They call depression a disorder. It is disorganized, chaotic, stormy, an attack, a tornado, a tidal wave of sadness, and it hurts. It burns the eyes, scorches the throat, stops up the nose and ears and painfully overstimulates every nerve in the body while simultaneously deadening everything, so that you move, if you can move, through the world muffled, muted, deafened, dulled, retarded, defeated, deflated. It washes you up on unfamiliar shores, it abandons you, wrecks you, dashes you, destroys you. Do not underestimate this affliction.
My great-grandfather, Lynn Latta, was born 26 June 1867, the fourth of seven children in a large and settled family near Fulton County, Kentucky. One day he walked away from his brothers and sisters and parents without telling anyone why or where he was going. His niece, Mary Emma Pittman, the daughter of his brother, … Continue reading The Tragedy of Lynn and Martha (Kennedy) Latta