Facing the Darkness
An Origin Story
This past summer, I celebrated my 30th high school reunion. I’m deeply grateful to be alive and to have had that experience - a chance to reconnect with old friends, many of whom I hadn’t spoken to since our graduation ceremony at the University of Notre Dame on June 7th, 1995. That moment stirred memories I hadn’t fully faced before, and it prompted me to look back at where I came from and what I carried with me into adulthood.
I was one of the first to leave home after high school. My acceptance to the University of Dayton in Ohio was conditional, based on the grades I earned while taking two college-level courses. I never really did well in school. When people ask why, I usually say ADHD. But there was something much darker I was also trying to hide.
Before I begin, I want to say this clearly: my mother and brother are still alive. Out of respect for them, I will keep my story rooted in facts that can be verified through public records. My intention is not to reopen wounds for the living, nor to disrespect those who have passed.
My reason for sharing this story can best be explained through Return of the Jedi (1983). There’s a moment when Luke Skywalker returns to Dagobah to complete his Jedi training, only to find a dying Yoda. After Yoda passes, Obi-Wan’s spirit appears and tells Luke that to complete his journey, he must face Darth Vader - not only to defeat him, but to redeem his father.
As a kid, I saw an uncanny similarity between Darth Vader and my own father.
I don’t know exactly when my story begins. I was young and don’t remember how old I was when I first experienced family counseling related to my parents’ unhappy marriage. But I do remember meeting Sister Joy at Saint Mary’s College one day. She was kind and genuinely interested in how my mother and father spoke to one another. She asked about my thoughts. My feelings.
When I later tried to understand the origin of the darkness that had taken hold of my father, I learned that his mother, my grandmother, Helen Cernak passed away at age 51 from colon cancer. My father was only 24 years old at the time. I still struggle to imagine the impact that loss had on her six children. I often wonder what it meant for my dad, as the oldest son, and how that responsibility may have added another layer of weight during an already devastating time.
That darkness eventually consumed my grandfather as well. He passed away just fourteen days after my fifth birthday, on January 4, 1989. At the time, I was a cheerleader - and having a smile was part of the uniform, regardless of what I felt inside.
Not long after my grandfather Walter’s death, my father made the decision to return to school and pursue a Master of Fine Arts in Visual Communication at the Art Institute of Chicago.
Several times a week, he took the South Shore train from South Bend to Chicago, leaving early in the morning and returning late in the evening. Even as a child, I could sense the noise in his head by looking at the artwork he was producing. He graduated sometime in 1991. I was in eighth grade, hopeful that this achievement might stop the downward spiral and that it might give his life renewed purpose and meaning.
High school was an awkward time for me. One moment that stands out occurred in 1993, when my mother - unbeknownst to me - reached out to my girlfriend’s father to ask for advice about a divorce lawyer. My girlfriend tried her best to keep that information from me. But the truth has a way of surfacing. I didn’t have a serious relationship during my junior or senior year after that.
Recently, as part of my own effort to face my father’s legacy, I looked up the court records and learned that my mother filed for divorce on May 17, 1995, in St. Joseph County - just three weeks before graduation on June 7, 1995, a moment typically marked by joy, celebration, and possibility.
This wasn’t the story I once imagined growing up. But it is my story and it’s part of what makes me who I am.
Looking back now, I can see that love carried me through those years of darkness and brought me back toward the light. I’m still learning what it means to face the past honestly - not to erase it, but to understand it. My hope, someday, is to be a light for others, and to help end the darkness that so many of us carry quietly through life.