It was a text I dreaded opening. Was this what God really wanted? I couldn’t imagine why. Still, my sister Gerry had been imploring me to reconnect with my little brother, Chris, after 50 years of estrangement.
“He’s changed,” Gerry told me.
It wasn’t as if I had erased Chris from my life. He’d done that himself by being a drug addict and a criminal. His addiction wreaked havoc in our family. From my years in social work, I knew that addiction was a family disease and that an addict’s behavior was destructive to more than just himself. Chris had lied and cheated. He had been violent. He’d stolen from me, my parents and my three other siblings. Nothing could change that.
After an unsuccessful first marriage, I was in a good place in my life. I’d met and married Greg, the man I was meant for. If not for him, I could not have survived the loss of my 19-year-old son, who’d died unexpectedly from a pulmonary virus. Had Chris consoled me or even called? Written me a note? No. He even missed my mom’s funeral. That
