"My "Best Buddies Forever"

I've never written about my "BBF" before this, 

but they are worth a line of note every now and then.

There has not be a time in the last 35 years,

that I didn't have them close at my side for comfort.
Many years ago, we both worked long days in the grocery store,
and felt it would be cruel to leave a pet alone all day.

But then a life changing event changed all that.
30 years ago, my husband's children disappeared.
They weren't returned after a visit.
His ex-wife had remarried a truck driver.
We began to see signs of abuse,
but could get no help from any agency
But she fled, with four small children in tow,
for fear of any interference from the courts.
It would take several years before
that horrid legal mess was ever straightened out.

They moved around a lot,
which made my husband crazy with worry.
We had an attorney of course, but little could be done.
Then we were offered a golden retriever by a friend.
We were sitting at the dinner table, and my husband said,
"So little man,what shall we name her?"
We were eating hamburgers, so the small voice said,
"Well she looks just like the color of this toasted bun."
The three of us laughed, and Dad said,
"Okay, Toasted Buns it is"
Our 4 years old son named him "Buns."
(We dropped the toasted; yelling the word "Buns,"
out the back door was embarrassing enough.)
After about 4 months, and a destroyed kitchen,
we realized Buns was lonely.

A friend of my husband was raising a litter of goldens.
We drove 2 hours through a snowstorm to his farm,
to pick out the newest member of our family.
We were not in their garage, in the puppy bin,
for more than a few seconds, when a little friend,
came bouncing over to my sons arms.
For anyone that has ever picked a pup from a litter,
that is how you know that's the one for you!
"Biscuits" was also named by our 4 yr old,
And the two pups became fast, and inseparable friends,
laying at our bedsides under the stars.
Unfortunately some of the destruction continued!
Since those days long ago, I have had many goldens,
and been through some tough life moments,
with them by my side for comfort.

There once was a time, though, not too many years ago,
that I had what I will call "a mini breakdown."
My life was in total turmoil and confusion.
 I wrestled with the thought of seeing if an adoptive agency
was a good idea for my beloved pets.
It was one of the worse moments of my life.
I had come home, after hearing my Dad was ill again.
No one had let the dogs out, fed them, or given them fresh water,
as they had been told to do as chores, repeatedly.
I exploded, and said that was it, they were leaving us.
My older son helped as we loaded them into the car,
and drove them to a "well respected" adoption agency.
I began sobbing about 1/2 mile down the road.

The very next day, not 15 hours later,
I called the agency telling them we wanted the dogs back.
"Impossible, and paperwork  irreversible," was their reply.
My husband called.  The attorney called.
A  friend tried to adopt them. Even the mayor called them.
We hired an attorney, but were told
there are no laws governing contracts on animals.
You can buy a subscription, a car, or even a washer,
and change your mind in 3 business days.
But not on an animal, of any kind.
The judge reprimanded the adoptive agency,
but the dogs were in new homes now.
And even though I knew they were in good homes,
I still cried every night for almost two months.

Then along came one of the happier moments
between my daughter and I.
We were united in a goal to find new puppies.
We had a gigantic Garage Sale, and even her friends helped.
Then one Sunday, we left for Iowa to pick out a new puppy.
Storms were expected, and we had talked to the breeder earlier.
When we finally got there, no one was around,
but we scoped the place out, and did not like what we saw.
It was a dirty place, in the country, and in a cove of trees,
were several full grown goldens fenced in.
They did not look abused, but the place gave us a bad feeling.

So on to "Plan B" , we said, and got out the Sunday paper.
We called one of the more expensive breeders.
They were at the top of the state in Rockford.
At least a 3 hour drive, and the pups were not ready.
But we definitely could pick one out.
So, off we went chatting away in the car, to places unknown,
through a horrible  rainstorm to find a new family member.
We got there, and were so relieved to see a puppy pen
filled with 8 of the most adorable creatures on earth.
One puppy came instantly to each of us, and we giggled.
"Dad will freak out if we get two," Lexi said.
"I guess I'll have to use my powers of persuasion,
and also tell him we'll have another garage sale!"
(Which we did, AFTER we brought home 2 instead of 1...!)
We both laughed, and the breeder took our deposit.
Driving home the "Puppy smell" lingered on our clothing.

Four weeks later, we took the 3 hour drive to pick up our pups.
Before we took the long drive home,
I took a picture of her glowing, as she held a pup in each arm,
and I keep it in my favorite pictures album.
The truck had that wonderful "Puppy Smell" in it,

I flip though those pictures whenever I'm feeling a little low.

