Originally posted on Facebook, 5/12/2016:

I share this for my Mom, RIP.

It was 10 years ago tonight, an hour or so before midnight. It started with a frantic call and would end with just two words.

My phone rang. It was my brother Jimmy. Immediately I could hear the fear and desperation in his voice, asking when I had last talked with Mom. I had spoken to her several hours earlier. Part of me already knew. There is something wrong with Bobby. Mom woke up and found him laying on the living room floor. He is not moving or breathing. I heard his words but was in complete shock and disbelief. This was not happening.

I hung up with Jimmy and tried desperately to call my Mom. My Dad was already in route, as were other family members, to my Mom’s place. Being in VA while this was going on up in NY, I felt completely helpless. I eventually got word paramedics were already there trying to revive Bobby, while my poor Mom waited outside with others. This, a day or so before Mothers Day, would forever devastate my Mom to the day she died.

By this time I had woken Kelly who came downstairs completely confused as to why I was being so loud. I was numb and frantic at the same time. I just turned and repeatedly yelled that there is something wrong with my brother. There is something seriously wrong with Bobby. Endless minutes would pass not knowing, struggling to comprehend that this was happening. My mind then went to that place, and has ever since, where I asked myself why the hell didn’t I talk to Bobby when he walked through the door while I was on the phone with my Mom hours earlier. Just a few words may have mattered. I knew then I should have.

Eventually my phone would ring again. I could see that it was my Dad. I answered the phone and could hardly get the words out, dreading what he was going to say. All I could manage in a cracked voice was… Dad? Just hoping that he could somehow make it right. At that moment, time seemed to stop. At the corner of my eye I could see myself through Kelly’s eyes as she watched my devastation as I heard my Dad’s words. Raising her hand to her mouth.

Two words…

He’s gone.