On the fourth Tuesday of every month, in a windowless conference room at Lawrence & Memorial Hospital, you can find ground zero for grief over some of the region's most recent violent crimes.

Sitting around the four sides of a square table are people who have lost loved ones to an assortment of killings, usually shootings or stabbings, some of them drug-related and most all of them completely unexpected, as life changing for survivors as they were life ending for the victims.

They include a mother whose son-in-law is accused of shooting to death her son, a father whose son was stabbed to death in an argument, the close friend of a woman killed by a stalker, the father and stepfather of two young men gunned down in their Groton apartment, and others.

There were nine survivors at last month's meeting, one of four support groups around the state, including a new one in Hartford, run by the nonprofit Survivors of Homicide Inc., an association funded with private contributions and federal and state grants.

There's no meeting agenda. No one is called upon, but most everyone speaks up at some point during a conversation that rambles from whether following the court case of the person who killed your loved one can bring any satisfaction to the pain many still feel when someone politely asks how they're doing.

There is a lot of nodding of heads and quite a few red eyes around the table as each person takes a turn at describing some of what they've been through lately.

The men and women around the table are different ages, different races and from very diverse backgrounds, but they all have one thing in common.

Chester Fairlie, a New London attorney who is on the board of S.O.H and helps to facilitate the New London meetings, observed that these are people who never had a chance to say goodbye to someone they loved.

”You try to rebuild your life on a scorched landscape. You can feel so completely alone,” said David Sunshine, whose close friend was killed by someone who had already served time for another violent crime. Sunshine has advocated in Hartford, so far unsuccessfully, for a violent crime offenders list, on the model of the sex offenders registry.

”There's no more life the way it was,” Sunshine told the others, as more heads around the table nodded. “You just do the best you can with what's left.”

For Suzette Jones, whose 24-year-old son, Vincent, was killed by a gunshot wound to the head last year, doing the best you can means following the pending court case of Johnny Joyner, her daughter's estranged husband, who has been charged in the death of his brother-in-law.

There's been testimony that Joyner was high on PCP the night Jones was killed.

Suzette Jones makes regular trips to Superior Court where she even brought a handful of pictures of her deceased son to be put in the official file.

”When you open it in court you'll know it's a person, a life, not a number,” she said.

Jones has also been writing regularly to Joyner in prison, suggesting even that she is ready to forgive him. The latest letter, still in her purse at the survivors meeting, ends with “God be with you.”

Still, Jones tells the others she can relate to the frustrations they feel when friends tell them they know what they're going through.

”They don't know what it's like, that the pain is so intense that you can't sleep, eat, work or do anything,” she said.

Naim Umrani, whose son, Muhanned, was stabbed to death a year ago, said he went closely through the autopsy report with a doctor and reviewed the photographs, to better understand what happened to his son.

He said he feels comforted knowing that his son did not likely suffer long. But he said his mourning is far from over, something some people don't seem to understand.

”I didn't want it to take over my life, but it has . . . When they murder your loved one they murder you,” Umrani said, adding that his outlook on life has also changed.

”I don't dislike people anymore. I don't have the energy for it,” he said. “Losing my son helped me see the beauty in life.”

A first timer to the group, whose son was killed recently, suggested no plans to follow the court case.

”I don't want my love to turn into anger, hatred and resentment,” the parent said.

Others say they have found solace in trying to help others.

Brian Giesing, whose son and stepson were murdered in Groton in May 2006, last year also lost his wife, who had been active with him in advocating for tougher gun laws.

“If I could save one person from having to sit in this room,” he said, “it would have all been worthwhile.”

And yet, for now, sadly, new people keep joining the group.

”When I was a little girl you didn't hear about people being murdered,” Jones said. “It's getting worse and worse.”

This Is The Opinion Of David Collins.

Article UID=e54426ee-e6df-403f-9c70-608781e4f72b