On August 29, 2008, I was happy. I was at peace. I knew that everyone I cared about was all right. My husband, Larry, was content at his job. Both of my children seemed to be on a good path. My younger child, Joseph, was settled in at his second college (so far) and seemed to like his classes. My older child, Nicole, was blissfully happy in New York City and finally on the brink of supporting herself financially.
She had moved there in January, with high hopes of performing on Broadway. It was slow going at first, and we subsidized her rent more often than not. But she was determined to make it on her own, earning her Pilates teaching certification and a job at a fitness center and, with that, the income she needed to be independent.
When the phone rang about 1:30 p.m., those thoughts ceased. My world came to a complete stop. All the dreams of an exciting life ahead were pulled out from under me. Just getting through the next moment seemed impossible. I went from happy to hell in 30 seconds flat.
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