Suicide By Everest

By Scott Thurman

Brigham Young VIII wants to die.

Written in the fragmented narrative, Suicide By Everest is the violent, darkly humorous story of Brigham "Brig" Young VIII, first-in-line to inherit the riches and influence that his family has accumulated over the centuries through their hotel empire and deep connections to the Latter-Day Saint religion.  For most of his life, Brig has disappointed his Father, embarrassed his family, shamed his faith, ruined relationships and like the opiate-addict that he is, blames everyone but himself. Eventually hitting bottom, Brig decides that his only option is suicide.  But not just any suicide. Brig resolves to make a vengeful statement of his death, embarking on a physical, mental and spiritual journey from his home in Salt Lake City to Hong Kong, through China, and finally to his frozen gravesite on Mount Everest.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Scott Thurman
• Release date: Jun 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9781724933423

Book preview

THIS ONE IS FOR JACKIE

CONTENTS

EPILOGUE: SUICIDE BY EVEREST

Getting to the top of any given mountain was considered much less important than how one got there: prestige was earned by tackling the most unforgiving routes with minimal equipment, in the boldest style imaginable.

― Jon Krakauer, Into Thin Air

Hurricane force winds blew ice in every direction, ravaging and stinging his face like a million winter wasps. The temperature had fallen to a life-stealing -30C, and even at only 17,000 feet, the air was so thin he was forced to stop and catch his breath after every four or five steps. His headlamp offered him little advantage in the blizzard that reduced visibility to next to nothing. He had been fighting this storm for what he guessed was an hour, but it could just as well have been three. In this environment, and with his objective so near, time became ethereal and  inconsequential.

This was Mount Everest, what the Nepalese called Sagarmartha (Goddess of the Sky) and the Tibetans called Chomolungma (Holy Mother of the Universe). Over 290 people had lost their lives trying to climb the world’s highest peak, and this man intended to add his name to that list. He wondered if he would be the first to deliberately take his own life on this majestic, holy landmark.

The lonely figure stumbled upon a pile of stones that offered protection from the maelstrom. He was on China’s Zhufeng Road, which would dead end at Everest Base Camp (EBC). The road was often closed, as it was now, from November to February, as trekking in the area, let alone trying to summit Everest, became suicidal. He sat down, resting his back against the impromptu barricade. He was surprised, and a little disappointed, that he could still see the slight glow of light from what he assumed was the Rongbuk Monastery from which he had snuck away earlier that morning.

This is the place! he yelled into the storm, laughing to himself at his inside joke. Thousands of Mormons in Salt Lake City would have found it funny. The mingling of the freezing air he sucked back into his warm lungs caused him to double over in a coughing fit so intense that he worried that he might die before he had fully prepared. He forced himself to relax, focusing on his breathing. Eventually, the coughing ceased. It wasn’t that funny. he thought as he prepared himself for what came next. There were a few more things that needed doing before he would declare victory and check himself out.

He pulled his gloves off of his frozen hands with his teeth. Despite buying the best gloves money could buy, he barely felt his fingers as he unzipped his coat pocket and retrieved a Brigham Young International Hotel’s Do Not Disturb sign that he'd carried with him, intending to display the placard on his person, here, at his final resting spot. A few days ago he had found a length of string that he had fashioned into a noose and strung it through the plastic. The man thought the noose was a nice touch,  as he tightened it slightly around his neck. He grew frustrated as the sign flapped uncontrollably in the relentless gale. He hadn’t counted on the wind. The opposite side of the sign read Please Clean My Room, which didn’t send the same subtle message he wanted his estranged father to receive after they found his body, and would likely confuse the person who would find him when climbing season began again in the spring. He rolled a medium-sized rock onto his lap which he used to pin the placard against his body. The wind still threatened to dislodge it, but he hoped that the sign would freeze, right side up, to his parka.

He put his gloves back on awkwardly. Initially, he had planned on positioning his arms and exposed hands in such a way that they would freeze, forever in the position of flipping a double bird, but now decided that that would be too crass...even for him. Besides, he had become too tired and too cold to care. He had read somewhere that as a person froze to death, they might engage in a behavior called paradoxical undressing, which is when, for some unknown reason, the freezee becomes irrationally hot, strips down to nothing, and attempts to burrow into the smallest place that they can find. This man felt none of that. On the contrary, he felt calm. Peaceful. Complete. Against all the odds, he had made it to Mount Everest, the rooftop of the world, his final resting place. He was ready.

