Kenny's Story
January 13, 1973-December 5, 1994
Kenny, My Son, Taken Too Soon
How do I tell anyone who did not know him, what a joy Kenny was. He was so talented, a tri-athlete in high school and before. He always held the number "10" in all his sports. He could make a basketball sing on the court, he was one of the finest shortstops in the State of CT and in soccer, he could place a ball on the field wherever you wanted it. At every game, in every sport, you could hear the kids yelling, "go 10". He had the gift-and now it's all gone.
He was only 21 years old and had his whole life ahead of him. Would you believe that almost 1,000 people came to attend his service? There would have been more but so many of his friends were away at school. Kenny was popular and well-liked by everyone who knew him. The tributes given to him by his former high school, baseball league, the City, his friends... it's all good but it can't bring him back.
I moved to Florida with Kenny in 1992. He moved back to CT in June of that year because he missed everyone so much. I didn't see him again until August of 1994 when I returned to CT to attend a wedding. I would talk with him and my older son on the phone but it really wasn't the same. My older son visited me in Florida but Kenny didn't "get around to it." He was finally on his way when the accident happened. He hit a "jersey barrier" and the car flipped over, went airborne and hit a tree. Kenny and his friend, Danny, were both thrown from the vehicle. Kenny died almost instantly. Danny was critical and not expected to live, but thankfully he did. Danny blames himself - it was his car, he should have been driving. I blame myself - if I hadn't lived in Florida he wouldn't have been coming then. But the truth is, Kenny was going too fast, came upon cars entering the turnpike going too slow and he tried to avoid them by going to his left around them - that's when he hit the barrier.
Unfortunately, the curve at the bottom of the concrete hit the back tire and sent the car out of control. All the rest is history. When I got the call from his father, I wanted to die. Although his father and I were no longer married, we stayed good friends through the years. It was the hardest call he's ever had to make. And when I flew up the next day, he and my oldest son, Stanley, were at the airport waiting for me. So many people there thought the tears and hugging were a sign of joy over not seeing each other for a long time. Little did they know.....
It was over a year since Kenny had been gone when I wrote the poem for him. I knew no other way to express my pain and loss. Now, on the sixth anniversary of his death, I still feel the pain and the loss, but it is eased a bit today thinking about little Kenny coming tomorrow to visit with Nana. Stanley has a son and has named him after his brother. Bless this baby boy.
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