His football drills were going to be held in the early morning now, to avoid the heat of the day and he was convinced that a full breakfast would give...him the energy that he needed to make it through the morning. He was out of the house by seven o'clock, expecting to be back by noon.There was no sign of Joan until nearly nine o'clock. When she appeared, she wore a light summer weight robe and slippers. Her hair was disheveled and I could tell just looking at her that she had been crying for. Two weeks of futile attempts to understand what had happened to him.He’d stuck with journaling, organizing his thoughts and putting them to words, but it wasn’t working out very well. All he could manage to write were succinct paragraphs that were obviously bitter, cynical, and angry. Sometimes he wasn’t sure they were his thoughts; considering his borderline multiple personality disorder at the moment, it was reasonable that maybe they weren’t. But this was important. If he died, someone was. More

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