A Runner's Trail

By Dominic Petrucci

This is the story of my life. From the beginning when my mother died when I was two months old, and my father when I was eleven. It goes into how I struggled trying to find myself, and make my peace with God. Along the way I fell in love with running. It became my therapy. I meet amazing people throughout my story. There are unexpected tragedies that I must overcome. And in the end I see the big picture. I have a great understanding of my life. I think my story will help you with whatever challenges you may be facing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 2, 2009
• ISBN: 9781469107219

Dominic Petrucci

I'm twenty-three years old. I currently live in Hoffman Estates with my Grandpa. I'm attending Roosevelt University. My major is psychology. I plan on becoming a guidance counselor for high school kids in the future. Along with going to school I mentor troubled kids and teenagers. I competed for one track season at Harper College. Since then I have retired from competing, but enjoy running a few times a week. It is a happy I cannot break. I enjoy writing poems and playing my guitar and piano. Along with spending time with family and friends.

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A Runner’s Trail

Dominic Petrucci

Copyright © 2009 by Dominic Petrucci.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in

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recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without

permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

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Contents

The Beginning

First Lap

Freshman Year

Second Lap

Sophomore Year

Third Lap

Junior Year

Final Lap

Senior Year

Aftermath

About the Author

Dedicated with love to my mother and father.

Special thanks to Craig Manze for helping

bring my vision of the cover to life.

With most of the team dressed up in collared shirts, ties, and dress pants, some even wearing nice jackets and colored vests, keeping the old tradition alive we all sat down in the blue cushioned seats in the vast auditorium. The noise was boisterous. Parents were sitting at the very top back rows. The lights were dim. The guys were cracking jokes and singing the latest hip-hop songs. Our four coaches Mr. Gruszka, Mr. Schroeder, Mr. Dowd, and Mr. Jones made their way down the steps toward the stage with its thick purple curtains.

They stood in front of the stage, like bodyguards in front of the parents and us. Smiles were all around. Everyone was jubilant with how this track season went. The coaches stood next to a table of award certificates, varsity and junior letters, the MVP, and Captain Plaques. Orange and blue with the big H were on the certificates and the H letter was bright orange. I was very satisfied with Mr. Gruszka as our new head coach. Even though, he was our shot put and discus coach for so many years, under Mr. Reiff, it was fitting that he be the head coach. He was the last original coach from my freshman year. He loved the program Mr. Reiff built. Mr. Gruszka kept it alive while changing things up and turning it into his program.

He brought the team together, closer than I have ever seen before in my four years at Hoffman. A lot of things changed since Mr. Reiff died. It’s hard to believe it was only a year ago since the tragedy struck the team. Things changed but the old school spirit was in all of us, especially the seniors. Mr. Gruszka quieted everyone down.

Wearing a nice shirt and tie like the rest of the coaches and team. The man possessed a great sense of humor. But he was built like a warrior. He was a wrestling, shot put and discus coach. He still worked out a lot and few dared to mess with him. He had huge muscular arms and could crush us like a nat if he really wanted to. He thanked all the parents for coming and gave us the game plan for the rest of the awards night. I’d like to thank you all for coming out tonight. Your support for us all season was really appreciated by all of us. Mr. Jones the new sprint coach, who still looked like he could run a 47 in the open 400, would talk about the sprinters. Giving highlights of each individual, he would call up. He would talk about the freshman up to the juniors. Mr. Dowd who took over the distance runners after Mr. Reiff died would do the same. And Mr. Schroeder returning for his second year as the jump coach would do the same for his jumpers. Mr. Gruszka would talk about his throwers but would talk about each senior on the team. He felt he had to in the place of Mr. Reiff.

Mr. Gruszka had known all of us since our freshman year. Seniors used to look forward to see what Mr. Reiff and the other coaches would say about them after four years of dedication to the track program. It was important. We busted our asses for four years and built strong relationships with one another and coaches, particularly with Mr. Reiff. But ever since he passed away, we would be left to always wonder what he might have said. In the mean time, I was content with Mr. Gruszka’s idea of talking about all the seniors. That is something I will never forget. He didn’t have to do that.

