I wrote the last blog early in the morning, feeling terribly ill, which explains all the typos and such. One day, I intend to edit all of it, but for now, I'm just glad to have some material published. It's material that's difficult for me to discuss, yet it's something I constantly think about. However, I find it cathartic to share it on a public online forum. I touched upon my brother's death to some extent, though not completely. Honestly, I'd prefer not to delve into it, but I find it necessary. I felt compelled to mention discovering my brother's body to provide context to the series of events that impacted my nuclear family: the subsequent passing of my mother, my abduction, my seven baseless arrests, and four unjust incarcerations. Not to mention, enduring ten years on the harsh streets of Toronto while being swindled out of approximately fifteen million dollars in cash and assets. The "sick as a dog" episode began with a tickle in my throat...

I come from a family of four: my mother, Margaret Isabel Young (née Peace), my father, Dr. Robert Goddard Young, my brother, William Robert Stuart Young, who was six years my junior, and myself, John Paul Young. My brother's untimely death in July 1996 occurred just as I was about to turn forty. For the next six years, I took on the role of primary caregiver for my parents. The grim discovery of my younger brother's body in his apartment shocked me profoundly. The officer on duty, "Bart," suggested at the scene that by identifying my brother's body for the Coroner, I could shield our elderly parents from the anguish of seeing their son in such a condition. In clinical shock, I waited for the Coroner, a compassionate woman who arrived with the others. She understood the emotional impact of identifying a deceased relative, particularly given the condition of his body after two days. I wasn't allowed to see my brother's body until the Coroner deemed it approp...