Mocha and Muffin, named after my favorite breakfast,
are still by my side today, and every night they are close by.
They make my life whole, and are never failing
when it comes to greeting me when I walk in the door.
It is such a joy to watch them chase squirrels up the oak tree,
or noses under the shed, tails wagging, waiting for a chipmunk to appear.
The birds ignore them now, and we fenced in "their" part of the yard,
ever since since the coyotes started appearing.

If you are ever faced with a feeling of being over whelmed,
with your life, your health, or your children,
just go somewhere quiet and peaceful.
Don't blame the kids, or the pets, or even yourself.
If you can't gather your thoughts together, ask for help.
Don't make the same mistake that I did.
The pain of losing Cookie and Coco is still with me.
I know it will last a lifetime.

Cleaning Out the Attic

“Hanging onto resentment is letting someone you despise live rent-free in your head.” –Ann Landers

When I read this today, it really stuck a chord.
Though I have heard it a few times,
it still never sang the same note in my soul. 
Divorces, loss of a job, living with a health problem.
A lengthy list of the causalities of what molds my life. 
The awareness of these resentments, annoys me.
I wish they would go live somewhere else,
and mess with someone else's head.

 I need to begin the journey of going through my life moments,
and reflecting on those that have damaged my pysche.
Reviewing which ones I can move away from,
and which I just need to turn over to God.
Some are just harder than most to pack away.


I think my thoughts will be calmer now, 
after I clean out the attic,
Maybe writing about them, a little at a time,
will help others who have lived with similar torments.
I don't expect to forget all the casualties of my wrong turns,
or those made by others.
I believe there is a vast river that flows in all of us.
If we empty our pain into it, our lives will go on.
Forgiving myself,  yourself, and others, 
can only help send the hidden hurts downstream.

Forgiveness is not about granting a wonderful gift to someone who did you wrong, sometimes it's about your own peace of mind; it's about not blocking your blessings with resentment; It's about you and reaching your highest Self!  (D.L. Knight)

NOTE: (This post is not referring to any one person,
or situation in particular.)

Hidden Truths

 Chuck had lost weight, his hands turned a pale yellow,
His feet and skin began peeling. 

His intestinal gas was so horrid smelling,

My father would spray the bathroom after wards.

And we, as a family, would snicker under our breath.

Even Chuck himself, would smile,

Though somewhat embarrassed.

It was 1988 and we lived in Fort Wayne, Indiana,

  His symptoms were getting worse; he looked like death.
Doctors had no idea what was going on.
We went to see so many specialists, 

Mostly in the "big city" of Indianapolis.
 Then we got some strange answers.
He had contracted a rare allergy, triggered into action

by one of the millions of viruses roaming our earth. 

Most commonly referred to as Celiac Sprue Disease.       

On came the nutritionists and dietitians.

On came his very special diet.

No Wheat, Rye, Oats, or Barley.

Equating to NO Pizza, NO Cookies,

And definitely NO Homemade Apple Pie.

For the most part he came around to normal.

Healthy, Happy, and Back to work.

Given a clean bill of health as long as he followed the diet.

We ordered his flours from a place in Seattle, 

and cooking creatively became our number one pastime.

We had two sets of pans, utensils, and even a double oven.

Thanksgiving was a real challenge with two Turkeys.

One with regular stuffing, one with rice stuffing.

We made regular decorated Christmas cookies, 

and some made from Corn Flakes sprinkled with colored sugars.  

A year or two passed; he and the kids managed to cook, and stay healthy.

I worked at my career,  and traveled too much.

Chuck continued the work he loved, as a master carpenter.

Then he had another stomach attack.

At first we thought he just had the flu, 

And the hospital said he "was just constipated."

We had just moved to Indianapolis, so we found a new doctor.

The appointments to specialists followed, 

Until we arrived at the gastroenterologist.

He ordered CT scans, and MRI's, and numerous other tests.

It was determined to be a cyst in his pancreas.

"Just stay off the dairy products," they said.

We  looked at each other questioning this advice. 

What's left but proteins, fruits, and some carbs to eat.

New diets from the dietitians, followed by lists of Dos and Don'ts.

His health instantly improved, and all was right with our world.

Again we were back on the right track, or so we thought.

It was November, 1990.  Only 5 months had passed since my transfer.

New house, new friends, new schools, new job for Chuck.

I was already overwhelmed, and now a new diagnosis,

A new diet regime to put into place.

And the Holidays were right around the corner. 

It was to be the first Christmas that we would be all together as a family, 

ON the actual DAY of Christmas, December 25th.

It had to be just right and very special.

We planned, shopped, cooked, and baked.

Then the day came, and we knew we were truly blessed.

Laughter, stories and pictures of old times.

A meal inhaled by my older boys, and Chuck with his "specialties."