As Mr. Schroeder began talking about his jumpers and how a certain athlete overcame certain odds, or how one has certain potential, everyone else was silent, hanging onto his words. As he would call out the athlete’s name that athlete, would stand up tall and walk down those steps proudly towards that stage, and coaches with a loud applause from his fellow teammates. That athlete would shake the hand of each coach usually with the sense of achievement and a smile of satisfaction. As I sat next to Alex Sutphen, sitting in my normal slouching position I couldn’t concentrate on the ceremony as, so many things raced through my mind. My knees started to twitch and ache with pain from the tendonitis still plaguing me. I thought about how the four years just flew by. It hit me.

High school was over. Was that really it? Am I ready for college? This is really how I’m ending my running career at Hoffman? How pathetic. How disappointed would Mr. Reiff be in me? My grandpa is still recovering from his stroke; there is no way I can go to ISU now. I can’t just leave him, and what about Veronica?

God, do I love her with all my heart, but it’s as if we’re going down separate trails in life. What will happen to us? She’s given me so much and has put up with so much of my shit this year. She is my rock. The sound of applause echoed off the dark empty stage taking me away from my thoughts. The challenges in my life have been grueling. I’m only seventeen and I have gone through so much. It’s as if life was a trail.

Some parts of the trail are smooth and easy, others are hard, up hill, rocky and seemingly never ending. But I’ve always managed to push through those hills. Those never ending rough times. And I’m stronger . . . better afterwards, sometimes heartbroken, sometimes just plain broken. But alive and those feelings are a reminder. It’s the hard that tests who you really are. I’ve learned adversity doesn’t build character it reveals character. You find yourself. You find your soul as you are running along those hard up hills, those never-ending moments. You find that you can take more then you thought and you care more then you really thought you cared. My trail has been interesting. Some people find their trail to be too much for them. They give up. There is always another path you can take. Never knowing what leads down that path. My trail may have been tough so far. However, I wouldn’t have it any other way. This is the story of a runner’s trail; my life . . . and just the beginning of my journey. The deaths and injuries and the people I’ve met up until now have made such an impact on who I am.

The Beginning

Life has many mysteries, filled with unexpected turns, at unimaginable bends. I’d like to believe things happen for a reason. It’s amazing how one life could end and another begins. There is always something good in the bad. Sometimes you can’t see it . . . not right away. I know I couldn’t. But maybe it’s true that things happen for a reason. The hard part is believing that it’s true, and then trying to understand it.

I was born August 12, 1986, son of Richard and Debbie Petrucci. I was the youngest of three. My oldest sister, Jenny was three years old when I was born. My older brother Philip was two years old. I was born into a very big family on both sides. I’m mainly Italian, but have a little Irish, German, Scottish, and English in me. God and destiny decided to have tragedy strike my life and my family early. My mother was short about 5'2 with long curly blonde hair. A beautiful smile and a heart of gold made her perfect in the eyes of my father. She wasn’t supposed to have children but had three anyway proving doctors wrong, and that miracles are real. My father with his thick brown hair and mustache and olive skin was happy about life and his family, but would face the hardest goodbye of his life.

Shortly after I was born, my mother began to lose her breath pretty easily just by walking up the stairs. She checked herself into the hospital shortly after. The doctors were looking for a blood clot, which they believed to be the cause of her symptoms.

My mom loved McDonalds. And my dad loved to spoil her. When dating her, he bought and won her countless little stuffed animals that she loved. Now he brought her, her favorite meal from McDonalds whenever he could. My dad thought she was going to be fine but her dad my, Grandpa Calendo thought otherwise and kept praying in the church inside the hospital.

On October 7th, 1986, with most of the family members in the waiting room while my mother was on her way to have the doctors look for the blood clot she passed away. It was later determined that she needed a new heart. That heart gave out. And her lungs were really weak as well. My father while standing next to his father stood there in complete and utter disbelief as the doctor told him that the mother of his three children and the love of his life was gone forever. My father stood there mouth open but not saying a word. No words could express his breaking heart.

He wanted to get out of there right away. He didn’t want an autopsy. He wanted to leave the nightmare of reality. However, his mom convinced him to sign the papers for the autopsy saying that his children are going to want to know what happened to their mother. He signed the papers and his dad took him away from the hospital immediately. The rest of the family sat there coming to grips with it all. My Grandma Calendo came up through the elevator with her bright red hair and angelic heart lost all happiness, when my grandpa walked over to her putting his arms around her shoulders saying, We lost our baby. She was the oldest. Just as my father was the oldest. My grandparents had already lost one of their sons when he was just an infant. Now they lost their precious daughter. All my mom ever wanted was a family, to love and hold children of her own. She had three children. Life allowed her to hold us for just a short while. How precious and fragile life can be and how unfair and confusing it can be all at once.

