WILLIAM FAULKNER SAID that the past is never dead—that it’s not even the past. He meant, of course, that our past isn’t a benign thing—it’s as much a part of us as the color of our eyes because in so many ways it has formed who we are now.
In writing this memoir I’ve had to discover and study the specifics of events and even emotions that I had no intention of going back to, but in doing so I’ve found Faulkner’s words to be true; my past is not even my past. I am who I am because of it. It was a hard memoir to write, but there’s no one else in the world who could write it.
My son has given me permission to write this. He’s also said that I’ve probably gotten some things wrong, which no doubt I have, but he also agrees that my perspective is different than his perspective and that that’s okay. I’ve done my best to talk with those involved in certain events to check for the accuracy of how things went down. I’ve also changed the names and descriptions of people to protect them.