THERE’S the photo of my family at the far end of the racetrack apron, on a green wooden park bench on a sunny August afternoon. My brother, Joey, clenched a $2 win ticket in his hands. My sister, Sheila, in a hand-sewn sun dress, wanted to be anywhere else. My oldest sister, Michele, hovered next to me, her hand outstretched, making sure I didn’t fall off the bench while I looked through Dad’s binoculars, backward, of course. In the background of the Kodak print, Secretariat cantered to the start for the Whitney Stakes.

A few minutes later, Secretariat lost. A few months later, we lost Michele.