Everyone left with a full stomach, a full trunk of gifts,

and a heart overflowing with memories, old and new.

And of course with my luck, the pictures didn't turn out.

On December 27th, we were at the hospital again.

This was to be the "visit of truth," as I refer to it.

More tests; "Did he eat anything he shouldn't have?"

"No, we are very careful about that." I said through the tears.

"Please find out what is REALLY wrong with him, PLEASE, "

I remember begging, maybe a little screaming, at the doctors.

It didn't take but a few days for them to tell us.

The "cyst" had grown larger, 

BUT all the other tests were perfectly normal,

and he was not in any pain whatsoever.

To them, as well as us, it was a scary mystery.

They wanted to take part of the "cyst" out to biopsy.

That couldn't be done until January,

The surgeon was on vacation.

Not to worry they kept saying, he is doing fine.

"FINE?", I remember screaming, 

"not knowing, is NOT fine."

So we went home, until the surgeon came back from vacation.

Our appointment with the surgeon was on January 13th.

Can't remember if that was a Friday. 

I was numb and terrified, but locked it away, were no one could see.

Chuck seemed to be "acting" like his old self. 

Smiling, talking, joking with others around him.

In with the surgeon, it wasn't long before I exploded.

"How do you KNOW it isn't cancer?"

The highly regarded surgeon said calmly,

"Because he has no symptoms, and it doesn't look like cancer."

He turned away as he said,"But the biopsy will tell us just what it is."

Surgery was scheduled for an agonizing week later.

The hospital was a buzz of activity, at 6:30 in the morning. 

I hadn't slept all night, and I didn't want to leave Chuck's side, 

so no coffee and donut for me.

I looked down at him. He looked at me.

He smiled that big old smile, I let the tears drift down my cheeks.

Such a picture of health, and happiness I thought,

except for all the stuff that was attached to him.

The nurses came and off he went, 

Telling me not to worry, and to not cry in my coffee,

A few hours passed.

The doctor broke the silence of the waiting room calling my name.

They would need to try "something else" tomorrow.

The entrance to the pancreas was blocked.

He turned away, oh so professionally, 

As I navigated my way down the hall with clouded eyes.

That night, "truth or dare night" as I refer to it,

Chuck told me to call my parents to be with me the next day.

I looked in his eyes , as I hung the phone back up,

"What are you not telling me? Why do you want them here?"

Would you tell me if something was very wrong?"

Calmly, and ever so quietly he said,

"I would never lie to you. I never have."

In my deepest gut there was a voice telling me

He couldn't, or wouldn't, say anymore. Conversation over.

I just picked up the phone and called them.

In the morning the atmosphere felt eerily different, 

 More "stuff" was wired to him.

Irritating. He's smiling; I'm shaking and smiling, 

determined not to cry before he was taken away,

brushing over my hand as he went by.

The nurse gave me a hug,

"Why all this attention I thought? Something is so wrong."

I could feel it in the air,  in the whispers of the nurses, 

and when my ears begun ringing as I fell to the floor.

I awoke with a cold rag on my head, and apple juice on a tray next to me.

The nurse came over and asked if I was better now.

"Yes. I just need to go to the waiting area." I weakly whispered. 

And in the waiting area all I did was wait, and wait, and wait.

For 6 hours I waited, then asked the nurse AGAIN for an update.

My parents had arrived and brought my 15 year old son.

The doctor arrived in a white garb covered in my husband's blood.

" Let's go somewhere and talk privately."

In a room filled with several comfy chairs, and screens to view xrays,

I finally learned the truth that had been hidden for the past years.

"Cancer comes in all forms and dimensions," I could here him say.

"In your husband's case none of the normal signs were there."

"What will we do now?" I tried to patiently ask.

I was crying so hard, I didn't even know he was holding me up.

"We'll try several treatments, and see if anything will work" he answered.

"Just go be with your family. It will be a while until he's in a room."

Hell, at that moment I didn't even know what day it was,

let alone what time it was.

The next moments are a blur to me as I walked towards my family.

"The cancer is everywhere, they could only make him as comfortable as possible."

My father took me in his arms and gently rocked me, rubbing my back. 

He gave me a handkerchief. One that I still have in my Bible today.

Sadly this memory of my late father, is one I often refer to

when times are hard for me, and my life needs a family to hold on to.

The truth had laid dormant inside this man, and no one knew it.

I often think we were naive in not asking more questions,

not demanding more answers, more tests.

We were tired of all that, I suppose, and accepted what they told us.

To this day doctors still insist, that Celiac Sprue Disease,

  (his allergy to grains that developed out of nowhere),

Had no influence on the cancer diagnosis.