THE PROPHET

1

A gaunt, middle-aging man lay napping on the carpeted floor at Salt Lake City International’s Gate 12. His long, thinning blonde hair was surrendering territory to skin, and the rest of what hair remained was turning unintentionally into dreadlocks. His head rested on a well-used gray backpack, and it appeared as though he lay spooning with a small child dressed in a Day-Glo green rain jacket. The small child was, in fact, a brand new Ortovox Trad 35 alpine pack, made for the serious mountaineer.

The clothes he wore were more appropriate for a teenager than a thirty-something. He wore a tattered pair of black-and-white checkered skateboard shoes, sans laces and socks. His jeans were a high-end fashion brand, low cut at the waist to show off a young, fit man’s abdominal muscles. While thin enough to wear the brand, there was little definition to his stomach, and he was at least a decade removed from the market the manufacturer targeted. The jeans were stained, as was the faded red and black flannel shirt he wore open, revealing a ragged black undershirt promoting Soundgarden’s 1995 Superunknown tour.

His face needed a shave and some soap and water. If he had been lying outside on the street instead of inside the airport, the disheveled man might have been mistaken for a homeless person. Which he in fact now was.

Despite appearances to the contrary, the napping man at Gate 12 came from one of the wealthiest families in the world. He was Brigham Young the VIII, also known as Brig, first-born son of Brigham Young the VII and heir to his family’s vast fortune...or rather, was the heir to his family’s vast wealth. He had been disowned, disinherited, and given explicit orders to never contact anyone in the Young family again.

2

Brigham Young, the first Brigham Young, was the second president, prophet, seer and revelator of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (also known as L.D.S. or The Mormons). He was also the founding father of Salt Lake City, Utah. Fleeing persecution in Illinois and Missouri, he led the Mormon pioneers across the great plains of the United States to Salt Lake City in 1847, earning him the nickname the American Moses. As a leader, Brigham Young’s reputation was mythical. His decisions were swift and final, if not always well thought out, and his countenance stern.

Although practiced and advocated by his predecessor and many of his fellow members, Brigham Young was the figure most closely associated with polygamy. In his lifetime, Brigham Young married fifty-five women and fathered fifty-six children. In 1890, God, through his prophet Brigham Young, commanded the Saints to abolish polygamy. However, the American Moses had already planted many a seed in the intermountain area, and the roots of their family tree ran deep.

It is common for a modern day L.D.S. family to have five, ten, or even fifteen or more children, as Mormon doctrine teaches that women have a moral obligation and duty to bring as many awaiting spirit children to earth through their bodies as they can bear. Brigham Young’s first wife died giving birth to Brigham Young II in 1825 soon after being married. He named his first son after himself, starting an unbroken tradition of Young patriarchs naming their firstborn sons Brigham. Brigham Young II proved to be as gifted an entrepreneur as his father was a leader. He opened his first hotel in 1850. As converts to the new faith began pouring into SLC, he provided them with a clean, affordable, safe place to stay. Business boomed, assisted largely by the enthusiastic support of his prophet father. Two more hotels were built in rapid succession in 1852 and 1853, and the Brigham Young International hotel dynasty was born.

3

A too-loud female voice pierced the white noise, blaring over the airport's intercom system. Will Brigham Young please approach the Gate 12 ticketing podium? Brigham Young, please report to the Gate 12 ticketing podium.

For those non-Utahnians waiting at Gate 12, the name Brigham Young likely meant little, but for those that were from the area, or were members of the Mormon Church, the name evoked genuine interest. The Young’s were local royalty, the first family of Utah and one of the last great dynasties in America. Travelers that were rushing to get out of the airport, or to another gate, who overheard the announcement slowed down or stopped altogether to see if they might catch a glimpse of this local celebrity. What was Brigham Young doing flying commercial? Would it be the charismatic, wealthy father, or his spoiled and reportedly drug-addicted son? Time slowed and the area became quiet as the airport paused and waited for one of them to answer the gate agent's summons.

The United Airlines gate agent who had made the announcement was too busy to be aware of the drama she had created. She had recently transferred to Salt Lake City from Chicago and had no idea who Brigham Young was. She stared ahead at her computer screen, processing the flight's standby list while trying to ignore the customer waiting to be recognized in the poorly defined line. Eventually, the traveler’s patience was rewarded. The agent, without looking up, asked the portly, almost senior-citizen, Are you Brigham Young?

