Everyone has a story. Mine, sadly, is intricately woven with the tragic loss of my older brother Eric to suicide. At 29, he decided to take his own life after finally revealing to family that he’d been sexually abused by the parish priest at the tender age of 12. The mental torment was just too much. While our family was forever changed by this devastating event, we’ve also remained incredibly close, and share a bond that only tragedy can forge. In July 2012, I began unpacking Eric’s Story on my blog, and received so much support, that I’ve decided to somehow put all of these stories together in book form. Someday. Somehow. Below you’ll find the series of posts in the order they were written. I will probably write more, but only when the words and emotions well up so high in my heart and mind that I must let them spill out over the keyboard.
This little pansy caught my eye in the flower bed last week. An early sign of spring on a frigid February day. Bloom where you are planted, indeed. Whenever you’re freaking ready.
I could pretend that I’m writing this to lift the spirits of a dear friend who’s going through a dark season, but here’s the truth; this is for me, but not only me. Maybe it’s for you. Or your dear friend.
See, I’ve been at this writing thing for a long time. 15 years professionally (18 if you count my internships in college), and 31 years if you count my crayon-scribbled masterpieces as a young child. I’ve always, always wanted to be a writer. And now I am. Not many people can say that they’re living their childhood career dream. I can, and I’m grateful. Not many …