And if you, or someone you know, has this disease,

Ask for more, much more, and still more

More answers,

Until you find the hidden truth.

TheTrue Meaning

Different countries have different holidays.
But there is one thing all holidays
around the globe have in common...
A celebration of their lives and culture.
Did it ever cross your mind as to how we measure up?

Let's start with the "Mother of all Holidays"...
Christmas, which is totally over rated in the USA.
AND misrepresented to our children.
What started out centuries ago
as a celebration of the birth of Christ,
has turned into a major
marketing blitz of gifts, decorations, and commercialism.
GIFT GIVING IS A CHOICE, NOT AN OBLIGATION.
The day dawns, and it's December 25Th.
Don't many of us spend money we don't have,
for our anxious children, and expectant families?
Yet so many in the world do without the basics,
food, shelter, clothes.

Commercialism... on your front yard in the form of
Snow globes, Snoopy adorned in a Santa hat,
and the ever popular Reindeer.
They don't have reindeer in Bethlehem...
So obviously they weren't there when Christ was born.
"Santa" brought them into the Christmas theme.

Look up Saint Nicholas in your book of saints,
or Father Christmas in your history books.
Then Google Thomas Nast,
Who was responsible for giving Santa his red suit.
A refresher course on the true meaning of Christmas.

I do remember giving gifts that were sewn by hand,
Christmas only recipes given to neighbors,
and Carols sung as chores were done, and cookies baked.
Christmas cards were a staple of our holiday decor.
What happened to the tradition of
placing the manger in the creche on Christmas morning?
Heading off to Mass dressed in our very best;
Starched dresses, frilly socks and shiny shoes.

Church. It smelled of joy.
Poinsettias. Candles, and the smell of pine filled the air,
The tree of angels naming those who had left us.
Oh, and how wonderful the choir's voices rang out.
Silent Night, Hark the Herald Angels Sing,
and Away in a Manger.
Then it was back to home for family and feast,
Laughter and songs, telling of stories.
and the exchange of the simple gifts.

I once read in a magazine years ago,
that posed an interesting question to parents.
" Is it not possible that our children,
would find at least as much pleasure in receiving a gift,
if they knew that parents were responsible for Christmas,
and not a supernatural stranger?'

I do not claim to "Not Guilty"
when it comes to over doing the Holidays.
But thinking about it now gives me time to
reflect on the recent past, my childhood
and the holidays yet to come.
Serenity, prayer and preparation,
and celebrating the true meaning of Christmas,
just seems like a much better way to go.
God tells us it is never to late
to welcome change into our lives.
Getting a head start now is a great idea,
Then I can throw out all the catalogs,
Mute the TV during the Christmas commercials,
and avoid the aisles already displaying Holiday decor.
WooooHoooo....!

The Shape Of Memories

The electronic picture era is here to stay.
Downloading, uploading, scanning, cropping.
Digital cameras, digital frames.
Camera phones, camera phone videos, tagging photos.

No more film, no more VHS tape recordings.
No more negatives, slides, or projectors.
No more Polaroids, they faded anyway.

There once was a day we sat with family,
usually a holiday of some nature.
Uncle Bob would drag out a projector, the pull up screen.
The curtains were drawn, lights turned off,
We would sit around the screen waiting for the big reel to roll.
Some one would yell out, "There's Aunt Mame, God rest her soul."
And then a Santa with a big red bag would appear.
"We always knew it was you Dad!"
We were hushed because little ones were present in the room.

"Look at all those candles," Grandma would always shout.
"Don't know why you kept trying to put them all on that cake.
I could never blow them all out anyhow."
"Is that me Mom? I must have been only 6 then,
because sis is just a chubby baby," I would ask.
That was the birthday we got our first TV set.
We got a real black and white picture
of that historic family event.

"Oh no you filmed my 30Th birthday?" Mom would question.
" Gosh I look so worn out, and old in this.
When did you ever take it?"
"Obviously when you were having that drink in your hand
and were to busy to notice!" Uncle Bob laughs,
And everyone in the room joins in the giggles.
"There's Grandpa on that one Christmas.
Remember Dad you took us to Church, and Santa came
While Mom was taking a bath!"
Dad and Mom agree, "That sure was a special Christmas alright."
My Dad squeezes her hand, and gives her a peck on the cheek.
Family times we'll all remember,
as they warm our hearts of times long past.

When MY children were little, birthdays were grand events.
And the camera never stopped clicking away.
There once was a party when my son invited
the entire Kindergarten class, without my knowledge.
And the kids kept coming, and coming, and coming.
My girlfriend and I were getting out the lunch bags,
scrounging around for goodies to put in the 20 extra bags.
Our inside games, became outside games.
Pieces of cake became smaller,
and on paper plates with flowered borders.
We ran out of the Spider Man plates after piece number 8.
No child complained,
all the laughter confirmed how much fun was had by all.
I collapsed after the last child was picked up.
And the rolls of films went to the drugstore the next day.

