Those who stayed in blue-collar, ethnic, Roman Catholic Jersey City, New Jersey never knew what happened to those of us who left. Sure, I would return for funerals. The last one I would attend was in 2001 when my older sister Camille Genova Klinga died. She had remained, at least in spirit, in nearby in working-class Edison, New Jersey. At every one of those funerals I got in and out. I grieved back in my other worlds. And when you flee your beginnings, you sure do wind up in many strange lands. This time I couldn't get in and out. The death of a sibling is a unique experience: The parallel past we shared went with her. I was thrown off my game, every piece of it but especially the running.