“Dorothy’s story is why I help hunt for people.”
Now that I am the oldest member of the family left, I can talk about a story that at one time could not be spoken.
My story begins in 1953, Waltham Massachusetts
When I was six, my sister was four. The year was 1953. Our parents had separated and my grandfather had tried to take on the responsibility of raising us. My grandmother had died in 1949. My mother was trying to live her life, my father the same, which left little room for us. I guess my grandfather decided to handle what he could. I don’t know all those things, I was too young to remember and far too young to understand.
As young as I was, I knew things were happening. I knew that things were going to change. This time it had to do with my sister. I must have had some idea of what was going on because one day she was there, then she was gone. Read my story of Dorothy.