Then there was another son's 11Th Birthday.
It had to be grand;
we were going through a tough time in our lives.
So I put on my "Think Originality" cap.
We came up with an awesome party plan.
11 kids were invited.
The party would last 1,100 minutes,
and we would do 11 things.
There was a scavenger hunt for 11 items.
We went to 7/11 to get 11 slushies, and rented 11 movies.
Actually ordered 11 pizzas,
Then an 11 minute hopping contest for 11 candy bars.
We had 11 different kinds of soda, and 11 grab bags.
Then I told eleven jokes, as they politely laughed, or groaned.
I think my son was a little humiliated at my lack of comedy skills.
And I went to bed at eleven o'clock,
knowing I had to cook 11 pancakes for eleven boys,
before they would be picked up at 11:11 am.
Again, many rolls of film were sent off the next day.
To be transformed into double copies, of paper memories.

Dozens of other birthdays are frozen, not just in memory,
but in a gazillion photos, and of course the gazillion negatives.
There was my daughters birthday date with her Dad, when she was 5.
He bought her a corsage, and she wore her best dress.
A little girl in pony tails and bows, grinning from ear to ear,
safely in the arms of her proud, smiling Daddy.
A picture that I will never forget taking, and never tire of looking at.

When my other daughter turned 16, we planned a secret adventure.
It was just her 2 best friends, and we were off to a secret destination.
It irritated her, thinking we would "totally embarrass" her.
There was a trip to the city, then a fun feast at Ed Debevic's Restaurant.
Then a giggling night, sharing stories, in a fancy hotel.
And shooting crazy pics in matching hot pink PJ's, and cowgirl hats.
The next day a trip to the pier, and a movie at the IMAX theater.
We even got a big "Thanks guys" after that one.

It overwhelms me to think of all the boxes in my closet,
in albums, in drawers and negatives EVERYWHERE.
New technology has developed ways to preserve,
but for me, not to "user friendly."
Sometimes I am fearful my memories will fail me.
There is an urgency to learn these new ways.
Making memorable times for my own family, and grandchildren.
For me it was special times in front of a projector screen,
For them it will be waiting, while a little chip is inserted into a TV.

For now, at this moment, I will live, play, and rest,
With my family, and our memories under my roof.
In an indescribable way, that brings comfort to my soul,
They are always close at hand,
To look at, to rub my fingertips over their faces,
and to remember with blurred vision,
that "Life has been Good"

When It Rains It Pours

The rain slashing against my windows woke me this morning.

Rain is one of those natural details that has two functions.
It can harm, but it is an essential part of the cycle of life.
In one short day, I was blessed to see both sides of rain's persona.

In 1996 rain flooded my town.
The bridges and roads were buried under water.
Many could not get to their jobs, and just turned around for home,
to face the task of cleaning a flooded basements.
I remember trying to drive to the main YMCA,
to get the kids to day camp, then on to work.
No such luck... the roads were flooded.
So we decided to stop at the bagel shop, then head home.
As we walked in, I noticed an elderly couple sitting on the curb.
On leaving the store, I asked if they were alright..
"Not at all," they said with tired voices.
"We took our granddaughter to the airport,
And have been up all night.
Then the highway shut down.
Many people gave us many directions.
We really don't even know where we are!
Or how we are ever going to find our way home."
So, I said. " Hop in the truck, and come home with us."
They looked at me like I was altogether half-baked.
"Listen," I said calmly,"this may last all day,
and I only live a few miles from here.
You can rest, call family, have some coffee and food.
Then when the roads open,
and we've pointed you in the right direction,
I'll bring you back here to your car. Sound good.?"
Nodding yes and smiling, we helped them into my Suburban.
During the few minutes drive to my home, they kept thanking us.
At home we settled them into recliners with blankets.
The gentleman fell asleep within minutes.
The woman called some friends, relaying her adventure thus far.
I made a pot of coffee, and the kids hot chocolate.
When my husband walked in the door,
He just shook his head and smiled, as our adventure was revealed.
We got out a map, to give our adopted friends.
Then mapped out some alternate routes to give them.
As the hours passed, calls were made and naps taken,
They were anxious to get on the road.
I handed them a box with sandwiches, and munchies.
They asked. " What do we owe you?"
I laughed and said," Look at my children.
You have allowed them to experience the meaning of kindness.
Up front and in person. I thank you for that."
They gave us all hugs, and we exchanged addresses.
My husband helped them out to our truck,
Reviewing directions all the while.
We stood on the porch, as they grinned, and waved goodbye.
Instantly, the kids asked when we could go visit them.
"Sometime after the weather improves." I laughed.
We never saw them again,
Only exchanged a Christmas card.
But often as it rains, I look back on that day.
It was a time when rain brought devastation.
For many of our close neighbors.
Fortunately for us, there was no flooded basement.
But it gave our family a chance to show our children,
how to open their hearts and practice kindness.
Especially when others are unaware they may need it.

