I penned the last blog early in the morning, sick as a dog. Hence all the typos etcetera.  But one day I will edit all this stuff. But at least I got some material out. Material that I find difficult to discuss but I ruminate about constantly. aHowever I believe it to be cathartic to publish it in a public forum online. I discussed the death of my brother in some detail, but not in total detail. Truthfully I would rather not breach the subject but I deem it necessary. I believe I had to mention finding my brothers body to provide context to my nuclear family, the subsequent death of my mother, my kidnapping and my seven bullshit arrests and four wrongful imprisonments. Oh and let’s not forget being forced to survive on the mean streets of Toronto for ten years. And all the while I was being defrauded of approximately fifteen million dollars in cash and assets. The aforementioned me being “sick as a dog” started with a tickle in my throat and then sort of a cold. I was at “Erica’s” ak

 I come from a family of four. My mother Margaret Isabel Young (nee Peace), my father Dr. Robert Goddard Young, my brother, six years my junior, William Robert Stuart Young nd myself, John Paul Young. My brother died tragically in July 1996 shortly before my fortieth birthday. For the next six years I was the principal caregiver of my two parents. I was the one who discovered the body of my “baby” brother in his apartment. I was in shock. The attending police officer “Bart”, said to me at the scene “If you ID your brothers body for the Coroner, you’ll spare your elderly parents from seeing their son on the slab.” So still in clinical shock, the Coroner, a woman, a very nice woman arrived amongst all the others, arrived. She understood what I didn’t: the psychological impact of identifying a loved ones body, dead town days, bloated, cyanotic and with rigour mortis. A ghoulish vestige of his former self. So I wasn’t allowed to look at my brothers body until the Coroner chose the appointe