The Evolution of Tony

I can't think of a better way to get things rolling than to share a letter I had written to my parents way back in 1996. It was a difficult time in my life, but things were starting to look up. As you read, you will see the name D. That was my brother. D. died at the age of 16 when I was only 11. As you might imagine, that is a pretty difficult thing for anyone, much less a child, to understand. The letter is something I wrote when I was 23 so it was some time later. I was away in college and I have to say that without the support of my wife, Christine ( a girlfriend at the time), I just don't know how I would have made it.

May 4,1996

As you may or may not already know, over the past year or so, I have really been struggling with my religion. Today I feel better, and here's my story of why.

When D. died, I grieved, then, slowly things seemed to get better. As I look back now, I can see that I didn't really question why he died. I just took it as a fact of life. Now I cannot help but wonder why.

It seems now that the only way I knew to get over D. dying was to forget. Now that I have successfully done that, I realize what a huge mistake it was to ever start. For a while, whenever I began to struggle to remember him, all I could remember was the day we buried him. Not the whole day, or even part of it. The only thing I could really remember was the picture of him that rested on the top of his casket.

I cried. I cried until my eyes grew sore and I had to struggle for a gasp of air. Then I cried some more. I still cry, but now it's not because he just died. It's because I can't seem to remember anymore.

Every night I try to light a candle in remembrance of him. Some nights I light just one, other nights I light several. Tonight I lit five for the five years that separate us in age. I have been doing this for a while now. Some nights it helps, other nights it doesn't. On the nights it helps I am grateful. I sit in peace and try to remember some of the times we had together. On the nights it doesn't help I try to find other ways to express and release my frustrations.

A while ago, I began to write poetry. They were beautiful poems, in their own little way, but they were extremely dark. They came straight from my heart to my hand. Sometimes I felt as if I wasn't even thinking of the words, my hands just knew the movements for the pen and paper, and all my emotions came pouring out onto the page. At first I didn't want anyone else to read them because I was afraid of their reactions, but later I realized that my words were the truth. If anyone was going to judge me, I wanted them to be able to do so on the basis of the truth. The poems scared some and worried others, but today I am not scared because those feelings seem to have left me. I moved on and found a better avenue to express my frustrations and concerns.

This is part one of the letter. Since it is so long, I have decided to break it up into two pieces. Hopefully, the suspense won't kill anyone. More to come......