And so another Thanksgiving has come and gone without you at our table. My birthday too, without your voice singing the traditional song. (In our home we don’t sing “Happy Birthday To You.” We sing, “Happy to you, to you.” It’s Corey’s childhood rendition.)
Your brothers didn’t let you down, Corey… they sang it with pride.
I never imagined a day without you. Yet alone a holiday or a birthday… even less two.
Two birthdays without your murder solved is torture.
How did this happen? I go over and over in my mind what I must have done to have failed you. But I can’t think of anything.
I taught you to watch both ways for cars, never to speak to strangers, and to walk on the lighted paths while outside at night. I paid for karate lessons and even took them with you.
I did everything I could to keep you safe.
But here I am… and there you are.
I’m going to keep looking. Every way I can. Birthday after birthday… until I get my answer.
Someone out there knows who killed my son. I will find that person.