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A U R O R A

What is the definition of loss and suffering to people like us?

A few weeks ago, my misery had peaked to a primed spot. I had mourned, raged and cried over the loss of a man whom I loved, marinated in grief and wallowed in self-pity. There were so many stages of my suffering that I had believed it to be real, but the one unfolding before my eyes transcended all the other horizons of loss and suffering.

Before me, there were two parents, howling over their son’s body. Mrs. Romano cupped his boy’s face as if she were trying to coax him into waking up while Alessandro Romano, the man known to be invincible to Chicago, were bested down by Stefan’s death. He stood stoically, but it was his red, void eyes that spoke volumes.

The sight was harrowing.

I did not even have the strength to reach out to Sammy. She could barely stand or even breathe in the wake of her loss. Stefan was everything to her, to this family. The youngest, spoiled and beloved.

She shook violently, cryi