A well known violinist from Minneapolis, Minnesota; Lana Lombardi, died in a car crash last Tuesday on her way to Orchestra Hall. Lombardi was driving her blue Honda civic to a Christmas concert when she was hit on the driver’s side in an intersection by Bryan James who was driving a black Ford pickup truck. Lombardi was rushed to the hospital with her whole left side crushed. She suffered sever cranial damage, 11 broke ribs, and a punctured lung. She was admitted to the ICU and doctors immediately started surgery. Unfortunately, only an hour into the surgery she died. James was charged with vehicular homicide and DWI is sentenced to 20 years in prison. Lombardi attended the University of Minnesota and majored in music. She gained the title of first violinist in the Minnesota
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Friends, family, and fellow musicians gathered in mourning for her funeral. Her most prized possession, her antique violin named The Mary Portman (1735) was a big part of her life and also attended the funeral. Lana Lombardi will be missed dearly.
I awoke hearing the lock of my room click, the hinges on the door squeaked in protest as I laid still in my velvet bed. I lost track of the days I had spent in this old, dusty room. I stared ahead into the darkness. I could barely see a faded black and white picture of my best friend on the ceiling along with a sticker from the musical group we were in. Lost in my nostalgia I failed to notice the male hand approaching me. I snapped out of my reverie when the cold hand forcefully lifted me from my bed and gripped my throat. My arm was temporarily forgotten, but I didn’t particularly care for that model, it was just a cheap plastic one. At last, the mans face came into view. It was a young man no more than 25 years old. He had a kindly disposition, but his hands were shaky and cold. Longing to finally sing, I did not complain. The hand tightened around my neck and I could feel
Friends, family, and fellow musicians gathered in mourning for her funeral. Her most prized possession, her antique violin named The Mary Portman (1735) was a big part of her life and also attended the funeral. Lana Lombardi will be missed dearly.
I awoke hearing the lock of my room click, the hinges on the door squeaked in protest as I laid still in my velvet bed. I lost track of the days I had spent in this old, dusty room. I stared ahead into the darkness. I could barely see a faded black and white picture of my best friend on the ceiling along with a sticker from the musical group we were in. Lost in my nostalgia I failed to notice the male hand approaching me. I snapped out of my reverie when the cold hand forcefully lifted me from my bed and gripped my throat. My arm was temporarily forgotten, but I didn’t particularly care for that model, it was just a cheap plastic one. At last, the mans face came into view. It was a young man no more than 25 years old. He had a kindly disposition, but his hands were shaky and cold. Longing to finally sing, I did not complain. The hand tightened around my neck and I could feel