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 :)

Monday, August 16, 2010

Blog Contest and more from "BRISTOL STOMP"

I am so excited to have reached 200 followers on my blog. To celebrate we are having a contest. I have a goal of reaching 300 followers by the end of August. So, for every 10 new followers I will randomly choose a winner from all followers.  It's that easy! Follow, leave a comment and you are in. Of course if you are ambitious and want to up your chances you can send a new follower to me (make sure they let me know you sent them in their comment) and you will each receive 5 more points.
We have winner #2 and it is the awe inspiring Neasha Clark; thank you and congratulations! to learn more about
Now more from: "BRISTOL STOMP"
 I spent the evening tidying up the waiting room, talking on the phone and sitting with David.  I would sit in a chair and doze on and off.  At one point I woke and saw a man and a woman I did not know sitting across from me.  There son had been in an accident.  A nurse came in to talk to them and they started to cry.  I felt bad for them and at the same time I was upset.  They were invading our space; this was our room.  I went into the bathroom and did my best to wash up.  I brushed my hair and put on some make-up.  The sun was coming up.  Back in the waiting room plans were being made to pick up my son and Birna’s sister from the airport.  I did not want to go.  It was Sunday, April 26st.  The show at the Trocadera was supposed to be today.  I went back into Dave’s room.  There was a doctor in there checking the respirator.  I asked him if he was going to remove it, thinking maybe they would see if Dave would be able to breathe on his own.  That doctor looked at me like I was an alien.  I did not see anything wrong with the question. He ended up just mumbling no, they would not be removing the respirator.
Birna’s sister Elsa arrived, from Iceland.  She had a son just three months younger than Michael. He was adorable.  I was relieved she was here for Birna.  It was an awful excuse for a visit, I thought to myself but Birna needed support and I could not give it to her.  While the happy reunion was going on in the waiting room, I walked back to Dave’s room.  There was a nurse, a doctor, Randy Morris, the police detective and Joe a police officer in the room.  They were whispering but I overheard.  David was brain-dead.  He would not recover.  I was numb.  I sat with him for a long time.  I walked down the hall and back in to the waiting room and said nothing.  I just sat there.  My mother was sitting in a chair, praying for a miracle.  My son arrived and he was talking with his girlfriend and his sisters, still trying to put the pieces together.  He was smiling.  He was just happy to be home.  He had no idea how serious this was.  Michael was crawling around on the floor.  Birna had finally fallen asleep.  I just sat there and cried.  I was in a room full of family and friends and I had never felt so alone.
David’s friends were there.  They were discussing having him transferred to Jefferson or University of Pennsylvania Hospital.  My mind started to play tricks on me.  Perhaps there could be a miracle.  I watched as they hustled back and forth making phone calls, talking to the doctors trying to arrange the transfer.  The doctors said no.  There would be no miracle here.  The benefit concert was supposed to be today and all we heard was the rumbling of the respirator and the faint beeping of the monitors. David and the rest of the band were really looking forward to that show.  I wanted to be angry, I tried to be angry but I felt nothing.  I just cried, slept, went out to smoke and cried some more.  I felt as if my body was being lifted up and I was floating around by the ceiling just looking down on everyone.  People were praying, crying, talking and sleeping.  My brother Nicky was getting angry.  It was just his way.  He said some things that should have hurt my feelings but I did not feel anything. 
I just thought about when he and Dave were little and how much I loved them.  I remembered Christmas’s when they were small and spoiling them with all the best toys.  I remembered giving Dave a Stretch Armstrong guy when he was 4 years old.  One morning he walked up to me with stretch and wanted to know what was inside.  I was busy with Joan who was a baby but I started to feel guilty so I grabbed stretch and squeezed him.  I could not figure out what was inside so to Dave’s delight I grabbed a knife and we operated on stretch.  It is crazy but right now, for the life of me, I cannot remember what was inside that stupid doll.  What I do remember was the two of us laughing so loud and hugging him.  Then we went and bought a new Stretch Armstrong.  I can still hear him looking up at me and saying “You are way cool”.  I remembered the wonderful summer I spent with the boys in Rhode Island.  David was just 3.  I remembered taking them to baseball practice and games.  They were such opposites.  Nicky was outgoing and loud.  David was always shy and quiet.
The doctor’s finally told us David was in fact, brain-dead.  He would never wake up.  They were just keeping him alive at this point because he was an organ donor.  They asked Birna if she wanted him taken off the machines.  She was not ready to make that decision.  None of us were ready to play God.  I thought of a time a few years before when my cousin Robin was in a coma.  His kidney’s had failed.  The doctor’s had asked his wife Tracy if she wanted the machines turned off.  She, at the time was nine months pregnant.  She did not turn off the machines and Rob recovered.  Well sort of and that story would take a whole other book, let’s just say Rob was never the same. Tracy gave birth to a beautiful little boy they named Joseph. She was here now at the hospital supporting us.  She had remarried and well as far as Rob, nobody knew where he was. 
            On April 28th I left the hospital.  I had to get out of there.  I went home.  Most of our neighbors met me in the driveway.  They seemed to know more about what had happened than I did.  I took a long shower, crying the whole time.  I decided to stop by my job at the newspaper just to let them know what was going on and to maybe do a little bit of work.  As always there was a newspaper on my desk.  There was an article about “The Fight”.  Allen Rubenstein, the Bucks County District Attorney was quoted in the article: “What did Mr. Albert expect when he stopped his car; tea and crumpets?  I could not catch my breath and my heart was racing.  This man has no idea what happened that night.  I wanted to drive to Doylestown and punch him right in his face.  He was accusing David of starting the fight.  My phone rang.  It was Jill telling me to get back to the hospital.  As I was driving back I was thinking about the ride to the hospital a few nights before.  It seemed like a long time ago.  Was it really just four nights before?
            When I walked down that long hallway I saw Nicky sitting on the floor outside David’s room his face in his hands, sobbing.  The machines were no longer working to keep Dave’s heart beating.  He was really gone.  They were preparing to take him to another hospital where they could harvest what they could for donation.  My sister Dee and her husband Tony were going with David.  Someone had to be there to identify him.  I did not want him to leave.  I wasn't ready to say goodbye. I still wanted a miracle.


  1. What a story this is. So sad to have a life lost under these conditions.
    Congratulations on reaching your 200+ followers. That's special.

  2. Prayers with you and your family.

  3. Wow honey -- great post and 200 followers, I wish ;) has 20 right now!

  4. Very interesting. I'm so sorry that it is so real, but I suppose writing about your brother will help you to heal.
    I was finally able to follow your blog!

  5. You are a great writer! Intriguing story and so close to your heart. Now following. Best wishes!!

  6. It's always so healing to write from the heart! Thanks for sharing yours.

  7. I cannot believe this happened to you. I've been sitting here at my computer for ages trying to think of the right thing to say, and I can't find the words. I am sorry you and your family had to go through this, I hope writing the book is helping you to heal.

  8. Sorry to be off the subject. This is a delete-after-reading message. We did a link exchange earlier this year and when my blogger ID changed, it went kapoot. I've got you back up there. My new url is bypen-or-bysword.blogspot(dot)com

  9. Thank you SO much for stopping by and following! I truly appreciate it! I'm following back and I'm looking forward to browsing your blog some more. :)

  10. I always reply back to your comments on my blog, but I don't know if you ever see them. I wanted to make sure that you know how much I appreciate all of your kind comments--and prayers. Thank you so much for your blog friendship :)