When my dad and I had that first Wednesday meal together almost 10-years ago, I would never have dreamed where it would lead. Dad was experiencing symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), more than 50 years after WWII. I wanted to help him, if I could. Soon, having breakfast at Mr. Eds was a regular part of our weekly routine. Over time, he would begin telling me his story, sporadically giving me pieces of his past; photos, letters he'd written to his folks, and other memorabelia. But the whole story, took years to unfold.
2 comments:
Karen,
I'm eager for the book to be published ... but probably not as eager as you and your father. :-)
Actually, I'm probably more apprehensive than eager. There's so much to do in the meantime. Busy, busy, busy!
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