"Some day," Judy says, "I'd like to meet him. Just not yet. I'm afraid. I want to know he's doing fine. It's just going to be hard."
Chuck's suspected killer is found a week later in a Miami homeless shelter. He is John Lewis, a 21-year-old Olney High School dropout. The kind of screwed-up kid Chuck might have tried to turn around, given the chance.
Nearly two years later, at Cardinal Dougherty High School, a plaque is dedicated to Chuck. The student body president says, "Mrs. Cassidy, please know how much your strength and dedication to your family have inspired the students."
But at times, Judy doesn't feel very strong.
Chuck was 54. He was planning on working seven more years. Then maybe they'd move to the suburbs.
There are days, weeks now, when she doesn't feel like getting out of bed.
"The hardest thing," she has said, "is watching your kids hurt. They're quiet. No one wants to set off the others."
The family has had birthdays, an anniversary, and two Christmases without him. Chuck's absence is a constant presence: at Thanksgiving, when they staked out the same patch of sidewalk where they always watched the parade. At Sunday dinners, when he and his brother-in-law used to do the dishes.
But people are so kind. Judy goes down into the basement. When they had parties, Chuck used to hold court here. "They called him 'One More Drink Chuck' because he was always talking you into one more before he'd let you leave."
There's barely room to stand. Back by the washing machine are boxes filled with memorial stuff. Portraits of Chuck in pastels, paint, stained glass. Banners drawn by schoolchildren. Judy plans to redo the basement, maybe build an addition to make room for all of it, properly displayed.
The gifts from strangers continue to arrive.
And she's still hearing stories. About men Chuck arrested, then helped to get jobs. Troubled young men who credit him with turning their lives around.
A few of them showed up at his viewing and the memorials that have followed.
Chuck's death "seems like a nightmare," Judy says, crying. "He went to work, that's it. He just went to work."
She feels lucky to have her children, her family and friends. "I just wish I could go back to my old life. . . . We're broken and we can't be fixed."
To see video interviews with relatives, visit the scenes of the tragedies through 360-degree photographs, and read previous news articles about the fallen officers, go to http://go.philly.com/mourning
Contact staff writer Melissa Dribben
at 215-854-2590 or mdribben@phillynews.com.
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