I had hoped that page 15 of my Website Dedication to my Child - would include an arrest.
Sadly, I was mistaken. I must go on, I MUST, to see the ANIMALS that took the Life of My Child - Punished.
This first letter comes from my heart. It was what I had hoped would be printed in the Connecticut Post Newspaper.
The second letter, is what was actually printed in the CT. Post. Kate Ramunni - Correspondent for the CT. Post, continues to be a faithful friend, to both my parents and I. Thankyou.
Page #15, will be continued on page 16.
Taken From Us!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The telephone calls from the Homicide Detectives are infrequent. If I don't call, they don't,
and each and every time, it is the same story: 'Zoli's case is the most important case for them. They want Zoli's Murder Solved, they eat and sleep this case, when we know something
definite: you will be the FIRST to know!
Murder changes you, you are not the same person, and you never will be again!
You have more questions - than answers, and each new answer you receive, just opens-up
more questions, new questions.
In the beginning, when you receive this devastating news, 'that your only child has been
MURDERED, that you will never, ever again see your child', you are at a complete loss for
words.
Your tears flow freely, all the time: in front of others, and behind closed doors.
As time goes by, and it goes very slowly: your tears are less frequent, but they come at odd
and different times: a certain song on the radio, an innocent question from someone: and then
it comes on like a thunder storm, you can't stop it, the tears keep falling, and your whole
body is racked with it, and your body shakes, and your body becomes cold.
You close your eyes, and you see - 'what it must have been like that fateful night'.
Your child arrives on Pembroke Street, by his girlfriends vehicle, and never makes it home
again.
You close your eyes, and you know in your heart: that your child had to sense something,
sense something very wrong. You know your child saw the gun, saw it aimed at him, and
felt the first bullet, enter his body!
You see your child in pain, you see the blood - his blood, my blood. You are there with him.
You want to comfort him, hold him, stop the flow of blood, call for help. You can't, the
realization is there: that you are not there, but it is so very real.
Then you see the other '24' bullets being fired into your child, and you see the gaping holes
left in a perfect body. A blood-soaked t-shirt, your child sitting alone in the car.
Zoli wants to scream, from the pain, but nothing comes from his mouth, not a sound.