In April I was asked to do another poem for NOVA’s ecumenical service. I wanted my poem, this year to be a little more positive, empowering.
There were so many people there that had lost loved ones on 9/11. My heart was breaking for them. Would they ever have justice? Would they ever have the answers they desperately needed?
It was also the third anniversary of David’s death. Although I focused on staying positive, I allowed myself to miss him. I had an overwhelming desire to make him proud of me. I also wanted my kids to see me smile again.
When I would make a negative comment about the sentences, or other arrests being made there were actually people that would say to me, when are you going to get over that? I did not let these comments anger me. I had every right to feel sad, when I was sad. I had every right to miss my brother. I had every right to be angry with a system that was more interested in good percentages and winning elections than it was about protecting people. I was just determined to take my anger and turn it into positive energy. Anger had been like a heavy bundle of bricks hung around my neck. It was so heavy, I could not accomplish anything. Do not get me wrong, I did not suddenly turn into little miss sunshine, I was still angry. I just did not let it control me.
On June 10, 2002, Dominic Angelo Nocito III was born. He struggled to breathe. He had some fluid in his lungs. After a few scary hours he was fine. The nurses in the nursery at Lower Bucks Hospital assured me it was a common problem with babies born via c-section. He also developed jaundice. Joan had it and so did Allyson. At least I knew what that was. It was still awful seeing the tiny little guy under those lights with his eyes covered.
When I finally was allowed to hold him for the first time I was overcome with an empowering feeling of hope. My family had a future and I was holding it in my arms.
Allyson was so excited to be a big sister. She was so protective and actually very bossy over who could hold her brother and when. It was adorable and annoying at the same time.
When a photographer I recognized from The Bucks County Courier Times, showed up at the hospital nursery, I was surprised. When I asked him why they were doing a story on our little one, he told me to do the math. It was nine months since 9/11. Apparently, many babies were expected to be born that week. The tragedy that struck our country brought people together. Everyone just wanted to love each other. To hold on to who and what they had. Yes, that baby boy’s eyes gave me a lot of hope.
In September I learned my son and his wife were expecting. I was ecstatic and honestly overwhelmed. I was having another grand child every six months.
I sat on the front porch with Allyson and asked her, Allyson how did I ever get this lucky to be having so many babies coming into our family? She thought for a minute then looked up at me and said, Mom-Mom, Uncle David knows how much you love babies. He is just going to keep on sending them down from heaven so you don’t have time to be sad anymore. I looked up at the sky and just at that moment there was a beautiful rainbow. I cried and smiled. How is it possible for a seven year old to know the exact thing to say to make me believe? She amazed me.
After a long night of labor and an emergency c section on December 17, 2002, Morgan Layla Timm was born. I was only able to see her for a moment as they were rushing her into the Intensive Care Nursery. She looked so tiny. I noticed a small patch of strawberry blonde hair and chubby little cheeks. Because Jill developed a fever during labor the baby had an infection.
Jill was released after five days and I will never forget going onto the elevator with her to take her home. It hit both of us as the elevator door closed that we were going home without the baby. I will never forget the pain in my own baby girl’s eyes that day. I wanted to fix it for her but there was nothing I could do.
Of course I thought about that awful time when Jill may not have been born. What had I been thinking? Every day I thank God for intervening that day. I prayed to Mary, the blessed Mother, I thanked her for my beautiful daughter and asked her to watch over Morgan and Jill.
After a very frightening seven days, Morgan came home to join our family on Christmas Eve. I believed God only gives you as much as you can handle. It would have been unbearable to celebrate Christmas without our little peach.
They say every face in a crowd has a story to tell, this is my story..
The news shows and newspapers all called it 'Road Rage'. To me that sounded like a disease, an affliction that can make you kill. A sorry excuse to take the claw end of a hammer and slam it repeatedly into the skull of a human being. In April of 1999 my little brother passed away. Doesn't passed away sound so gentle, even normal? David's death was neither. It was murder. He was found lying in a strangers driveway in a pool of blood. He had been punched, stomped and beaten over his entire body. I still have so many questions. I wrote this book at first for therapy and then for answers. I have found a few. I mainly realized l lost a brother tragically and senselessly. Like every other face in the crowd I have a story..and I want to share my story with you! PUBLICATION DATE TO BE ANNOUNCED LATE SUMMER/EARLY FALL :)