My father spoke at the funeral. How he was able to stand up and talk, I couldn’t tell you. What he said I have no idea. But I heard that it was an amazing speech. And without being able to talk, I had to say goodbye to a mother I would never know. I don’t remember one thing about her. I was two months old. I’ve never heard her voice and I don’t remember her touch. I only know her through pictures and stories. I look forward to one day meeting her again.

My dad’s brother, Dave was a mover. He got a couple of his moving buddies and a moving truck and went over to my dad’s place to help move all of our stuff out. My dad was bawling, just his heart pouring out of him as he watched my Uncle Dave and the rest of the guys move out all of my mom’s stuff. It was like moving out, and taking her stuff made everything official. He could barely hold himself together. We moved in with my dad’s friends from church for about a year.

My parents were strong believers in Jesus Christ. But they broke away from my family’s traditional Catholic beliefs and were more Protestant Evangelical Christians. My brother, sister, and I were never baptized as infants. That was a choice they wanted us to make. I am very impressed in how my dad managed to keep his faith in God after such a hard loss. He had to be so confused. He was left with three children to raise on his own. Luckily, both sides of my family were very supportive.

After about a year, we moved in with my mom’s parents in Hoffman Estates Illinois. My Grandpa Calendo is a very loud, blunt, tough man. He grew up with a very large half Italian half Irish poor family. They were so poor, that they received their own clothes washed and wrapped as their Christmas gifts. You can spot my grandpa out of any crowd. Just look for the man cussing up a storm with sunglasses on, a baseball cap turned backwards and a cigar in his mouth. I don’t think he can go five minutes without saying shit, damn it, or son of a bitch. Basically, he scared the living crap out of me when I was a kid. But he would do anything for anybody. He never said I love you, but I have yet to see someone show and give more love than him.

My Grandma was the complete opposite of my Grandpa. She was shorter then him. She had bright red hair, a soft voice like a gentle song, green eyes and a bright smile. They loved each other very much. I loved her very much. She was a mother to me. I did many dumb things growing up like trying to blow bubbles into my slurpee only to have the lid pop off and have the entire slurpee shoot out at my face. She turned around while driving home and had the most confused look on her face asking earnestly, What happened? I simply replied, I tried to blow bubbles. Growing up there was fun.

My Grandpa would run early every morning and then make us pancakes. Philip would always end up getting his ear pulled by Grandpa for not eating enough or going to bathroom right before we ate. Philip had bright blonde hair and blue eyes. He was small for his age and was born with an irregular heartbeat. Even though he wasn’t the biggest kid, I wanted to be just like him. He got glasses when I was three so since I wanted to be like him, I started to wear sunglasses to mimic him only to be told not to wear them in the house. Jenny was very independent from the start. She had brown hair and hazel green eyes like me. She was a little bit heavier in weight, but Jenny remembered our mom. Maybe that’s where the rebellion started; from the loss of our mother. If so, it would be compiled with other losses in the future.

We lived in the gray house on Rosedale Ln. for a couple of years. Time flew by and we were once again reminded how precious life really can be. My sweet Grandma Calendo was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. I remember going to the hospital with her while, she went through her treatment. I had no clue what was going on. We were in a building together, and she would sit in a chair while women would come to help her with something. She had some type of towel wrapped around her head in the form of a beehive. I had no fathom of how severe and sick she was. She never let on. She just kept on smiling at me. And when she smiled, I smiled and I felt like everything was okay even though it wasn’t. In the back of my mind, I knew she was sick. Before she died as she lay in her bed at the hospital, my dad said to her, Don’t worry, the kids will be fine. You can let go. I see Debbie walking beside the Lord, she replied and passed away shortly after.

I was about five years old and my father had remarried to Terry. They had dated for a few years, and after the wedding, we moved out to Carpentersville. It was a two-story yellow ranch home. Along with having a step mom, I now had a new stepsister Ashley. Ashley was less than a year younger than I was. The house sat on a gradual grassy hill with dandelions all over the yard. My Dad called everyone into his room one afternoon and told us the news of Grandma passing away. I was still young and all I knew about death was that she wasn’t coming back. My dad held me as I cried.

We had the biggest yard on the street and the biggest hill on the street. During the wintertime, all the kids would come to our house and go sledding down our hill. As I look back now, I didn’t like the neighborhood at all. It seemed as though everyone had to be mean. It was a rough neighborhood, from skinheads to drug addicts right down the street. You know its crazy how your childhood shapes you as an adult without knowing it at the time.