Now Is The Time

I never wanted this blog to be about my recent "family" issues.
This will be the last.

I specifically started this for a personal journalism project.
I wanted an outlet to help me get through the next few years.
I wanted to share some of my life's stories.
I debated writing about current events.
But this is not for me.
It's for Ron, my husband.


A life that began in the inner city streets of Chicago.
Struggles were ever present all of his life of 60 years.
He's never complained, only accepted the life he has lived.
Worked hard, at odd hours to advance.
And eventually support a family with 4 children, and sick wife.
After 25 years of marriage she divorced him.
He gave her everything he could.
Himself filing for bankruptcy, and beginning again.
I have known him for 12 years.
He has always been a gentle, responsible, loving, and patient person.

Now some of my background......

I barely survived through 2 abusive marriages.
I found my soul mate in 1974.
I then had a family of 2 natural children and 4 stepchildren.
Then he died.
Very suddenly.
Shattered my life.
I was 38 with 6 children ages 5 to 25.
My therapy was simple.
I helped other young widows.
Free time was devoted to my career and my children.
Life did not end because I was hurting.
It slowly took a new dimension.
I loved those around me harder.
I was grateful to God everyday they were in my life.
As years went by my career stabilized, we moved a few times.
Eventually I landed in Chicago.
I found more volunteer work in the church and community to keep going.

One of those groups was a parent mentoring program.

I began mentoring a recent divorced mother with 3 children at home.
She had some mental and health issues, and my heart broke for her.
If she needed her house cleaned, I was there to help.
If she needed care for her younger son and daughter, they stayed with me.
If she needed a friend to talk to, I was there at all hours.
Her oldest son MOVED out, to live with a friend in the city.
She needed me more than ever. And I was there.
This woman grew to be my friend.

And the last person I ever wanted to hurt.
She was also the ex-wife of my current husband.

I met Ron when he picked up the younger ones every weekend.
The 2 older ones were 10 years apart, from the younger two.
The oldest daughter wanted to live with Ron.
Medically the situation with their Mom got worse.
She needed to be hospitalized again,
Physically or emotionally, she couldn't take care of the children any longer.
They stayed in my home for 6 months.
The court gave custody of the younger two to their father.
He bought a condo, 2 miles from were their mother lived.
The children could see her as often as they wanted.
We stayed in touch.
We went to movies and dinner with the kids.
We became even closer friends.
Then we started dating, but I was not looking to remarry.
I only believed God sent him, and the kids into my life for a reason.
We fell in love; got married.
I adopted his younger two children.

I was just Me; they saw Mom, whenever they wanted.

This is where we begin the truth...

My chest hurts, writing this.

Crying has burned my eyes.
The heartache is never ending,
From so much useless pain.
I have been quiet, and tolerant.
Ignored the lies, and overlooked the hatred.
But it's time.......

I can say with all truism, that I try every day to be a good person.
I do not act maliciously toward others.
I have made mistakes in my life, and learned from everyone of them.
Always sincerely apologizing to those I have ever hurt.
I try to help those in need : friends, family, strangers.
I do not ever expect anything in return.
I believe wholeheartedly that God put us on this earth.
To to live in His image, and by His teachings.
The Lord has saved my life, and kept my soul intact.
Through some of the worst life can throw your way.
I pray every day.
For my family, for strength to accept, for forgiveness, to please look out for those I love.
I love my ENTIRE family, extended and natural, with my entire heart.
This will be me until the day I die.

* I did not force myself on Ron's family.
God dropped them, into my already complicated life.
I opened my heart yet another time.
I have never regretted the struggles.
Just tried to focus on the smiles my new life brought.

* No one thinks I need to go to a mental health facility.
(Except ME sometimes)
I have always loved my adopted children as my own.
Their older siblings, I try to treat with love and respect.
They live in their father's heart, as do I.

* My husband's heart is shattered.
Why do his three oldest children think he deserves to be "out casted?"
The pretense that I tore apart their family, holds no water.
Past hurts can not be undone, but they can be water under the bridge.

His older children have disowned him.
There are two grandchildren he has never seen.
He has firmly and calmly tried to glue it all back together.
But no one wants to listen.
Each time the returning actions and words become more hateful.
Old issues, heartbreaks, disappointments.
Clenched in their hearts like security blankets.

