Chapter 2 - Nora Was My Sister’s Daughter
Laura Donovan was four years younger than:
me.
Growing up, we were opposites.
I was:
organized,
competitive,
obsessed with school.
Laura was:
funny,
impulsive,
the person who convinced me to jump from the boathouse roof when I was fourteen even though I had spent twenty minutes explaining why it was:
stupid.
She became a photographer.
I went into:
finance.
Our father, Thomas Donovan, built a mid-sized investment firm into what eventually became Donovan Capital.
Our mother, Eleanor, built something different.
Reputation.
Fundraisers.
Boards.
Relationships.
She turned the Donovan Family Foundation from an annual charitable checkbook into a legitimate nonprofit supporting:
housing,
education,
children whose parents struggled with addiction,
kinship caregivers.
That last mission became painfully personal because Laura developed an opioid problem in her late twenties.
It started after:
back surgery.
Prescriptions.
Then pills from somewhere else.
Then periods of:
sobriety,
relapse,
treatment.
Nora was born during one of Laura’s healthiest years.
I thought motherhood had:
fixed everything.
That was naive.
People do not become cured because:
someone needs them.
Laura loved Nora.
Completely.
She also relapsed.
Nora’s father, Adam Pierce, had never been stable enough to become her primary caregiver.
He moved between construction jobs and recovery programs.
Eventually he signed an agreement allowing Eleanor to become Nora’s temporary guardian during Laura’s treatment.
Then Laura overdosed.
Fentanyl.
Thirty-four years old.
Nora was:
five.
I got the call while sitting in a board meeting.
I remember:
nothing
after the words:
“She’s gone.”
At the hospital, Mom handled:
everything.
Identification.
Funeral home.
Nora.
Adam.
School.
Documents.
I handled:
nothing.
That became a pattern.
When the court later considered permanent guardianship, Eleanor offered:
her home,
her stability,
her schedule.
I traveled constantly.
Was unmarried.
Lived in a Manhattan apartment built for:
one adult
and:
no children.
I said:
“Mom makes sense.”
Nora already knew:
her house.
Her bedroom there.
Her school.
Everyone agreed.
Including:
me.
I became:
Uncle Keith.
Weekends when possible.
Birthdays.
Vacations.
School plays I sometimes watched through:
videos
because flights moved.
I loved Nora.
I also enjoyed having the option to love her without reorganizing:
my entire life.
May you like
That truth would become painful later.
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