continued from page 3 (The Death of Superman)

right in my hands, regardless of how poorly I executed my route. I remembered his limitless vocabulary, his smile when he found me doing schoolwork at six in the morning, his chuckle as I attempted the impossible feat of beating him at chess. I remembered watching football all Sunday with him, helping him track his fantasy team. I remembered his calm voice bringing peace to the house when my mom and I would argue, effortlessly making both of us realize our petty stupidity. I remembered his lame jokes and the accustomed response of “No, Dad!” Most of all, I remembered his understanding voice, sage advice, open ears, and how he always treated me as his equal, not only as his son, but also as his friend.

It is with this last memory that the dam that has held back the tears since I saw him drop, convulsing on that Caribbean runway, finally breaks. I stare into the possibility of a future without him, a future where there is no Superman, no one that I know will catch me, regardless of how far or how fast I fall, and all I see is blackness. It is like losing not just a limb, but my conscience and self-confidence as well, all at the same instant. The immensity of the loss defies words. He is my role model, confidante, best friend, father, Superman and St. Peter all in one, and as I watch them roll him into the operating room, knowing that this could be the last time I saw him, I come unglued. I am alone in the Valley of Shadows, and I am very afraid.

Yet, in the midst of my all-consuming self-pity and anguish, there was a light. It was him. I could hear his voice, all of the advice he had given me over the years, every bad joke, every priceless chuckle, and I came to a realization: He will always be with me. Even if He were to die on that unfeeling table, He would live on in me. He had already instilled in me His moral code, His unflinching commitment to doing the right thing, His sense of fairness, His loyalty to those He loves, and His eternally questioning mind. He had taught me by example my entire life, taught me to respect women, taught me to cook, taught me to never settle for less than my best, taught me to be understanding, taught me to throw a spiral, taught me to always push myself, taught me that I can do anything. He made me who I am. Now, nearly two years since that night, a year and a half since he was supposed to have passed, he continues to show me that impossible does not truly exist. I keep pushing myself, determined to be a fitting monument to all he has done for me, treating every day that he greets me smiling as the miracle that it is. Superman may have died, but I am committed to proving myself worthy of wearing the cape.

The Casey family: From left to right: Bill, Will, Sean and Gail.