Me? Heaven’s no! the man chuckled nervously, as did several others who were standing in line behind him. Encouraged by the positive attention, he stepped up to the podium and continued. I wish! I wouldn’t be flying coach if I was! and shot the agent a conspiratorial wink.

The agent, unsure of what to make of the wink, cautiously asked, How may I help you?

The man moved closer to the agent, trying not to be overheard, and whispered, I was just wondering how handicapped you had to be to get one of them wheelchairs?

Are you having trouble? I can have somebody bring you a chair.

No. It's not for me. It's for my wife. The man tipped his head in the direction of an obese woman sitting in a nearby chair designated for the disabled. She fell and sprained her ankle, and we’ll need extra time boarding the airplane.

Those traveling with infants or those needing a little more time to get seated will be allowed to board first. She was skeptical of the couple’s need, but in this new era of comfort animals and uber-sensitivity she had forced herself to become ambivalent to the inane requests of the people she served.

Are you alright ma’am? she asked, addressing the man’s wife slowly and loudly as if speaking to a dim-witted child. Did you hurt your ankle? The fat woman smiled, blushed, and waved her fat hand in front of her face suggesting that they shouldn’t bother. I hope this man didn't do this to you? Did he? The agent stared at the husband accusingly and put her hands on her hips.

Look. Never mind. I was just asking, said the man. It wasn't the way he envisioned the conversation going, and he was mortified. Please don't make a fuss. We can make it on the plane without the chair.

Don't be ridiculous. This poor woman needs a wheelchair, and maybe some protection. The man's white pasty skin turned beet red, and he now wanted nothing more than to crawl away unnoticed. The agent pulled the microphone back to her mouth, Can I get two wheelchair assists to Gate 12 for a mister and missus...what was your name, sir?

Look, it's OK. Really! There's been a misunderstanding. She doesn't have a broken foot. It's only a sprain, and she's the one that wanted the chair, not me. Please. Just forget I asked.

So you don't want the chairs?

No ma’am, he said, slinking away.

Cancel the wheelchair assist at Gate 12. Will Brigham Young please approach the Gate 12 ticketing podium? Brigham Young, please come up to the Gate 12 ticketing podium, the agent repeated.

4

Throughout Mormon history, the Youngs had been the family that other Mormon families aspired to be. Young family members were expected to live their lives in strict accordance with the teachings and doctrines of their faith. It was extremely rare for a family member to stray from the fold, as the consequences were excommunication from their church and family. For more than 200 years, every generation had succeeded in delivering a new Brigham. However, with each new generation, the pressure to live up to massive expectations grew more intense.

Charismatic, confident, and hyper-aware of his status in the community, Brigham Young VII was born to be a leader. In high school, he had been an all-star, all-state quarterback for the Highland Huskies, and accepted a full-ride athletic scholarship to the University which bore his name.

However, before beginning his college football career he would serve a two-year Mormon mission. Church leaders sent VII to the Philippines, where he baptized hundreds into the church. When he returned to BYU, he picked up his football career where he had left it, and during his sophomore year became the starting quarterback for the Cougars. Unfortunately for the BYU football program, but fortuitously for Brigham Young International, VII suffered a career-ending knee injury in the Holy War rivalry game against the University of Utah. In VII’s final year at BYU, he met the beautiful Edna Abigail Pierce.

5

Perhaps it was the shrill voice or the volume of the speaker system, but somehow the gate announcement penetrated VIII's drug-stupefied skull. He stretched, rubbed his eyes, shouldered his backpack, and staggered towards the podium with short, tentative steps, as if he were walking a balance beam. Some of the other travelers took notice, staring, pointing, and whispering amongst themselves about the disheveled man they started to realize was the junior Brigham Young. Brig took no notice of them, having, over the last few weeks, grown accustomed to the notoriety. The gate agent looked up just as Brigham neared the podium and asked, Are you Brigham Young?

The one and only, Brig slurred. "Well, not the only. But I am the one you're looking for."

Well, good morning Mr. Young, you’ve been upgraded to business class all the way through to Hong Kong as you requested. If I could see some identification and your old boarding passes, I’ll exchange them for your new ones.

