cousins surrounding him, and the support of his local church, he responded unfazed. Davis took Wali to counseling in fear that the death of his mother would traumatize him. After a few sessions, the surprised counselor told Davis that because of all of the love around him, Wali didn’t need the treatment.

‘Nothing bothers him,’ Shaheed said. ‘This kid is made of Teflon or something. It’s hard to even get him in an argument or anything. It takes a whole bunch.’

It sometimes hurt Lundy to see other kids with their parents, but even that hardly bothered him, thanks mostly to the smooth transition when the boys went from living with Joann to Davis and her husband. When Joann was sick, Davis moved in briefly and took care of the boys. When she died, Davis, then in her early 60s, took the boys in permanently in Florence, N.J.

‘I had seven (kids) of my own, so that was a piece of cake,’ said Davis, now 75, with a chuckle. ‘I heard someone say, ‘She’s too old.’ I said, ‘I don’t want nobody else to have them. I’m gonna keep them.’ My daughter wanted me to keep them.’

The decision kept the boys together and, maybe more importantly, kept them out of foster homes. She steered them away from trouble and toward sports, and they played all the time, even on Sundays. (‘I didn’t like that,’ Davis says).

At first, Wali was too young and had to watch his brothers play. Instead, he would practice by himself.

It would soon pay off. When Lundy became old enough to play with his brothers, he quickly surpassed them and became the star. When he became a freshman at Florence High, four Lundys starred – Mikal at running back next to Wali, Jamaal as a defensive specialist and cousin Najee playing quarterback.

They all played on the basketball team, too, and they became stars at the high school, which had an enrollment of just 400. Far and away, they were the best athletes. Mikal is now a senior running back at Towson. Jamaal played linebacker at Connecticut.

Still, Wali stood out. After his sophomore season, when he and Mikal led Florence to the state title game, Lundy transferred to Holy Cross High School in Delran, N.J., which had an enrollment of more than 1,000.

It was the turning point to set up his college career. Playing at a larger school, he could showcase his talent before countless recruiters. Like an omen, Lundy scored a 70-yard touchdown the first time he touched the ball at Holy Cross.

By the time he graduated, he had his choice of colleges. He chose Virginia, and with him came an army of fans.

For every Saturday game, three car loads full of Lundy’s family, about 20 total, gather and fume south to watch Wali play. Afterward, they all go out to eat together.

Recently, Shaheed realized Wali’s football games were the first time since Joann’s Thanksgiving dinners that the entire family had come together. Those had died with her, and now Wali had brought the family together again.

They’ve always been there for him. Now, he’s returning the favor.

‘He’s good at whatever he puts his mind to,’ said Shaheed, pride in his voice. ‘Everything he does, he does it well.

‘I think he’s meant to do something great. I think he was destined.’

Published on September 22, 2004 at 12:00 pm