“Crying is how your heart speaks when your lips can’t explain the pain you feel. I LOVE YOU DIMITRI!”
~Annette Perry, mother of Dimitri Perry
Dimitri’s sense of humor and contagious smile would bring any room that was dull to an instant glow.
Growing up with his father and brothers, he loved sports—from basketball to Little League, with football being his favorite. He was known as the unstoppable, left-handed quarterback.
Dimitri would make time to call for his usual check-in, so we could chat before the end of the night. On July 6, 2015, I received a call which would be the last words I would ever hear from my son: “MOM, I LOVE YOU!” as shots rang out from the phone.
I can’t remember Dimitri’s smile because of the echo of those gunshots. I can’t hear, “Mom I love you,” because of the echo of those gunshots. I can’t imagine what it would be like to have a grandchild who has a favorite sport or needs an escort to a father-daughter dance because of the echo of those gunshots. It’s hard to formulate expressions, when all I can recollect is the echo of those gunshots and my son taking his last breath.
Dimitri L. Perry is not a number: He is my son!