We called B to hang out today, and his mom said he's been out of the house all day since the funeral. We don't know, but we think it's his grandfather. since he's been sick off and on since 1999.

All three of us have grandparents die at awkward times. Last year, G's grandparent died the day before we were to head to Seattle on a summer trip. I dealt with it by buying a car and listening to the Dandy Warhols.

Seven years ago, I was lying in bed, and I heard my mom talking to one of my uncles. To this day, I listen to the begining of my parents conversations on the phone until I'm convinced the rest will be fine. I remember hearing "Oh no's," her favorite saying when something is wrong. I was to give a speech at my sixth grade graduation the day I found out. I dealt with it by taking the bus down to Blockbuster and playing NBA Jam on the Super Nintendo I had just bought/been given as a gift.

I've been to five funerals. A great uncle, his wife (I believe that's who it was) two grandparents, and a friend. The friend was the hardest, because the day before he was shot, I was to go to his house to play football with he and the boy who shot him. I remember all of the events of that last hour, from picking teams for basketball, to the way he played and the shots he made, hi-fiving him just before the bell rang, and telling him I couldn't do anything because I had to stay after school because of my work with the Museum of Natural History. As that wrapped up (approx. 4:30) I remember Sandra repeating like an excited sportscaster "lifeflight, lifeflight." After coming home, I walked around the corner near the helicopter, and overheard neighbors and strangers alike saying that the victim was likely dead because the helicopter had not left.

The next morning I received the news.

Mom woke me up.

"Do you know Leroy Paul?"

"Yes," I said barely awake.

"They said on the news he was shot." She paused. She always pauses for about 8 seconds. "And killed."

I did my paper route in a daze. I saved a paper that contained the article, and brought it to school. The halls weren't crowded and few people knew. I had to break the news to a few people, including a girl who had been out of town for the week and had missed it all. Danielle sprinkled pedals on his desk which was right next to mine.

Nearly the whole school attended the funeral, few attended the viewing. I consoled Danielle and Stefanie at both, while I shared stories with Jeramy A. His family wanted all who attended the viewing to sign his football, which was buried with him. He wore a Dallas Cowboys sweatshirt, sweatpants and had a rosary in his hands, the right over the left because he had been shot through the left.

I haven't seen Jeremy B, the person's house who Leroy was shot at, and whose parents were the owner of the gun. Alex, the person who only recently I learned pulled the trigger graduated from a rival high school this past year.

I think about him all the time. The jokes we told, the fun we had in P.E, the talk of organ donation seven days before his death, and talking about who won the BYU/Utah and Cowboys/49ers game. "One Sweet Day" was the most popular song at the time, and I still relate it to him. We all miss you Leroy. It's cliche, but you touched all you met. We'd probably be playing football today, complaing about how they turned the field behind your house into low income housing. Keep laughing. Keep playing basketball. Do the Dew because both of us have "been there and done that."

Jason

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