I decided to eat lunch in the teacher’s office, surf the net and try to find some stories or testimonials that didn’t feel like your death was a tragic end to a failed comeback attempt or the hardly gratifying just desserts of a publicly convicted child molester who’d escaped justice a la Orenthal James (at least he had until recently.) I found a number of stories from people who felt as I do and that uplifted my spirits a bit. While the mass media seemed to be mourning the loss of one of their slabs of red meat, one they relished in gnawing on at every opportunity, sucking the marrow out of your bones, the public at-large, at least from what I’d scanned, seemed to be truly shocked and grief-stricken, liked they’d been hoping and praying, as I had, that you would have lived long enough to be vindicated of this stigmata.