My brother was taken by our father in 1962 when he was only three. For more than sixty years, I believed I’d never know what became of him. Then I saw his face in a newspaper obituary—and days later, I met his widow at church wearing a locket that had belonged to our mother. What she revealed about my brother’s final years broke my heart… and finally answered the question I’d carried my entire life: Did he ever remember me?
I found my brother’s face in the county paper on a Thursday. I knew him immediately. He was three years old when my father took him and drove away in …
My brother was taken by our father in 1962 when he was only three. For more than sixty years, I believed I’d never know what became of him. Then I saw his face in a newspaper obituary—and days later, I met his widow at church wearing a locket that had belonged to our mother. What she revealed about my brother’s final years broke my heart… and finally answered the question I’d carried my entire life: Did he ever remember me? Read More
