My dad. He wasn’t sick; he wasn’t in the wrong place. He didn’t have a dangerous job. He didn’t have an “bad” bone in his body. He was a faithful Catholic. He worked hard. He laughed loud. He smiled big. He forgave. He was a veteran. He was proud. He was strong. He was our lifeline. He was shot and killed at work. Our life stopped. That was 40 years ago. I still cry.