Characters

Sixty-one years. That's how long they've been Mr. and Mrs. — so far. They've raised a family, built a home, chased multiple careers, invested in dozens and dozens of hobbies/causes/services/passions. And through it all, they kept their eyes and hearts on each other. As the clock ticks, they hold each other closer and closer, with more tenderness, more gentleness, more grace and patience than ever before. That's the stuff that usually fades when age shows up, but the opposite is true for them. The more they live, the deeper they love. And it's not a stupid, sappy, for appearances' sake love. It's a head-to-toe "though everything else has fallen away, you've been true blue" love. Their mutual respect never stalled out, their desire for  each other never faded, their rhythm, goals, and joys never got out of sync. To be fair, they rarely saw eye-to-eye about how to get from A to B, but always agreed on the ultimate objective. They alway

Golden boy. Beloved by his community, his friends, his classmates, and oh, so loved by his family. Cream of the crop. Smartest of the smart. Record breaker. Overachiever. Mr. Potential. Alex had the whole world at his feet. But his life ended in mystery, controversy, and sensationalism. He was found dead in his fraternity house, and the press went the distance to report it. His cause of death was eventually released only to family members. The rest of us will never know. Frankly, I think it's nobody's business but his mom's, dad's, and siblings'. Alex — I thought you were a smart, enterprising, inquisitive, inspiring, innovative young man. I was cheering for you. I wanted you to win. I loved getting to meet you and see you in action. I'm so sorry that you're gone, and will never know what could have been. I hope you knew how much people loved and looked up to you. I hope you didn't die feeling like you were invincible. I so wanted to see you ac

Child abuse stories: they both challenge and sicken me.  I'm torn between compassion and judgement, anger and mercy, and all the while I shudder at how many lives are changed, often irrevocably damaged, in one instant by one terrible choice.  For some it's the same heinous, misguided, well-rationalized choice over and over again. I scratch my head at all the poor choices I've made, and loved ones have made, that really did make sense at the time. And I imagine that these individuals — all somebody's baby at one time, all full of potential at one time — probably thought their decisions made perfect sense, too.  So what sets us apart? If all sins are equally reviling in the sight of God, what sets us apart from the child molester, the spouse-abuser, the porn-heroin-alcohol-gambling-addicted person? Whose misguided decisions are more unforgivable? Maybe that's the lesson: compassion.  I hate what they did, but the fact is, at some point a mama look

I was in Gorham because I had to be. I was on assignment, covering the 53rd annual Gorham Pageant of Bands — all I had to do was write a quick story and snap some photos for a package. But somewhere between my Jeep and the parade route, in the blazing hot sun by the concert band tents and the judges' stand, it happened. I saw the excited, exhausted student musicians, I caught a whiff of the need-to-be-dry-cleaned uniforms, watched the plumes and flags fluttering in the wind, and heard the whir of white-washed wooden rifles spinning in the air. And I was transported back 45 years to my own experiences at this pageant — the sunburn and sweat, the focus and fury, the hope and desire to get a perfect score, the intense passion to do my part to support my teammates and director. It was all, for that afternoon, in present tense. Yeah, I'm 45 years away from that experience, but I will never forget my friends, mentors, and classmates. They were my heroes and colle