I had no clue that the simple task of taking items out of this case would evoke such sadness, regret, and feelings of helplessness. These feelings are geared towards myself in a sense, but moreover, towards my brother. He was such a gentle, kind, loving soul and the actions of one man pretty much broke the spirit of this small boy who never was able to fully grow into a man.
As I look at this faded picture of my brother and myself, I think it was taken when he was about 6 years old and I about 3. I am certain though that it was before the monster took away the remaining bits of our childhood. In the old photograph, Kris is wearing his tighty whiteys, a tee shirt and a fireman's helmet and I am wearing pinkish undies and a short gown pushing my favorite doll in a baby stroller. You could look at this picture and tell that we were not surrounded by lavish furnishings, but you could also see two sweet children who had not yet been torn apart by a man they had yet to meet.
This photograph is so heartbreaking because of the torture my brother has been through and the life choices he has made. I have not seen my brother in over ten years, but the next chapter will focus on his drug use, his arrest and basically the downfall of a boy who could have been whatever he wanted to be if only he had been nurtured, cherished, treated with respect and love. This is Kris' story...
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