When I was 8 years old, our neighbor shot and killed her 10-year-old son. Adam lived across the street from me. He went to a different school, but we played together with the kids on our block. I had a little crush on him and thought he was cute in his Boy Scouts uniform. His mother had shown signs of depression, was separating from her husband and thought Adam would be better off dead than living with his father. In my mind’s eye, he is walking home from school in his blue uniform, blond and smiling. I would like to honor his young soul, stuck at age 10 forever, and would also like to honor his sister, who grew up into a strong and compassionate woman.