On a sunny Saturday morning last March, a Saturday not much different than any other, 73-year-old Ray Casso ran to the post office to get the mail. He never came home.

At the same time Casso was picking up his mail, Shannon Bradley Moore, a 37-year-old Concord man with a history of mental illness, was at the counter trying to convince postal worker Tony Oliver to exchange some outdated postage stamps for cash. It was against regulations and Oliver suggested to Moore that he look for a collector on the Internet that would buy the stamps.

Oliver said Moore gave him a “weird look” and walked away. Seconds later, Casso was on the floor in front of his mailbox, bleeding from stab wounds, and Oliver was chasing Moore down Center Street into Ed’s Mudville Grill where several off-duty cops were having lunch. They stopped Moore and held him until Clayton police arrived. Moore was arrested and charged with murder.

That day, Jo Ann Casso began her life as a widow. Her family was forever changed, and a small town was knocked to its knees by a random, senseless act of violence.

The struggle continues.

One year later, Moore sits in limbo in the county jail while the Casso family struggles with questions that will never have answers and Oliver fights demons that won’t be quieted. “Nothing prepared me for what happened that day,” says Oliver. “Not even nine years as a cop in Hawaii.”

Oliver is sleeping a little better these days, but it has been a long year – one of angst, depression, high blood pressure and other stress-related health problems.

He is still plagued by self-doubt and questions his split-second decision that day. “Should I have chased Moore or stayed with Ray?” he asks.

It doesn’t matter that the community honors him as a hero and everyone tells him he made the best decision he could. The tape continually plays – should, would, could.

Oliver knew Ray Casso for more than 20 years. “I think about Jo Ann all the time,” he says, his voice barely audible.

Frustrating legal process.

In December, a judge declared Moore incompetent to stand trial and ordered him to Napa State Hospital for treatment. There, doctors could force him to take the medications that he has reportedly been refusing.

On Feb. 4, at what was supposed to be a hearing to review Moore’s treatment progress, Jo Ann Casso, daughter Robin, son-in-law Tim, grandson Nick and youngest son Rick sat quietly in a courtroom in Martinez waiting for word that the case was moving closer to a trial. Another son, Ray Jr., lives in Southern California and was not at the hearing.

Moore appeared almost unnoticed amid the buzz of administrative chatter in the courtroom. He stood at the window of the small holding room at the front of the courtroom, across from the judge. With full beard and long hair, he looked disheveled and unkempt.

This was in stark contrast to the clean-shaven, animated man Jo Ann had seen at the December hearing. Then, he sought out and made chilling eye contact with each family member. This day he was subdued and quiet, staring straight ahead at the floor, “zombie-like,” Rick says.

Within minutes, the hearing was over – frustrating and fruitless. Moore was still at the county jail, where he was reportedly refusing to take his medications. The order sending him to Napa in December appeared to have fallen through the cracks and the case was no closer to trial.

Another hearing was set for March 8 – one year and one day after Ray Casso died and three days after what would have been his 74th birthday.

“Be prepared,” warned prosecuting attorney Mark Peterson. “The system is imperfect. It could take years for this case to conclude.”

The family will see the process through, says Jo Ann, who plans to attend every hearing. “It’s not OK that my husband died. I don’t want this to just go away.”

Learning to cope.

At breakfast following the hearing, the family recalled the husband, father, father-in-law and grandfather who had been at the center of their world. They spoke of a year of horror, anger, shock and unspeakable grief. A year of coping and healing. They laughed at some old jokes and scrambled for a foothold in new celebrations and traditions.

“We go to the cemetery sometimes and have a beer with him,” says Tim, who was particularly close to his father-in-law. Tim and Robin have three children, Nick, 20, Shelby, 18, and Samantha, 13.

“The hardest thing is to see my kids in pain and I can’t do anything about it,” Tim notes.

At a private memorial service last year, Tim watched as Samantha peeled the petals, one at a time, off the rose she held. “She was remembering something special with each one,” his says, eyes brimming.

“Maybe we should all go up to Tahoe for Dad’s birthday,” Rick suggests. Jo Ann shakes her head no. “I’m not ready,” she says in a tight voice.

“Ray loved our Tahoe house,” she explains. “It was his dream.” The Tahoe house is gone – another casualty of a hellish year. “She’s the one who matters, now,” Rick says with a nod toward his mother.

Rick is in the Air Force and was stationed with his wife and son in England when his father was killed. After the funeral, he applied for a humanitarian transfer and moved his family back to California.

These days, Jo Ann Casso measures time in memories and special moments – her wedding day, a visit with her sister, a grandchild’s birthday party, a special song, quiet talks with a husband who could always “make me feel better.”

On May 5, she and Ray would have been married 48 years.

At 67, she is petite and extraordinarily attractive. She gets up early every morning, dressing for the day with attention to hair and makeup. She works part time at the Marsh Creek Detention Center. A new miniature Schnauzer puppy keeps her company and she draws strength from family and friends.

“I am heartbroken,” she says, “but I will survive.”

As March 5 approaches, the family heads into year two with resolve.

Although united in grief and loss, they are defined not by an act of horror and violence but by love and courage; the legacy of the man still at the center of their world.