This weekend we attended two vigils in recognition of murder victims. My heart sank to see how many were represented at both ceremonies. I just wanted to scream… the group just keeps growing.

I met the mother of one of my students at one of the vigils. He was murdered just months before Corey. My heart ached for her when it happened, it aches for her now. His murder remains unsolved as well.

Sometimes in that breath between sleeping and waking up, I can hear Corey’s voice calling my name, or I can feel his hand touching mine.

I know it’s him, because a mother recognizes her child’s voice and touch.

Or maybe it’s just the medication they have me on to fight the depression and anxiety from having my son murdered.

I think I’d rather believe it’s my son.