His daughter has an ongoing sickness.
At her hands, it has spread.
There lies within her a relentless need for drama,
Of influencing others with half truths.
Then feeling trapped, her river expands and grows deeper.
The waters to close friends, and unsuspecting family are poisoned.

He is broken. He has given up.
I have not given up.
I never will.

I will pray everyday that God finds a solution.
It is in His hands now.
I have turned it over to Him to show us a way.
As His word has always asked us to do.
He does not want our souls to suffer.
A day will dawn.
Love will find a way to cleanse the waters
And let love flow back into their souls.

The Birth of a Career

When I turned 15, all I thought about was getting a job. I guess the independence bug bit me early. I was 15 1/2, when I received an invite to my first big dance. I was desperate to get a "very special dress." So ingenuity sent me into the supermarket down the street from my high school, were I applied for a job in the bakery department. Oddly enough I got the job, though they knew full well I wasn't 16, as I had stated on my application. My Mom wasn't too happy, but my Dad was quite impressed with my perseverance. It was a great job, and I was in love. not with a boy, but an industry. The dance thing,... well as it turned out, I had bought a sewing machine instead of a dress, and ended up working on the day of the big event!

About a year passed. The ladder of advancement was tempting me. I wanted to work in the deli department where I could get more hours, and make more money. The owner of the store saw me eating a sandwich one Saturday afternoon, and asked if I would like to work in a different department. When he told me they were going to have an opening in the deli, I literally choked. Seriously, he had to pat me on the back, and hand me my soda! I laughed, and he looked at me somewhat puzzled. "You read my mind!" I blurted out. As I explained further, he put his hand on my shoulder and said, " You are one determined gal." Two weeks later I was slicing meat.

Decades ago sexual harassment was never even a topic, let alone a law. I worked long hours, for a boss that drank, rather than supervise. Fortunately he was having a fling with another employee, so I was pretty much out of the line of fire. Then she quit, and I became the target. Since I had grown up with 2 relentless older brothers, I suppose there where many who thought of me as feisty. So when the time came to fight back, I defensively unloaded a dozen eggs, zeroing in on his crotch. 10 out of 12 direct hits was impressive, and from that day on, he never said a word about it. Though the next day his brother, who owned the store, came up to me and said, " You're OK kid." I thought he was complementing me on my pitching skills, never thinking twice that he was thanking me for my tolerance.

Needless to say it was time to move on. My Dad helped me devise a job hunting plan. He suggested I write my name and phone number on an index card, along with a few sentences about previous work, and one sentence defining my 5 year goal. Goals? I was 19, and never thought more than a month ahead. But his advice gave me a path to follow, and a lot of food for thought. I then went to the chain stores that were close by, asking if they had any openings. If they didn't I politely asked if they would keep my card on file. My Dad's strategy paid off. I had a new Full Time job in less than three weeks right up the block at a brand new store. Father certainly knew his stuff!

I stayed with that chain of stores for close to 10 years, and it was one of the happiest times of my career. Moving up the ranks, gave me a much needed confidence in my abilities in the workforce. I knew I was good at what I loved, and this is where I belonged. Little did I know how different my future would be...a career in the corporate world would prove to be far more challenging.

Terror from a Test

Before I added more of my life's "adventures," past and present, there are some more recent events I would like to share.