She isn’t unattractive, thought Brig. A little older than he liked, but cute, in a Molly Mormon sort of way. On a scale of one-to-ten, Brig ranked her a six. Ranking women based on how attractive they were had become a reflexive, albeit boorish, habit for Brig. A score of five was average. The vast majority of the earth's women scored below five because they were too old,too young, too fat, too thin, too butch, too girly, bad skin, bad hair, no hair, mole, mole with a hair in it, mustache, etc., and fell below Brig's level of interest. Despite his superficiality, and substance abuse issues, most women, loved Brigham. He was charming when he wanted to be, handsome in a boyish way. And of course the clincher; he had loads of money that he wasn't afraid to spend. He'd been with, among others, a Victoria’s Secret model, a beauty pageant winner (Miss Utah 2002), a Playboy playmate (Miss March 2010), and a Dallas Cowboy's cheerleader, but had never been in a monogamous relationship that lasted more than six months. Until a few weeks ago, he had never proposed marriage to anyone.

I knew you were going to tell me that. I’m a prophet you know.

A what? The gate agent asked as she tapped at her computer.

A prophet. A Seer. A Revelator. It suddenly dawned on Brig that he wasn't dealing with a local. A fortune teller, if you will.

Hmm. Unimpressed, the agent handed the freshly printed boarding passes to Brig and gestured for him to move along. If you don't mind...

It's true. My great, great, great, great, et cetera, et cetera, great grandfather, Brigham Young the first, was the first prophet, um, fortune teller, in our family, but not the last. The gift of seeing the future runs in my blood, Brig explained. For example, I know that my bags have been checked all the way through to my final destination and that we are going to miss our original departure time.

Wow! You’re good! the agent said with feigned enthusiasm, Yes, your bags have been checked through to Hong Kong, and since we have only, she paused to look at her watch, five more minutes until our scheduled departure time, and we haven’t boarded yet, it is probably safe to assume that we will be a little late taking off. But we will be boarding very soon, and I’m confident you will have plenty of time to make your connecting flight in San Francisco.

I knew you were going to say that, Brig smiled and moved aside.

6

Brigham Brig Young VIII was born in the summer of 1980, the second child but first-born son of the Youngs. Brig’s sister, Brenda, was two years older than he. As the first-born son, Brig was first in line to inherit the massive wealth the Youngs had accumulated throughout the decades. But something often overlooked was that he also inherited the equally massive responsibility of being Brigham Young.

Brig and his sister were close growing up and enjoyed a Norman Rockwellian childhood. As Brig entered high school, it appeared as though he were on the same successful course that his father had so easily navigated, doing well in athletics and academics. Although their father had been mostly absent while the Young children grew up, their mother Edna more than made up for it. She was a stay-at-home mom who adored her children, and with the help of a host of maids, personal assistants, drivers, bodyguards, and other employees befitting the ridiculously wealthy, she kept the estate running and the children grounded while VII was off expanding the Young empire.

However, in early December 1995, Brig’s world ripped apart when Edna died in a car accident. She was the only other passenger in the BMW driven by one of VII’s friends. There were rumors of an affair, but VII was able to keep the scandal contained.

7

Brig moved back to his spot on the airport floor and sat down with his back to the wall. He could feel the eyes of his fellow passengers on him as he pretended to study the information on his boarding pass. Other church members or Salt Lake City residents surely recognized him, or at least his name, and wondered how this wretch of a man could be the direct descendant of one of the most beloved leaders in Mormon church history. Others, perhaps less familiar with the church, might have wondered what relation this guy might have with the Division I university that shared his name, and still others might have questioned how a bum like him had found the money, or earned the mileage, to upgrade to business class.

Whatever. Brig didn’t care. He just prayed that nobody sat next to him on the flight to San Francisco. However, judging by the number of people in the waiting area, that wasn’t likely. Consequently, Brig lowered his expectations to just hoping that his neighbor would be a quiet, uninterested fellow traveler that would let him fly to San Francisco in peace.

Brig checked his cell phone to see if he had received any new text messages. Nothing. He dialed his voice mail, entered the password, and learned that he had no new messages. Brig was not surprised, but it still depressed him. His family hated him. He no longer had any genuine friends. His secret life of a drug addict limited his friendships to those who wanted to sell him drugs, and those who wished to use the drugs with him. He had convinced himself that he didn't care that nobody cared, and he was going to make everyone sorry that they hadn't treated him better, particularly his father. The only person he had hoped to hear from was his ex-girlfriend, and he hadn't heard from her since the day she left him several weeks ago.

