Tied Together By a Tragic Bond

Grief Takes Many Forms

Bill Gaines sometimes wonders if God wants him to be more angry. He said he wept the day after his son died, when Kim told him a new set of golf clubs -- Billy's Father's Day gift to him -- awaited back home. Then he decided he needed to find meaning in Billy's death. He asked himself: "What's the point of all this? What's the purpose?"

Anger, he reasoned, would only hinder him. He created a Web site in tribute. He steeled himself for planning Billy's funeral and for the legal fight with Krawczyk and the Roman Catholic Diocese of Pittsburgh ahead. He stopped asking why his son had died; he believes he'll learn the answer when he dies.

He read spiritual books and the Bible and found peace immediately, confident that Billy was in heaven, safe and happy. He felt such a connection with one verse -- 1 Corinthians 2:9 -- that he had it carved on Billy's headstone: "No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him."

Kim grieved with none of the peace Bill discovered. Augustine would come over to the house and she and Kim would escape to the garage and write in their journals. For months, Kim stopped attending church. She never looked at the Web site Bill created, and she still looks away from the pictures of Billy she knows will make her cry. Many couples who lose a child divorce, but Kim relied on Bill's strength.

In 2006, the family won a financial settlement in its lawsuit against the diocese and Krawczyk; the family declined to disclose the amount it received. In 2005, Krawczyk pleaded guilty to involuntary manslaughter, reckless endangerment and furnishing alcohol to minors and was sentenced to seven years' probation.

Nick rarely spoke of Billy's death. He refused when his parents asked him to do chores or clean his room. He went from being carefree to indifferent. "He was not an angry little boy," Kim said. "He was not angry until Billy died."

Nick began drinking, his parents said, to further suppress Billy's death. His first fight came during his first week of high school, after he overheard a remark about Billy.

"I had more hate in my heart," Nick said. "I just wanted to hit people."

At other times, friends describe Nick as being "goofy," someone who performed an impromptu version of Michael Jackson's "Thriller" a cappella in front of the whole school during a "Mr. Urbana" talent show.

Nick once had felt intimidated by comparisons to his brother. Now, without realizing it, he imitated Billy. He got the same tattoo Billy wore, barbed wire wrapped over a cross on his biceps. He wore Billy's tennis shoes. He started dressing like Billy -- button-down shirts, white tank tops, cargo pants. He asked for jersey No. 2, Billy's high school number, on the Urbana football team. He would drive by himself to Billy's gravesite and talk to him before big games.

He met Gibbons on her first day at Urbana, when he walked into their Algebra II class and blurted: "Oh, new girl, huh? She's got a nice butt." Gibbons went home that day and told her mother how much she hated one obnoxious boy. She started dating him within a year.

Gibbons had vowed not to let herself like Nick, but he was just so charming: confident and silly at the same time. Nick's popularity ensured he would be invited to every party, so March 9 of his senior year felt mostly routine. That night he couldn't persuade Gibbons to come with him, so he showed up alone.