One Scrap of Paper from Oak Creek Hospital Rewrote Thirty-Four Years of What My Family Remembered

“Where did he get this?” Gene demanded.

His voice dropped from its usual boom to a sharp whisper.

“He pulled it out of the pocket of his gown,” I said.

“The man is completely out of his head,” Gene said.

He crushed the paper in his palm.

“He’s full of morphine.

He doesn’t know what year it is.”

“Give that back, Gene.”