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            I remember the day my uncle died like it was yesterday. It was July 14^th, 1999; a very windy, sunny summer day. It was around 4:30 in the evening and my brother, Benjamin, and I had just gotten back from a long bike ride. My dad was in the kitchen making macaroni and cheese, my favorite at the time, and watching the news on the television. The reporter was talking about how the crane, Big Blue, that was helping build the new Brewer’s baseball stadium, Miller Park, had collapsed due to the wind.

About ten minutes later, my mom was at the door in her waitress uniform crying her eyes out. Her friend Diane was with her and her other friend Pete was in the van and had driven her home.

“Jeff was killed,” my mom exclaimed through her sobs. “He’s gone!”

She was referring to my uncle. However, I didn’t really have a reaction. I had never really known my uncle. He and my parents had had an argument and had never reconciled, so our family hadn’t been in touch with my uncle in a little over 5 years.

“No…NO! There has to be some type of mistake,” I said to my mom. My little brother started to cry. My mom just shook her head.

“He’s gone; he’s gone!” my mom moaned again.

“Thank you for bringing her home, Diane,” my dad said, while ushering my mom into the house.

            “You’re welcome,” Diane replied, giving my mom one last supportive hug. Once my mom was in the house and Pete and Diane had left, I started to cry. Though I vaguely remembered my uncle, it was still a terrible loss; so I cried too. At only seven years old, I still couldn’t comprehend what was going on.

            “How can he be gone?” my mom said, more to herself rather than to us. “I never got the chance to say sorry.” After this, the four of us cried together. Then, we got in the car and my dad drove us to my grandparents’ house in New Berlin. I cried the whole way there. Once we got there, we were greeted by the sobbing family on my mom’s side. I’d never seen so much crying. My cousins Shawna, Zach and R.J. were devastated by the loss of their father. My grandparents’ were crushed by the loss of their son. My mom, my uncle Dale and my aunt Terri still couldn’t believe their brother was gone.

            The funeral was later in the month. My uncle was the only one of the three men that had been killed that could have an open casket funeral. Many people came and gave our family their condolences. I wasn’t there during the burial. My cousins, Ronnie and Jenni, my brother and I stayed with my mom’s good friend, Heidi. She let us play, and cry and she did my hair and Jenni’s to make us feel better.

            Then the trial started. It was the three widows, my Aunt Trish included, against the Mitsubishi Company and only then did my family find out just what happened that day on the job site…

            My uncle was the foreman, or the boss, of the job. They were putting the iron on for the movable roof. He, Jerry Starr, the safety steward, and Bill DeGrave, the foreman of the men working on the iron roof itself, were debating with Victor Grotlich, who in turn worked for Mitsubishi, on whether or not it was too windy to put up the vivid colored crane. Eventually, the four men came to an agreement; my uncle, Jerry and Bill would go up in the man basket of the enormous crane and they would determine whether it was too windy or not.

            In the next four minutes, the wind thrashed the man basket around and threw the three men out of it. All three men died. My uncle fell over 200 feet and every bone in his body was broken with the exception of his left arm.

            The trial went on for a couple of months and the widows were awarded ninety-nine million dollars to split three ways. However, after each widow had only four million, the trial was brought back to court and the ruling was overturned. The case went to Wisconsin Supreme Court where, again, the ruling was overturned.

            I learned three valuable lessons throughout this experience: money doesn’t buy happiness and it definitely doesn’t replace a lost loved one, don’t hold a grudge because you never know what tomorrow will bring and it’s NEVER too late to say sorry even if the person can’t respond to your apology.