To me it’s as if the years in Carpentersville were a lifetime ago. The years flew by. Terry constantly had a sister of hers and her kids staying with us for over a year or she would have a friend living with us. It was as if our house was a hotel. Terry and my father had open arms to anybody that needed a place to stay. Growing up, I was in a world full of diversity all around me. I was able to see the good and the bad in people of all races. I’m grateful that I grew up in such a diverse neighborhood. Growing up especially with my religious beliefs, I always tried to see the good in people and never really cared about color. I’ve seen racism. I even had a very small taste of it. Once a black kid pushed me down on the ground for talking like him and then he rode away on his bike.

By the time I got to fifth grade, girls were important, drugs seemed to be everywhere I looked, and the world of music was beginning to be ruled by boy bands and pop princesses. My father was struggling with K-Mart. He had been working there for so long. He was the manager of the Auto Parts Dept. He hated the job. And the company hated how much money he was making. They even transferred him to the K-Mart out in Carpentersville hoping he would quit but he didn’t. He had a family to take care of and provide for. He even had a two-year-old daughter now, my younger sister Christina. Ultimately, K-Mart laid my dad off. After all the years, he devoted to them. They laid him off. It was not the future my dad had hoped for.

Meanwhile, my friend Josh and I would look for fights, sometimes just to fight. We were young and at the time it seemed like that was what we were supposed to do. We smoked pot for the first time together at the end of fifth grade. I met him back in third grade. He lived in a worse neighborhood than I did. On his street the gang GD was on one side, and Latin Kings on the other. My first night of sleeping over there, we were almost involved in a drive by. We would steal cigarettes from his mom and go to the park and smoke them trying to avoid gang members. Needless to say, every time I went over to his place I had to double check what colors I was wearing. There was just trash all over the place in his neighborhood. Spray paint was on all the buildings. The townhouses all looked the same, just one right after the other. The yards weren’t even yards and there was barely any grass around. It was just a horrible environment to be in, and being so young, it was hard to cope with everything.

By the time I was eleven, things seemed to be falling apart at home. Terry and Jenny didn’t get along at all. My father was trying to get a degree at Judson College in ministry and even though he was getting straight A’s. He couldn’t afford to keep going. He also didn’t know what to do about Jenny and Terry. Jenny was very rebellious and a very angry teenager. Angry at the world . . . at herself, angry with God I suppose. She was wearing black a lot more. Ears were pierced more. She even buzzed the back bottom half of her head. Terry just wasn’t ready to be a mother to three other kids. It would take me a couple of years to see the real picture of it all. However, sometimes your eyes are open but you can’t picture what is actually happening until it all replays back in your head years later. You see past what your mind was trying to hide. Don’t get me wrong there was love there. But there was also a lot of confusion. I thought for the most part we were a tight family. I was naive. Looking back and replaying it all, I can see that Dad and Terry were drifting apart, and that he was loosing control of Jenny, unsure of what to do.

I had grown up thinking I was partially to blame for my mother’s death since she died shortly after giving birth to me. As I got older, I asked my dad more questions about my mom and he just didn’t know how to answer them. Looking back, I can picture his face. He was missing my mother more and more. When he asked me if I thought I was the blame for her death. I just told him, Sometimes. He just stared at me at the top of the stairs as I looked at him over the couch. His brown eyes looking off into space, no expression broke his beard. He remained silent and walked quietly slowly down the stairs with no response. Lost in thought and heartache.

By sixth grade, I had switched schools again. I previously went to a small Baptist school, then to Immanuel Lutheran where I met Josh, but now I switched schools again, to Carpentersville Middle School or CMS. I really don’t know why we switched schools, maybe money. All I know is I had to leave close friends again and try to make new ones. I hated it. I absolutely hated that school. We wore uniforms and, I.D. cards around our necks. There were security guards on every floor, followed by gang members on every floor with security cameras watching over us. We walked through that school as if we were cattle. I felt like I was in a prison. It used to be a high school but turned into a middle school. Jenny was going to the high school Dundee Crown. The only upside of going to that school was that I made my first basketball team.

I made a few friends but not many. I had been playing basketball since I was three. My dad would give me drills to practice, and I would usually just go down the street and play street ball against whoever was there or just shoot around by myself. I loved playing the game. The court that I played on was right by my bus stop. That bus stop was always a pain in the ass.

