For ten years, when we lived downtown, I would run into the family practically every day. They were outside a lot. The mom was the super for several buildings on the block, including ours. That's how we first got to know them. They knew everyone in the neighborhood, all the ins and outs. They were always ready to help. They always had time for a chat. They helped old people, they took in animals, they finagled apartments for people. They helped us a lot.

They had five children. When we first moved in, the three younger kids were riding their tricycles on the sidewalk. We watched them grow up. We invited them to our wedding. We admired their first grandchild. We moved away. Whenever we came down to the "old neighborhood" we walked the block and often ran into a member of their family. We don't go down there so much anymore. The neighborhood is so hip now and we have settled into family life. We haven't seen our old neighbors in a while, a few years maybe.

I just learnt that their youngest son, now 16, was fatally stabbed. I read it in the paper and it took me a while to put two and two together because he had a different family name. But his sister's somewhat unusual first name was mentioned. I checked Newsday and Daily News online and unfortunately, there is no doubt.

I also learned that the three younger children were adopted. The family adopted them after their mother died in a car accident. This is a family full of love, a hard-working and good family. The boy was a good kid. My heart aches when I think of their pain.

This is the second time in a couple of years that someone we know personally has died through an act of violence. This city can be so hard.  9:53:01 PM