There are days when Peter Dickinson, in that nonchalant way of 5-year-old boys everywhere, looks up at the clouds and points to the blue patches between them. "There are souls up there," he tells his mom and dad. "My brother is up there. In heaven."
That's all he really needs to know about anything to do with the earthquake, his parents say with a sigh.
Peety, as his parents call him, never knew his brother, Scotty. Or just how the baby died in their mother's arms in the Marina District earthquake wreckage that day 10 long years ago.
Knowing his soul is somewhere overhead, happy and safe, is enough for him.
Just like the thought of that tiny soul above, plus the reality of another dear one alive here on Earth, is enough, too, for Carol Dickinson.
Her love for them is a big reason she has been able to carry on since the horrific moment on Oct. 17, 1989, when her life both shattered and started all over again.
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