There was always some asshole running his mouth trying to prove something. What you lookin at? Wanna start something? I think from that moment on I would never really enjoy school. I was tired of being the new kid and I’m sure Philip was too. It was harder for him because he was smaller and was more vulnerable to being picked on.

I remember making friends with a kid and I can’t remember his name. I can just see his face. A white kid with longer hair in a bowl cut like shape; since he had ADD, he was teased a lot. However, we always sat next to each other during lunch. People would ask me, Hey is that weirdo you friend? I would reply simply, Yeah . . . so. He ended up moving. Nevertheless, before he left he thanked me for being his only friend and for sticking up for him all the time. I don’t know why but it always stuck with me and it always meant a lot to me, and I was sad to see him go. Even though I was sick of going to new schools, ironically I wasn’t finished switching schools yet.

On January 14th, 1998, I was upstairs in my kitchen getting ready for school. I had just finished breakfast. I heard my dad slowly walking up our wooden stairs. His coughing in the morning reminded me of a bear growling out of a cave. He walked up with his hair all messed up in his dark red robe to get a cup of coffee. How’d practice go last night, Nicks? Good dad. I out ran everyone! That a boy. He walked back down stairs to have a morning cigarette. He never smoked in front of us. He didn’t want us to be influenced by it. I always thought that said a lot about him. But I had a weird feeling that morning, especially when I was running late for the bus. I usually gave my dad a hug and a kiss on the cheek before I would leave for school, but this morning I had no time. I can’t explain the feeling I had other than that something just did not seem to fit. I shouted into the bathroom, Goodbye, Dad. I love you! Love you too, son. I walked towards the front door and paused one last time as if I wanted to stay for something. I hesitated to leave looking down the wooden stairs towards the basement in the direction of my father. Seconds went by and I had to go.

School went by like any other day. It dragged and went by slowly. The weird feeling that I had earlier in the morning was now in the back of my mind, as I was sitting in my last class. I didn’t know it at the time but the weird feeling was the sound of my father’s beating heart. As I sat in class slowly quietly the heartbeat was there. My father was at home with Christina and Jenny who got out of school early. He went out onto the back porch to throw an empty milk carton into the recycling bin. His heart was beating faster now and out of rhythm.

School was almost over, Almost out of this hell hole, I thought. Thump thump . . . . thump thump in the back of my mind. He came in from the back porch out of the snow and cold weather. He walked past the refrigerator on his right and then began to fall and the life I knew falling with him. Class was over. My mind was blank. Time to catch the bus. I’ve missed the bus before and had to walk all the way home. I didn’t feel like walking in the snow today. His heartbeat was gone. The weird feeling in my mind was now blank. As my mind was clear, my father was falling hitting the sink and then the stove and then he fell flat on his stomach. Not moving not breathing . . . not living.

Christina saw the whole thing and began to cry. Jenny freaked out and ran to him, shaking him. Dad! DAD! She called 911 and then called our neighbor Rosa over. Rosa was a sweet woman, very nice. She was short with black hair and her skin was very tan. She began doing CPR on my father as they all waited for the ambulance to arrive. My mind was clear. No heartbeat. My mind was silent for the first time all day. I stared outside the window on the bus. The smell of leather from the seat in front of me was getting old to my nose. Snow was falling hard and the trees were covered in a white blanket as the road was covered in a gray slushy sheet. The roads were hazardous. It was another day of winter. But something was different. The bus ride home dragged. It was cold. I just wanted to get the hell off the bus.

Finally, the bus drove down the street off Sacramento Dr. and we were able to always see our house as we passed. As the bus drove by, I saw through the snowfall and foggy window that my Uncle Joe Calendo was over. He was my mom’s youngest brother and was pretty much blood to my dad. When I saw his tan Ford Thunderbird, the first thing that came to my mind was great Uncle Joe is over we’ll have spaghetti for dinner tonight!

We reached the bottom of the hill and the bus came to a stop. The driver let us off and I was free. Philip was pretty excited and ran up the hill all the way home. He was slouched over with his backpack loaded with books. His backpack looked like a turtle shell on him, but he ran through it in his excitement. I took my time walking through the snow and slush. I figured there’s no rush. I got to my house and was walking up our cement walkway towards the front door, when Jenny came outside. She was in a black t-shirt and jeans. Her brown hair up in a ponytail, her eyes watery, cheeks bright red and her nose runny. I stopped almost in utter confusion at the sight of her. I asked bluntly and cold-heartedly, What’s wrong with you? I felt the sting of the cold breeze and breathed in the smell of fresh snow. Dad had a heart attack. She looked at me, not saying anything else. I could tell she had been crying for a while now. She looked helpless and flustered. I dropped my backpack almost instantly after the words left her tongue. I knew my father was dead.