We are ready to begin boarding United Flight 5223 with service to San Francisco, announced the gate attendant. First and business class passengers, those traveling with infants, and those that may require additional assistance are welcome to board. She scanned the crowd. Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber were nowhere to be seen. In a few minutes, we will begin general boarding. Please show your boarding pass and government ID to the gate agent as you proceed through the boarding gate.

Brig rose to his feet and made his way through the gawking crowd to the line that had formed for pre-boarding. He kept his eyes pointed to the floor, careful not to make eye contact with any of the other passengers to avoid conversation.

He fell in line behind a young couple traveling with several children. The smallest, an infant, slept quietly on the mother's shoulder. The father was busy collapsing the tandem stroller, and weakly admonished the three older children to quit playing and hand the nice lady the tickets.

Please don’t let them sit by me Brig silently prayed. He liked kids. Had once hoped to have ones of his own, but at this stage of his life he couldn’t imagine himself married with children. He couldn’t even take care of himself.

The father, who was about Brig’s age, was wearing jeans and a short-sleeved dress shirt. Although non-Mormons may not have noticed, Brig could see the subtle outline of the man's temple garments, or Mormon underwear, underneath his shirt. Adult Mormons found worthy to enter and attend sacred services in Mormon temples were required to wear garments, special underwear as part of their faith. It was only recently, after meeting Happy, that he stopped pretending to be a Mormon and discontinued wearing the sacred skivvies.

The father was finally able to herd his family onto the airplane. Brig stepped forward and handed the nice lady his ticket. It was the same woman that had processed his upgrade and given him his business class tickets. Brig noticed now that the name on her badge said Tina.

I knew I would see you again. Why don’t you join me? I’ll buy you a companion ticket and you can fly to Hong Kong with me, Brig flirted.

Oh wow. That’s a wonderful offer, but since this flight is full, and I have this job... the gate agent said sarcastically as she took Brig’s SLC to SFO boarding pass. She tore off the stub and handed the rest of the boarding pass back to Brig.

It’s only a matter of time now, Brig continued. I had a vision while I slept, and the Lord told me you are to be my next wife - my tenth! Come, woman! Obey or suffer eternal damnation!

That's really weird, Tina said with sincerity. Enjoy your flight Mr. Young.

Ah. You’re no fun. I guess the mile high thang is out of the question?

Excuse me? She knew what the mile high thang was, and it shocked her that this customer thought he could speak to her this way.

Uh-oh, she's getting pissed, Brig thought to himself. He must've crossed that line people without senses of humor are always referring to. Should he abort or press on? He mistakenly chose the latter.

It's alright darlin'. I've been a certified member of the Mile High Club since 1998. I'm sure I can get you in. I'd love to be your sponsor.

Careful Mr. Young, Tina raised her eyebrows menacingly and warned Brig, I don't care how many frequent flyer miles you have. I will not let you talk to me that way, and I will have you taken off of this flight by security if I have to.

Well, that escalated quickly.

Not another word! Tina warned.

Fuck ya’ then, ya’ fat twat! Brig said. Fortunately, it was to himself.

8

August 8th, 1988

Dear Diary,

Today is my birthday! Happy Birthday to me! I am eight years old. Mother and father gave me a new bike. It's red. It’s a Schwinn. I love it! I rode it all over the place today. I also got a real football. Brenda gave me this new journal. Grandma and Grandpa Pierce gave me a new set of scriptures because on Sunday I will be baptized. After they baptize you, all your sins are washed away and the bad things you do really start to count as sins, so I need to do all my bad stuff before then! Ha-ha.

Father called me to wish me a Happy Birthday. He is in a place called Hamburg. It’s in Germany. Father told me hamburgers were invented there. He was just kidding. He told me we would celebrate my birthday a second time when he gets home.

I’m tired. Goodnight.

Before there was Facebook, people wrote the events of their lives in diaries or journals. Mormons have always invested in keeping journals. Their scriptures, the Bible, and the Book of Mormon are journals of men believed by many to have been prophets of God. In a speech entitled The Angels May Quote From It, Spencer Kimball, the Latter-Day Saints’ twelfth President and Prophet, directed the church’s membership to Get a notebook, my young folks, a journal that will last through all time, and maybe the angels may quote from it for eternity. Begin today and write in it your goings and comings, your deepest thoughts, your achievements and your failures, your associations and your triumphs, your impressions, and your testimonies.