Life goes skipping along, at it's standard pace. The sun rises, the sun sets, and between those two events each day, so much can happen to change the days that follow. For years my mammograms have shown a lump, that was diagnosed as "a fibroid cyst." The word cancer terrifies me as much as the actual disease, so I let the diagnosis lie. But always it lingered in the back of my mind, and had me second guessing my image in the mirror after a shower. So this year I was not expecting anything different, when the phone rang. "We need to do a second mammogram. The first was not conclusive." Okay, I could live with that. Two days later, the phone rang again. " We need to do a "needle aspiration biopsy." I could somewhat live with that, knowing the lump was fluid filled and the size of a Froot Loop. So, into the hospital I went, 100 % confident nothing would be wrong with me. But I was seriously thinking that this was getting rather annoying, and I would talk to the Doc about just taking the darn thing out.
So a few days passed, and I was actually thinking, "No News; Good News." Trust me, never a good idea, because inside the stress is eating you up. So I called the doc, got the nurse, and she says the Doc wants to see me. She of course is chipper and does not give even the slightest clue as to what the next appointment will be about. So I withdraw into my "It's nothing, or he would have called right away" mode. Longest two weeks of my recent life followed.
The morning of the appointment, after my shower, I stand in front of the mirror. Yep, the little "moving lump" was still there. The Doc later confirmed that yes indeed it was still there. "Hadn't I noticed it had gotten a little bit bigger?" he asks. "Had I not noticed a smaller NEW lump had developed?"
"No" I said, "I guess I should check it more often, but I'm so used to it being there."
Then came the five words, even before I could bring them up my self. "They should really come out." Shock, disbelief, fear, .... you name it, it went through my brain in the following 15 seconds. With all the courage I could rip from my pounding chest I asked, " Is it cancer?" He looked at me with these soft, yet concerned eyes, that all doctors have, and said, "We really aren't concerned it could be cancer.. But we will run more tests after they are taken out; just to be on the safe side. It's the fact that a new one has developed, and the existing one has gotten just a little bigger." Oh, that made me feel so much better, and far more reassured I wasn't dying right there on the spot !
So now a few weeks have gone by, and our new insurance has kicked in. I'm still debating, arguing with what should be my common sense. A big part of me really doesn't want to know, and doesn't care. Clinical depression will play tricks with your mind. Even though I have remarried, my husband died in 1991 very rapidly from cancer. I got through a lot of the intense heartbreak by telling myself it was his time. So how do I not know if this isn't just "my time?" It could be, God only knows, and He hasn't sent me any signs that it isn't. On the contrary, my life has been emotionally draining, and physically demanding to the point where it is far from fulfilling. It's like my life appears to be dying on the outside, and the inside will follow , if it indeed is my time. My current husband has such a quiet way about him, he's like my best friend. But we don't talk about medical issues. Probably because he knows I'll bring up his smoking again....
I truly believe that someday, hopefully sooner rather than later, God will say, "It's okay you can go now. I am done with you. Come to Me." But until that time, I live by His calender, and I probably will have my "little lumps" taken out.....Maybe

How To Say Goodbye

I have raised children of many personalities. They entered my life through childbirth, marriage, and adoption. All hold a very special place in my heart, that they own until the day I die. Some I have had a greater influence on than others, but I loved them just the same. Being a mother can be as fulfilling as it is painful. You smile as well as cry, you let go as much as you hold on.
I read my daughters blog from Korea tonight. I was hoping there would be no more pain, but her heart still holds so much hate towards us. Hate that she has chosen to block out any attempt to reconnect as a family. And the saddest part of all, in this chapter of my life, is that I've chosen to forgive and love unconditionally. Her heart of hate, won't let any of that in. She says she would rather have no parents at all. I don't know anymore how it all got this bad. All I do know is that I never want her to hurt, feel unloved, be afraid, or cry because of me. Someday I hope she sees that, and grows away from all the hateful words she still needs to put out for all to see.
I don't know where she is, because she won't give us her address. We have a beautiful grandson, that we have never seen. And never will if she holds so firmly to the hate in her heart. I wish she could remember all the great times we laughed, went shopping, sat on our big bed and watched TV, talked about "girl stuff", and so many other happy memories I like to think about. I am so proud of her, and how she has grown into a strong independent woman and mother. I hope she knows that. And that I wish with all my heart that we could be together to make many more memories to cherish. Especially since she is a mother now herself.

I love you, LRS, and I hope you are happy, and content. No matter what you may be thinking, I truly do pray that life brings you happiness in every way possible.

Celebrating my Freedom

I was just a young girl of 20, when I married my first husband. It was a tough time for me, because I really had no desire to get married, but my parents felt it was my time. I just wanted to work at the deli, a job that would grow with me in future years. So I married, and started the "wife" routine. Turns out it was far harder than I thought to learn to love and support a man who often changed jobs, and had a mean streak. After a year went slowly by, I became pregnant with my first child. Knowing things had to change, I tried to leave and be on my own. Well if you have Catholic parents, that is not in the cards. So I settled for plan B, a duplex with two bedrooms, one having it's own door for "Mr." to come and go as he pleased. I kept working full time, making decent money, and planning for the day when my child would be born. My son entered the world, and when I first saw him, I knew I could do it on my own someday. Well, that day came quicker than I thought, after one terrible night. I had locked myself and my son in the bathroom, and we slept on the floor all night. The next morning, I became independent, with a strength I never knew was lying dormant inside me. Within two days I found a secure apartment, filed for divorce, brought my son to a relatives house to stay for a few weeks, and moved out with the help of dear friends. When I brought my son into our new home, I sat on the floor and held him to my chest, thanking God for this new found strength and freedom. I counted my blessing of my son, a good job, a great caretaker for my infant son, and my liberation from a life I never could have survived. So, today on July 4Th, it is that freedom and the birth of my son, that I celebrate. For it was the factor that would lead my life through amazing journeys...