Friday, May 15, 2009, the worst day of my life. I have felt pain and sorrow at times throughout my life. Pain over lost girlfriends, pets that have died. We all have. But nothing comes close to what I felt (and what I still feel) when I was told my son had been killed. Nothing I have ever felt in my life can compare to the agony and despair I felt in the following hours and days and then into week and months. To try and describe this pain is futile, unless you have experienced it yourself. People said to me, "I can't imagine what you're going through." And, they can't. But they don't know what else to say. And that's probably the best thing to say. It's certainly better than saying they know how I feel. They goddam sure don't know how I feel and what I'm going through; how deeply the pain rips at my heart.

I called my wife's boss and told him what had happened. I asked him to have someone drive my wife home from work so I could break the news to her. I asked him to make it look like they were going on an errand. I heard later he slamed his office door and threw things after my wife had started home.

"Joel was killed this morning at 9:30," I said.

And then I had to repeat the phrase several times as I called family and Joel's girlfriend. Relatives showed up very quickly. I remember waiting for my son, Brandon, to come home from school. I asked everyone to leave and come back later as I didn't want him to see things out of normal for him before I could tell him. He came in the door and asked, "where's Joel?" just as he did every single day when he got home. It was always the first thing he'd say. Those words, "Where's Joel?" toor open a hole in my chest as I followed him into his room and gave him the news. He wept on my shoulder. Joel was his best friend.

Vehicles began to gather around our house. People came in not saying much. Only crying. Some silently with their face in hands. Other's openly. My brother-in-law came in and squeezed me across the shoulders. But nothing eased the pain. The pain was so deep, so black. It was pulling at me. It was tying up my insides. It was tearing every cell apart. My heart felt like it was going to quit working. I thought only of Joel. I thought only that he was dead. I asked why.

I think we went to bed around one the next morning. And even though I drank a case of beer, I could only sleep a few minutes or so at a time. I remember waking up and I instantly began to sob, realizing Joel was not in bed in the next room. My son, Joel.