Eight-year-old Brigham Young closed his journal, capped his pen, and placed the book back in its secret hiding spot under his mattress. He slipped off of his bed and onto his knees, said his prayers, and got back into bed. He had already washed his face and brushed his teeth, and after a few minutes his mother ducked her head in to say goodnight and switched off the light. Brig was still a little afraid of the dark, but today he felt closer to being a man. He didn’t need the R2-D2 Star Wars night light for comfort anymore. But he was glad it was there.

Brig’s childhood had been comfortable, uncomplicated, and uneventful. He loved his mom, dad, sister, grandma, grandpa, God, Jesus, and his dog, not necessarily in that order. Briggy, as his mom called him, was precocious, loving, respectful, and if we're honest, slightly spoiled. But how could he not be?

He went to school where he always did well. He attended church every Sunday, and took part in other church-sponsored social functions throughout the week. Brig was born into the wealthiest and most influential family in Utah. He was the only son of an only son, in a long line of firstborn sons. He was the progeny of a man millions revered and believed to be a spokesperson for God. Eight-year-old Brig did not yet comprehend the daunting pressure and responsibility of being the eighth Brigham Young and fell quickly into the untroubled sleep of a child.

9

Brig occupied a window seat on the right side, towards the front, of the Boeing 767. No one had yet taken the aisle seat next to him, and he remained hopeful that no one would, though they had already announced that the flight was full. Business class on this leg of the trip was not a big deal. A slightly bigger, slightly more comfortable seat, with extra legroom and a lower bathroom-to-passenger ratio.

Brigham Young International owned a 2015 Gulfstream 650, and as the North America Regional Sales Manager, his father occasionally let Brig use it. Now that was traveling in style, Brig reminisced. He was not likely to enjoy that kind of luxury ever again. In fact, this business class transport to Hong Kong would likely be his last taste of extravagance. The thought depressed him.

Brig looked around to see if anyone was watching him before opening his backpack and fishing out an orange prescription bottle of oxycodone. He had secured a little over two-hundred pills for the road. Before losing his job and his inheritance, getting drugs had never been a problem. He had a long list of sketchy doctors and white collar drug dealers that fought amongst themselves to supply him. Brig always paid top dollar, rarely asked for credit, and everyone knew he wasn’t a cop.

He tapped out three pills to help get him through this leg of his long trip to Hong Kong. His tolerance for opioids had grown annoyingly strong, but he estimated three 60mg tablets should do the trick. If he fell asleep, which he hoped he would, the flight attendant would wake him when they reached SFO. He didn’t want to be so out of it that he missed his flight to Hong Kong.

The economy class passengers now started to file onto the airplane, and still nobody had claimed the seat next to him. There were eight business class seats, and only two of them remained unoccupied. Brig leaned against the window and looked out at the men loading the bags onto the airplane. The sound of a newspaper flopping onto the seat next to him, broke his stupor. A large man wearing a cowboy hat was struggling to force his carry-on into the overhead compartment above their seats.

Great! Brig thought. John mother-fuckin’ Wayne!

––––––––

10

December 25th, 1995

Dear Mom,

I can’t do this without you. I can’t! Everybody says how you’re in heaven now, in a better place, but why now? I need you here far more than God does, I’m sure of it.

The psychiatrist says to write stuff down,get it out of my head,, it’ll make me feel better. Blah, blah, blah. But it doesn’t. Nothing makes me feel better. I'm angry...at God, at Dad, at everyone. I feel empty...I feel like throwing up.

What happened? Nobody will tell me anything but that you were in a horrible car accident. I couldn’t even see you one more time...your casket was closed. Dad said it would be better to remember you the way you were. I guess the wreck must have messed up your face, but I still wanted to see you and touch you once more. I hope you weren’t in any pain.

Please talk to me. Or at least let me know that you’re listening. Can you? I’ve prayed every night, hoping that you, or someone, or something, will let me know you’re still around.

But I’m not feeling anything.

That 1995 Christmas journal entry was the last Brig would make for several months. He was devastated by his mother’s death. It was the first time he had questioned the existence of God and his faith. It wouldn’t be the last. Brig’s father, hardly involved in the children’s parenting anyway, turned over all childcare duties to nannies and willing grandparents, which seemed to work out fine for Brenda, but Brig struggled. Where Brig used to be friendly and outgoing, he was now sullen and withdrawn.

Brig went from being an A student to one that did just enough. He stopped attending church services on Sundays and eventually stopped going to any church activities at all. It didn’t happen all at once, and his grandparents,