Sam was a handsome blond headed kid with wide dark browneyes and a smile that was infectious. He was tender hearted and very naive, almost to the point of being gullible. He was full of life, constantly joking and playing practical jokes. A great student, talented musician, and a mythology buff. He was so full of love and had great manners...'yes ma'am'...I can hear him now.  While a good son, he also was a good adolescent. Very normal and inquisitive with the normal peer pressures that comes with growing up. He was a friend to all ... to all people of all color, nationality, and age, Sam had many friends much older than he as well as younger. He seemed to be able to meld into any crowd and fit right in never appearing to be out of place. He received his first "titar" at age 4...mastered it by age 6. And moved up to his REAL electric guitar. My son drove me nuts playing that guitar. But omg, when he discovered the drums, I prayed for the return of the guitar!  When Sam was around 9 we noticed more kids than usual coming to our house during the summer. He always had lots of friends but this was way more than usual. It seemed that whenever I sunbathed out by the deck there was a succession of endless traffic. After several days of strange kids showing up, I began to question him as to where they had come from. It seems my son had been selling admission tickets for a quarter to see his mom in her bikini! That was my son!  I have many stories like this ...like the time he skipped school and went to a birthday party at McDonalds; just where his class was going on a field trip that day, hehehe, teacher caught him! And the time he skipped school and came home with a sunburn and tried to convince me it was the neon lights at school. :-)...Or when I told him to "knock it off" and he knocked his sister's hat off her head! Or the day ...he skipped school and I called his friends house to see if his mom knew where he could be and Sam answered the phone and said,"No Ma'am, It isn't me, I'm not here!"  Somehow my son would always either get caught or tell on himself. His sisters loved him dearly as he did them. I had 4 children under the age of 6, with Sam being the oldest and only boy. I felt guilty because he was the only boy. He never seemed to get as much attention as the girls. The girls yelled louder and demanded more, while Sam was easy going and mild mannered. He was the peacemaker.  As an adolescent, Sam became involved with a peer group who was experimenting with drugs. At first we all denied it vigorously, especially my husband. Our entire family seemed to focus on erratic behavior and drugs. We all learned to walk on eggshells. This period was horribly difficult for me because I was an adolescent substance abuse counselor. As I was facilitating a group my son was out smoking pot. I was the mental health specialist!  Our family began to crumble, fights erupted between my husband and myself, and his sisters were afraid of him. As parents, we had been very particular in providing our children with the 'right' schools (private), the 'right' neighborhood (upper middle class), the 'right' friends (we Knew the parents) and the 'right' family (we prayed together to stay together!). Our children were our life. We belonged to the scouts, little league, went to Disney Land, the whole American Dream. I read all the books on effective parenting and listened to all the motivational tapes on Corrective discipline while maintaining a loving relationship.  Nothing prepared me for nailing a window shut to keep a child from roaming the streets at night! Blame came quickly to ourselves and to each other. I began to doubt my ability to parent as well as to work. My husband could accept no responsibility and assured me it was most definitely all my fault. Our girls felt guilty because they felt they had been unfair to Sam. It became a blame game. I began to imagine that I had caused all this. IF I had remembered to tuck him in that night he cried. IF I had paid more attention to him. IF I had hugged him more IF>>IF>>IF it went on and on .We blamed everybody but Sam or drugs. It was total insanity.  Sam was murdered on August 3rd over (the police think) a drug deal gone bad. The police think he was given some money as a middle person and couldn't get the promised drug. Unsolved crimes are a mere guessing game as to the true facts of what really happened. I have dreamed of different scenarios and reasons. Paranoia has become a family trait. The only indisputable fact remaining is that my son was murdered.  The FBI profile tells us it was an act of rage and could have likely been a woman. He was stabbed 26 times and left under a holly bush. Sam was a non- violent person and true to character he did not fight back to defend himself. He had numerous nicks and cuts on his forearms as if he threw his arms up to fend off the attacker. This would also support the FBI theory of a woman attacker, due to his respectfulness of women.  The last words spoken to me and his dad were "I Love You". He had been to see his dad, who was taking chemotherapy, just a few hours before he was killed. The call came just before the eleven o'clock news that my son had been murdered.  As we rushed to the scene I kept hearing a voice in my head repeating " Don't cry mama. Please don't cry. Mama you will make me cry. Please don't cry"..." Mama, I'm sorry". To this day, those words echo in my mind, his voice, his pleads, his remorse, his efforts to comfort me as I felt his arms wrap around me.  As I stood before my sons body, I fought the TV cameras away as I begged them "Please God don't let my mother see this on the news. Please have mercy!" I was lead to a police car and told to stay there as I was causing too much commotion. I sat in that police car for 3 hours watching my son's body as they prepared the crime scene ID and waited for the coroner.  The voice came back... " Forgive them mama for they know not what they have done"..." I'm OK, mama." " Please don't cry, I love you". For 3 hours I talked with my son as we comforted each other. The bond between a parent and child does not end in death. The child is born in the soul where he remains for eternity. Nothing can break that bond, not even death.  The next few months were like a dream. Police interviews, TV interviews, newspaper interviews, police reenactments, FBI profiles and Crimestoppers. Despite a huge reward, psychics and a private investigator, no leads turned up. Not one single person called with a lead, which led the FBI to conclude it was a single attacker. No forcible entry led them also to conclude that Sam knew his attacker well. Our family lost faith in the justice system and we each retreated to our individual secret places to grieve.  Christmas came and was bleak and depressing. As I decorated my living room tree with angels and guitars for Sam I felt a warm kiss. Suddenly a cool breeze came by, then a warm brush against my cheek, like a breath, ever so gently then the voice came again. " Don't cry mama, I'm OK now... please don't cry anymore." I knew at that moment, he was with me. The kiss on the cheek was to reassure me he would never be far away.