“A place that was once part of my family’s peaceful birthday tradition is now permanently connected to a tragedy that happened on the very day I was born.”
By PETE VITELLO | Biddeford
July 13 has always been my birthday, but over the years, it became something much bigger than just another day on the calendar.
Every year, my family and I had a quiet little tradition. We would wake up, grab some breakfast, order some food from a local spot, and spend a few peaceful hours together sitting on the grass at Mechanics Park in Biddeford. Nothing extravagant. Just family, food, conversation, and a little time together.
. . .
Then came the tragic shooting on July 13.
I feel deeply for the person who lost their life, for their family, and for everyone affected by what happened. I understand why that place became a symbol of grief, protest, and remembrance. I don’t want to take anything away from that.
But there is also a strange kind of grief that I carry personally.
A place that was once part of my family’s peaceful birthday tradition is now permanently connected to a tragedy that happened on the very day I was born. The morning tradition we had for years was interrupted, and July 13 now carries a weight that it never carried before.
A place that was once part
of my family’s peaceful birthday
tradition is now permanently
connected to a tragedy that
happened on the very day I was born.
I don’t want my birthday to be defined by tragedy.
I don’t want to erase what happened. I don’t want to disrespect anyone’s pain. And I certainly don’t want to turn something so serious into something about me.
But I do believe that we can acknowledge tragedy while still making room for something positive to grow from it.
Maybe someday, my family can sit on that grass again on July 13—not to ignore what happened, but to remind ourselves that life continues, families still gather, and a place associated with pain can eventually hold moments of peace again.
I want to reclaim my birthday—not by forgetting, but by adding something good to the story.
For me, July 13 will always be a day of life.
And I hope that, with enough time, love, and healing, it can be remembered as something more than the worst thing that ever happened on that date.
. . .
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