"I needed to find my way." - Louise Williams

My son was an artist and had a degree in visual communications. He was very much a homebody. He never missed coming home for dinner on Sundays; we had a very close relationship. He was planning to go back to school and was driving a cab as a kind of stop-off. At 4:00 on an afternoon in October, 1994, he picked up two young men, 14 and 17 years old, at the train station. When they got in the car, they said, "This is a stickup." He got out of the car and turned his back, and they shot him.

In the beginning, I didn't want to live, but then I got to the place where I felt, "I have to go on with my life. I have my other children, and I have to help them get through this, too." My grandson was killed three months before, shot in the head in a drive-by shooting! He was killed in July, and I was trying to help my other son through this. He was a single parent because my grandson's mother had passed away. Then my son was killed in October. The very same chaplain that met me at the hospital when my grandson was shot was the chaplain that met me when my son was shot. She could never get over that and neither could I.

I remember thinking right away, "I don't know why this happened, but it's happening, and I've got to find a way to live with it." I understood that no matter what happens, God was there with me. I really did some earnest praying, asking God to help me. If I wouldn't have been strong in my faith, I probably could have lost my mind.

Sometimes it was kind of scaring me that I wasn't angry. I was angry to an extent, but I never felt rage. I feel strongly that if I take on anger, it will overpower my ability to go on and to put my pieces together for me and my family. That's more important than being angry.

You have to choose what you're going to allow to bother you, because otherwise you can't get from point A to point B. So I concentrated on surviving and helping my family through, and these experiences pulled my family very close. We always had family time, but now we have family time together every Sunday. We all try to keep in very close contact.

I'm a district justice and had just been sworn in for another term. I made the decision that I was going to complete my term because that's what I needed and what my son would have wanted me to do. I did take a leave of absence for about six months. My counselor said, "Life is like riding a train. Every now and then it's okay to get off and plot your way." That's the way I was feeling. I just needed to get off for awhile and find my way.

The offender who shot my son got a life sentence. I felt the system worked and justice was given, but there's still loss on each side. It's unfortunate because two lives were taken-the life of the 14-year-old who shot my son, and my son's life.

I haven't really put into words that I have forgiven them, but it is in my mind that I need to work on that. I can't say it's a heavy burden, but I think when I can say freely that I've forgiven them, then I'm there. I don't know whether to use the word "healing," but maybe it is the proper word in that respect, when I can actually say I forgave them for what they did. I've never really said that.

To some extent I feel sorry for them. It must be a horrible thing for the 14-year-old, to be in prison for the rest of his life. But I feel more anger toward his mother than toward him. Somebody that's 14 years old and had no remorse whatsoever must not have had any love at all. At least I can say, "I have some very good memories of my son." He never harmed anybody that I know of; he was a good person. And I know that he knew what love was because I truly loved him and he truly loved me; we both knew that. My son knew the love of a family.

I'll never forget a friend of mine who's a priest. He came when my son was killed and we talked. I told him my parents died 37 days apart, very suddenly, at the same age I am now. He said, "Louise, this is your psalm: You are a survivor and because you are, you're going to get through this." I think about that a lot.

I think I'm healing, that I'm just about there. I don't think I'll ever be healed to the point that it's not part of my life every day, but I can function.

I view life as taking a trip on a train. You have to get off sometimes and look around. Then you get back on and keep traveling. You have to go on. You can't stop the journey until it's time for the journey to stop.