Dear Diary,
Where do I begin? You already know everything about my family and me, even though I haven't put our entire family history upon literal pages. It's as though you've penetrated the inner recesses of my heart and soul in order to see the real me. I say and do one thing. You know better, DD.
From the moment Stan came into our lives twenty-three years ago, my parents and I have been unwittingly elevated to a different level of awareness; trifles that ordinarily go quite unnoticed came unexpectedly into sharp relief. A mental (spiritual?) acuity gradually began to develop within the three of us, and its focus was the new arrival. This child, as the song goes, came into the world in the usual way. Nevertheless, had the scenario that unfolded over the last two decades been staged within the sacred theatre of Biblical antiquity, this unusual child, like the infant Samuel, would have been dedicated unto the LORD.
Stan was always a happy baby, and to say that he was just another cute little boy, well ... more of that later. I mentioned that our level of awareness became keener because of Stan. It all started (our noticing something different) when elderly Aunt Rose came to stay with us for a spell after her husband, our Uncle Angelo, had died. His death was sudden and caused my family much grief. Especially Aunt Rose, needless to say. Stan was about four or five at the time, I believe, and I was in my early teens. I was the typical, self-absorbed teenager.
One particular day, like any other (well, almost), Aunt Rose was staring out the window, which was becoming part of her daily routine.
