How does one console a mother whose youngest son is gone. departed for the unknown, he remains unknowable since he returned a decade ago. A U.S. Army sergeant, four tours of duty as a demolitions expert in the middle east did him damage. Subjected to multiple explosions, one that killed his best friend and all others in the vehicle, left him with irreparable brain damage through he looked fine on the outside. Yes, he was awarded the Bronze star and multiple Purple Hearts, but they did nothing to mend the post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and chronic traumatic encephalopothy (CTE). As a result, when he, convinced that his next door neighbor in a smallish Wisconsin town was a demon eating children's souls, agonized over what to do before picking up his rifle, entering her home, and killing her while her two children hid.
He is my cousin, and watching these events unfold has been heart rending. After months and months of time in jail, he was found incompetent to stand trial and remanded to a mental health facility. Eventually he was transferred to a group home for Veterans where he did very well. He earned the privileges of riding his bike around this new tiny town, working out at the local YMCA and spending a weekend or two per month with his parents at their home.
A few weeks ago he received a notice that there would be another competency hearing. They do them twice each year. But this one was worded differently and he thought it meant he was going to prison.
Somehow he covered the 70 miles to his parents' home while they were gone, took his mothers' car and drove to New Mexico. We know he was there because he was stopped by a tribal police officer who did not have the jurisdiction to detain him. He could be anywhere now, the nationwide APB issued too late.
He is a carpenter. He is a devout Catholic. He is a decorated military Veteran. He is irrational and paranoid. He is missing. And he is my cousin.
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