Every morning, Dian Vayda visits the small memorial in her front yard that is dedicated to her son Jerry. She walks outside, with a cup of coffee and a cigarette, and has a little conversation with her son. Jerry was killed two years ago.
Dian and Bob Vayda glanced toward one another, again and again, looking to crystallize their feelings and confirm facts about their son.
Eye contact, followed by a nod or a few words, did the trick.
There were good things, of course, questions answered about the deep past. How old was Jerry when he began playing hockey?… 3