I remember first hearing about Terry at church.  I was just coming out of the coatroom to go downstairs where children of different ages were split up into separate rooms for Sabbath School.  I was greeted by a younger acquaintance, Eric.  He was not really a friend, and now seems to have delivered his message with a little too much morbid glee.

     “Hey Peter, did you hear about Terry?”
     “No, what?”
     “He’s dead.”
     “What!?” This must surely be a joke.
     “He’s dead.  His family’s car got hit by a semi.”  The world took on a sickening unreality.

DanKennyPeter K.

     And for the next few days, we sixth graders were shuttled to the funeral parlor to see Terry’s body.  My mother drove me around to the homes of the other sixth grade boys to take up a collection to buy flowers for Terry’s funeral.  I even went to see Andy, the boy we all teased and picked on -- even me.


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