These parents had lost a child, and the look of grief on their faces is something I will take to my grave. To make matters worse, it was being treated as a crime scene, so we couldn’t let them disturb the body. I think it might have made things easier if the parents had taken some of their anger out on us, but they were as polite and accommodating as they could be. They both spoke softly of their son. He was in all respects an average American boy. He idolized Shaq, loved hip-hop, played sports, and enjoyed school. The parents told me how they had fled their native country in Africa and hoped to make a better life for their son, their only child. They dreamed of buying a house and getting him out of the ghetto. The fact that this was never going to happen was just heartbreaking. I tried to provide what comfort I could. I let them reminisce and told them how sorry I was. At one point, the mother looked at me, and the pain in her eyes was staggering. She said, “He was just such a good boy and I loved him so much.”