Fountain of sorrow For Albert and Eileen DiBonaventura, bitter pills don’t ease the pain BY BOB GULLA

While legislators and lawyers play their galling games of cat and mouse, the families of the 100 victims of the Station Fire go about the intensely painful process of grieving.

"I feel as bad now as I did this time last year," says Eileen DiBonaventura, mother of Albert DiBonaventura, an only child, and a kid who will now forever be 18 years old. "I’m broken-hearted. I have an overwhelming feeling of loss, and I miss him so much every day. I miss his voice. I’m sitting in his music room right now, in front of his computer, looking at his guitars."

Al’s room is just the way it was the night he left to go to the Great White show last February 20. He was a promising musician who had planned to go to school in Los Angeles to further his studies in art. "That kid really loved the guitar," says his father, Albert. "He may not have become a star, who knows, but when he did something he did it right. He practiced ’til 2 o’clock in the morning sometimes, constantly playing that guitar and writing music. He was a real perfectionist and had grown up to become a man."

Since their unspeakable nightmare of a year ago, Albert and Eileen have spent much of their time watching the absurdist legal drama surrounding the fire unfold. "We’ve been very upset and frustrated over the past year at the turn of events," says Eileen. "We waited for nine months for something to happen, and in the end there were too few indictments. Let’s be honest. The inspectors should have been indicted. Had they done their jobs, the foam would have been removed from the club and Al and the others would have had a chance to get out."

Indeed, the DiBonaventuras, like many of the victims’ families, have grown disgusted with the way West Warwick town officials have been untouched by the law, and still remain at their jobs. "If people aren’t accountable and everyone gets away with it, what kind of message does this send?" asks Eileen rhetorically. "One told me, ‘If we held the businesses to these safety standards, they’d close down. What do you think that would do to tourism to see all those businesses closed down?’ They didn’t have any perspective. It seems many have no sympathy for the victims and the survivors. All they seem to care about is business."

Last week, the DiBonaventuras went to a hearing where they were herded into a room with other families, where they waited for two hours while the lawyers of the various defendants negotiated amongst themselves. "Finally," says Eileen, "one lawyer emerged and said, ‘Some accidents don’t require criminal consequences.’ That was a slap in the face! Can you imagine saying something like that to us? At that point I was so upset I was shaking."

In an attempt to get some answers, or at least a little understanding, the family has written to Attorney General Patrick Lynch, Governor Don Carcieri, and town representatives, and recently sent a letter to the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms. "We owe it to our son," says Eileen, "because it’s so unfair that he was cheated out of his life."

And so it’s been for the DiBonaventuras and so many others: a load of backbreaking grief punctuated by periods of bitterness and frustration. In fact, there’s been little reason for hope other than the loving support of family — without which "they wouldn’t know what to do" — and the prospect of "seeing Albert again" in the hereafter.

While the couple waits for answers, they lean on their faith and their family to get through the emotional exhaustion of each day. They also make daily visits to Al’s grave. "You should see it," says Albert, a finish-work carpenter who appreciates aesthetics. "It’s a really beautiful stone. It’s black African marble with a beautiful picture etched on it. We reseeded the grass and planted some shrubs on each side. We’ve got three spaces there, so when it’s time we’ll go next to him."