When I was a teen in Munster Hamlet, Ontario, I discovered my mother’s box of her ancestors' photos. I was drawn with an inexplicable intensity to a photo of Laddie Millen, my great-uncle, who died in WWI. That connection to him, that obsession really, was one I felt for the rest of my life. There was something about his eyes. The depth. The sensitivity I sensed there. The integrity. The vulnerability. The youth. The fact that he actually existed on this earth, and then suddenly, he didn’t....