Patrick Hegarty

I grew up in a fairly strict and traditional family in Denver, Colorado. Along with my three sisters and two brothers and numerous cousins; I was raised in the Roman Catholic tradition. We attended Mass on a weekly basis and Parochial schools from 1st through 8th grade and then I attended a Jesuit High School until graduation in 1975. It was a fairly typical upbringing for a kid of the baby boom generation born the late 1950s. Our lifestyle was not lavish but comfortable. I don’t remember much of the religious instruction that came from my parents, though no doubt they tried to give it. My understanding was that Jesus died to give us a second chance to earn His favor by our good deeds. Though this does not exactly reflect official Roman Catholic teaching it was the idea that stuck in my mind. In my High School years there were few if any of my peers who took their religious upbringing very seriously. Most were much more interested in parties, sports, and girls. Upon graduation Denver was left behind to attend CSU in Fort Collins. I remember saying our goodbyes after my parents drove me to the campus and got me settled in my dorm room. For the most part it felt good to be free and on my own for the first time. Continuing to attend church was never seriously considered. Even so, the idea that there must be some kind of God somewhere floated around in my thoughts. Eastern meditation seemed attractive for awhile but whatever was there seemed to remain just out of reach. A couple of different girlfriends were part of the picture in the early years of college, which was unfortunately not a good thing for them or me. A sense of emptiness was always beneath the relentless pursuit of happiness. Despite having much of what imagination had told me would bring contentment, the reality was much less satisfying. The thought of being a basically good person had always been something of a comfort to me regardless of all the bad things done in my life. It was never too hard to find someone who was actually worst than me, at least in my mind. Still, sometimes the undeniable sense of guilt would make me wonder. Unbeknownst to me a radical change was coming. http://need-answers-fortc.blogspot.com/2012/02/my-death-to-life-story.html

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