Remembering a Good Kid...

You never think it can happen in your own backyard...

A few nights ago, a young boy was enjoying a sleepover at a friend's house. Now, his family is mourning his vicious murder. They were good people--he was a good kid.

I worked with his mom. She was a single mother who doted on her sons. They were the light of her world. She proudly displayed their photos on her desk and routinely spoke of them while on sale calls. He was a good kid. I only met him once. I was putting together an event which required "stuffing" of 900 goodie bags. He woke up early on a Saturday morning to volunteer an extra set of hands. He was a good kid.

The man who took him from this world was a repeat sex offender. Repeat. He had twice been arrested for indecent behavior with a child. Why was this man on our streets? Why was this man free to lure an innocent young boy from his friend's house? Why did our justice system allow this?

It brings me to tears to think about the last moments of Justin's life. I can't imagine how terrified he must have been. I can't imagine the fear and pain he experienced. I can't help but wonder if he thought about his mother, his brothers, his friends...

He was a good kid. No kid deserves such an ending. And no sex offender deserves the chance to break something so precious.

Life goes on for the rest of the world. But life for Justin has ended and life for his family will never be the same.

You never think it can happen in your own backyard...

Saying Goodbye Again...

365 Days.

That is how long it has been since my sweet Rascal slipped from this world to the next. For the first two or three months, I was numb. My last semester of college was clouded with sadness. I would wake up every morning and cry in the shower. I would hope that by the time I got to class and work, no one would be able to tell I was a complete wreck.

After I graduated, my little Samson came into my life. After several weeks of howling at night and constant potty breaks, I longed for the ease of life with my Rascal. I began to remember how he could curl up on my chest at night, somehow always managing to get in between me and the book I was reading. I remembered how he would chase fireflies during the warm summer nights. I remembered how he would saunter into a room and immediately take charge of any situation. Slowly, I was starting to remember the joy of life with Rascal instead of how painful life without him was.

A full year later, my life is preoccupied with work, family, Samson and my preparation for law school in the fall. And as hectic as it all is, I still make time nearly every night to glance at Rascal's picture on my nightstand. I tell him how much I love him and how I can't wait to see him someday. I sometimes update him on all the trouble Samson is getting into and tell him that they would gotten along for sure.

Last Friday at work a very old lady came in the office to sign her Last Will and Testament. While we were waiting on the appropriate witnesses and lawyers to become available, she began to reminisce about her life. She had lost one child at only 10 months old. Later on, her youngest dropped dead at 21 years old with an undiagnosed heart condition. Recently, her 18 year old grandson died of a drug overdose and she lost her husband of 50+ years awhile back. After hearing her tragic tale, I commented about the strength it must have taken to lived through that.

She looked at me and said, "Exactly. When someone is taken from you, you have no other choice but to pick yourself up and move on. You have still been blessed with time on this planet and as hard as it is to go on without them, you must. If not for you, then for them."

Her words came at the right time. Earlier I'd been thinking about the day my Rascal was taken from me and I was beginning to feel despair. Yet, this woman, who has lost so many precious lives, was happy. When signing her will she asked that if something were to happen to her, she not be kept on life support. She looked at me and with a smile said, "No use prolonging it. I've got plenty of people to see."

Perhaps she is right. My Rascal is gone. That fact still makes me sad each and every day. But being sad is no way to live my life. Instead, I should be grateful for the nearly 11 years we had together and know that one day I'll be able to run my fingers through his fur again.

Until that day, I'll think of him often, I'll love his memory and I'll live my life knowing that I was lucky to have had him in it.

I love you Rascal.