During Robert’s Funeral, My Sons Stood By The Casket With Dry Eyes And Perfect Black Suits…

no longer saw us as parents. They saw us as obstacles.

The legal process was agonizing. Ugly. Endless lawyers, depositions, tabloid articles, phone calls from relatives begging us “not to destroy the boys.”

The boys were over forty years old. The boys had tried to murder their father. The boys tried to have their mother declared legally incompetent.

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