On July 7, 1981 like a typical teenager, I was sun bathing at the local public pool, Highland Park in Endwell, New York when I heard my younger sister, Chris screaming, "Uncle Tony is dead!" I was fourteen at the time. I was startled and confused and tried to reassure her everything would be okay. I thought, "How can that be he is only thirty-three?"
Carol Stiers-Zito was the center of the universe; at least she was to me. My wife's sudden and unexpected death left a devastating void in my life and the life of our daughter. The last seven years have been an obstacle course of grief, second guessing and self-doubt intertwined with a constant search to extract something positive or affirming from the tragedy