It was about two years earlier when I had a dream where I saw my dad falling to the ground, and then I saw an ambulance, followed by his tombstone. I woke up in sweat. I was crying as I walked through our dark house making my way downstairs to where my Dad and Terry were still up watching TV. My dad looked at me with concern wondering why I was crying. My voice cracked and broke, as I told him that I had a dream and he was in it and he died. He took my dream serious. He looked at me square in the eyes never blinking and declared, I’m not going anywhere. You hear me! When my dad raised his voice, you listened. That is the devil! You tell the devil to shut up! You tell him to shut up! I’m not going anywhere! It was as if the dream hit a nerve in him. He sent me off to bed and I told the devil to shut up and fell asleep.

I didn’t think about the dream again until I stood there in the snow hearing the news of his heart attack. I started walking away towards the sidewalk when Jenny asked, Where are you going? To take a walk. Come inside. He’s still breathing. When I heard her say he was, still breathing I felt calm and secure. My hero would be okay. I got inside and Philip, Ashley, Jenny and I all cleaned the entire house. We had a Saturday chore list that we would follow and rotate through every week so we just went off that. We wanted Dad to be able to just relax when he got home. My Uncle Joe helped out as well and was waiting as anxiously as we were on the news. My dad was always there for him, sometimes when his own siblings weren’t. My dad encouraged him to go to Judson College. He gave him hope in a card and letter that he wrote to him that made him cry. My Uncle Joe never cries. He really loved my dad.

The phone rang. Everyone got quiet as I picked up the phone. It was my dad’s Uncle Gene. He called and said, Sorry to hear about your daddy. I innocently replied, Oh he’s okay he’s still breathing. The whole family knew but us. Uncle Gene responded with a very sad, Oh okay. I hung up and the phone rang again. It was my other Uncle Joe Difatta, my dad’s brother in law. He asked to speak to my Uncle Joe Calendo. I gave the phone to him. He was told that my dad was dead and that Terry was on her way home to tell us herself and not to say anything about it until she gets there.

After the phone call, I noticed my Uncle Joe just looking out the window staring into the darkness of the night. I walked over to him. I looked out the window and then looked at him. I put my arm around him and asked him if he was worried about my dad. He paused never looking at me, just looking out into the night. He was a tall man, brown hair very young. But looking back at it now I can see he was using all his strength not to cry. He just replied in a voice a little louder than a whisper, Yeah dom. I confidently said, Don’t worry he’ll be okay with a smile, I can see now that he wanted to tell me so badly but couldn’t. I was in this fantasy world. I think we all were. This world that nothing can hurt our father. That’s when Terry came home.

Terry came in through the back door with Rosa following right behind her. We all rushed over to Terry, all anxious to hear the update on Dad, everyone but Uncle Joe. Her eyes were watery. Her hair was down and damp from the snowflakes. She gave the saddest smile I had ever seen and said, He didn’t make it.

Everyone cracked immediately and we all felt our world sink into a dark oblivion. Tears began to flow and the noise of crying bounced off the living room walls. I shouted in anger, I had a dream he was going to die like this and it happened! I stormed off down the hallway and into my room. Terry came into my room shortly after. I sat on the bottom bunk bed and she asked if I was okay. We were both fighting back tears as she said, There’s gonna be a lot of changes around here huh? I said softly, Yeah. We may have had our problems but we were still a family, and I still looked at Terry as my mother. I loved her like a mother. Looking back, those moments together with my family after hearing the fatal news was a blur. I remember crying, hugging, and thanking Rosa for trying to save my dad. She was a lot shorter than I was, but I gave her such a hug, a hug that you really don’t give or receive all that often.

Philip and I went with our Uncle Joe back to Hoffman Estates to stay at my Grandpa’s for the night. It seemed like the longest car ride of my life. I was at a complete blank. The night was black, the air cold up against the car windows. Nobody said anything. What words are there to comfort someone after such a tragedy? The right words to each other at that moment in that car were none at all. Silence was perfect. Because in