(1/11) “I wasn’t going to do a half-ass ceremony. You know: drive-by, no hugging, ten feet apart kinda thing. Not for my sister. Even if that meant waiting until this COVID bullshit was solid. I chose the anniversary of her death: August 29th. There had been so much love..."
(2/11) “I still have the stub for the first Knicks game I ever went to. I was ten years old. We blew out the Miami Heat that night, and I was hooked. I decided then that I was going to be the biggest Knicks fan in the entire world. Not the second biggest. The biggest..."
(3/11) “Gianna was born August 16th, 1999. My mom sobered up and moved into an apartment down the street. Oh My God, it was incredible. She’s coming to my basketball games and cross country meets. My friends thought she was so cool..."
(4/11) “There was a two year stretch where we didn’t even see our mom. Of course it hurt. But we just kept on livin’. There was always something to look forward to: when’s the next Knicks game, when’s the draft, when’s free agency. For G it was when’s the next dinner..."
(5/11) “That was the day my life changed forever. They did the brain test. And it came back brain cancer. Fucking brain cancer. My ten-year old sister. It didn’t seem real. Nothing seemed real. Suddenly my life became the worst movie ever. They checked G into the hospital..."
(6/11) “One night before she got sick I took G to see the Jonas Brothers at The Garden. We had last row seats. But it didn’t matter. I was going to every single Knicks game by then, so I had mad connections. We ended up watching the whole show by the stage. Next to us..."
(7/11) “Every morning G and I played ‘Time after Time’ while she cooked us breakfast. That was our song. I have the lyrics tattooed on my arm. Because that’s what G and I did-- we caught each other, time after time. She did the cooking and laundry. I drove uber ten hours a day.."
(8/11) “A few days after the surgery G started talking. The whole left side of her body was paralyzed, but she was talking. And I’m pretty sure that’s the first time I ever cried in front of her. The doctors did an MRI on her brain to see if the cancer was back..."
(9/11) “Our mother came to the hospital maybe twice. I was getting on her, hard. I’d say: ‘You need to fucking be with her. I’ll pay for the uber. Just go.’ But she had no clue. She kept saying: ‘Calm down, Anthony. She’s going to be fine.’ It’s like: ‘No she’s fucking not'..."
(10/11) “We made it until her birthday. And that was a big deal. G never said it, but getting there was a big deal. This kid had looked death in the eye at the age of ten. She should have been gone. But she became an adult. And maybe that was our gift. Maybe the whole time..."
(11/11) “She’s in my dreams six nights a week. Usually we’re just chilling: in the car, or watching tv on the couch. I’ll be like: ‘What’s up G?’ And she’ll be like: ‘What’s up Ant?’ Afterwards I’ll wake up, and lie in bed for a bit. Not believing that I just woke up..."
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(1/12) “We were summoned to the house of my girlfriend to discuss the situation. The atmosphere was very tense. Her family on one side of the living room. Mine on the other. Her grandfather was the first to speak: ‘You should be ashamed,’ he told me. ‘For what you’ve done..."
(2/12) “My daughter was born three weeks early. I wasn’t there for the birth; I was working in another town. And that still hurts me today. When I arrived at the hospital I was almost too scared to hold her. She looked so fragile. And all I could think was..."
(3/12) “I sold all my possessions. I even let go of my apartment. But still it was not enough for a camera. So I turned to my mother for help. She sold second-hand clothes for a living. She knew nothing about photography. But when I told her a camera would help me be a father..."
(1/7) “For my eighth birthday I received a Barbie dollhouse that I’d been dreaming about for months. Gene wanted to play with it too—because he loved all things make-believe. But after a few hours he sat down on the dollhouse and crushed it..."
(2/7) “When Gene was in fifth grade, his teacher stood him up in the front of the class. I forget what he did. Maybe he’d forgotten his homework or something. But she stood him up in front of all the other kids, and said..."
(3/7) “I’m old now. I’m fifty. But I remember the conversation like it was yesterday. Gene and I were sitting on the living room couch. Both of us are convinced we’re getting in trouble—so we’re starting to pre-bond. We’re huddled together, we’re holding hands..."
(1/12) “We arrived here with $10,000. By the time we paid for the paperwork, and the lease, there was no money left to open a restaurant. But right away we were given hope—a potential investor. He was a friend of a friend..."
(2/12) “My earliest memories are watching her cook. Our family owned a small grocery—and my mother was the baker. All the time she was in the kitchen, so it was my only way to be near her. I would sit by her feet..."
(3/12) “At the discotheque we struck up a conversation with two guys. They claimed to be brothers, but I thought they were playing a prank. Because one of them had black hair and the other had red..."
(1/11) “There is a moment I’ll never forget. My mother was teaching a class at our home, and my father hit her in front of the students. It was humiliating..."
(2/11) “Suddenly the science and literature books disappeared from our home. They were replaced by Islamic books, all of which were written by men. The rules were tightened..."
(3/11) “After high school I enrolled at a local boy’s college. I was one of fifteen girls at the entire school. And even though my grades were nothing special, I was very involved in student organizations..."
(1/7) “Sometimes I’ll visit mediums. And almost always, the first thing they say is: ‘There’s a man here with long, gray hair.’ And I’ll smile. Because his hair was the first thing I noticed about him..."
(2/7) “That night my parents drove up from Baton Rouge to bring me home, but Mickey talked them out of it. He knew that my parents were one of the reasons for my depression..."
(3/7) “Michael was the love of Mickey’s life. And it could sometimes feel like he was still living in that little apartment with us, even though he’d been gone for two years..."
(1/8) “Everyone I tell is like holy fucking shit. Because there’s an insane psychic angle to all of this. And I’m not a supernatural freak or anything..."
(2/8) “My mom taught me to roll a joint when I was ten years old. Which is super fucked up, I know. But I’m only saying that so you’ll understand she’s a huge hippie freak..."
(3/8) “Later that night Vicky and I go to see a play at the Irish Theater, and right away I’m in love. But I’m too scared to tell her that. So we end up becoming best friends-- no benefits..."