It’s that time of year….

“It’s that time of year….” I heard this the other day while standing in line at our local dollar store. The two ladies were talking about the weather in our home town. But when I heard it, I thought, “What day is it anyway?” I had to think on it before I could even come up with a month. The very next thought was, “There is no way it has almost been a year!!” I kept that thought, until I could get back home and look at the calendar to prove that my mind was just playing tricks on me again. And sure enough it was there in black and white. It really had been almost a year. It seems to me like it was maybe last week at the most. Then it all came flooding back in full blown sight, sound, smell, color, and pain. My Baby Girl, Krista, will have been dead a year next month on the 15th. Mind you, this never leaves me, it just has its days that I can put it to the back long enough to get through a conversation, a tv show, a trip to the dollar store. I hardly ever sleep anymore and I know I’m not taking as good of care of myself as I should. I’m reminded of it every 2 or 3 months when I have to go to the doctor to get my meds refilled. But does the pain ever stop, or maybe even just lessen a tiny bit? Is there anyone else out there that feels the same way? Does anybody even give a damn? That is just a few of the billion questions I have that I may never have an answer for.  The most mind fogging one is, how could it EVER get better as long as this nightmare continues? So very many things that I think I need help with, that it doesn’t really seem to be worth the effort.

Who cares?

Recently, I had someone ask me, “Why do you write about things?”   I said, “I don’t really know.” “Is it just as a form of release, maybe?” he asked. And I answered him by saying, “I guess so, but more as just a way of letting the pain go.”                               I don’t have any idea how many people actually read the things I write, but that wasn’t the reason I started. I really and truly thought no one would. So I could say what I felt without anyone ever really knowing that I was releasing some of the pain I will always feel inside me. And for me to know that someone had actually  read the things I had written and had wondered why I was writing them, made me realize that there a very few people who actually know me.                                                         I’m not talking about casual friends. I know that I have a set number of very dear and close friends. They know that I’m not a cry baby. And they know that I’m not the type of person who wears their emotions out for everyone to see. They know that I am very easily hurt and that I never forget it. And that inside is a great big ball of mush, and that the things that I say never hurt me are the very things that do. But I would never let anyone know the difference. They know that underneath all this tough girl act is a lost little girl who has just needed someone to show her they loved her. They know that when I call you friend that I trust you enough to let you call me friend in return. And believe me, that is something that just any Joe-Blow wouldn’t be able to do. They know that I hold people away from me. Because when I let them in, they are the ones who can, and often do, hurt me the worst.                                                                                                           And I can very honestly say that I’m a big weenie when it comes to physical pain. I will go ten miles out of the way just to get around it. And I’m not ashamed to say it! But you can believe, that when I go out of my way to avoid physical pain, I will go to lengths unheard of to avoid emotional pain. I’m just not good at it. Never have been, never will be.                                             These thoughts have made me wonder if I came off that way to my daughter. I hope and pray that I didn’t, because it’s too late now to change it. So I guess that’s just another one of the bad things about me and my life that I will have to answer for when I stand in front of my maker.                                                                         All this has started me thinking on a lot of things that I should change about myself. Is it too late for it to make a difference? I know, in the long run, I’m only hurting myself by not being the person that I truly am inside.  And for someone who doesn’t know me, and is not around me, except for an occasional Sunday, to ask me why I write, has only shown me that what people see in me and what I really am, are as far apart as the east is from the west.                                                                                     But if a leopard changes its spots, so to speak, would I still be the same person? Or would everyone I know, think I was someone they no longer knew? Or would it make me someone I didn’t really want to be? All these unanswered questions have made me have a headache, so I’ll just leave it there for right now, and maybe come back to see about it later.

My Indecision

My 15 year old daughter, Krista, was writing 2 different stories when she was killed in an automobile accident. The accident is something I will not go into on this post. I just don’t have the strength. She would always tell me that she didn’t want me to read them, because they weren’t finished yet. I know that they will never be “finished” now, so here is the latest question in my  mind. Should I read them, knowing she didn’t want me to, after I promised that I wouldn’t?                                                                                                                   Even the thoughts of reading them sends my heart into a spiralling crash, because I have NEVER made a promise to my children that I have broken. (To my knowledge.) When they would ask me something and I knew that I might not be able to follow through, I would say we’ll see. And when they had gotten older, they knew that when I said that, that it meant maybe, and maybe not. I remember at one point her saying, “I guess that means no.”, and I told her then that it might not be no, only that I wasn’t one hundred percent positive of being able to follow through.                                                                                                                        I know that she was so very proud of what she had written up until that day. She came to me one day and said that she had a proofreader and that it was going to make it easier for her to just concentrate on the story. And that she would be able to just crank the pages out! But she quickly found out that she was terrible at grammar. And that she hated having to correct her work. On another day she came and told me she had a publisher. Now I have no idea what she was talking about, because the only kind of publisher I knew of was the kind that would publish your book after you finished it. I don’t think that is what she meant, but if it was, I don’t see how it could have happened, without my knowing about it. One, because she was underaged, and two, because someone around our town would have told me about it being in stores. I only hope if it was, that someone will let me know so that I could have a copy.                                                                                                         Many of her friends have told me that she was an exceptional writer and that they have read all her work to date. But, there goes that Mom “spidey tingle” about breaking a promise. I don’t know if I should or not. Will I like it? Will I ever be able to enjoy it, after breaking my promise? Will it even be something that I want to read? Our tastes were a little different on reading material after all.                                                                                             I realize this must sound very trivial to many people, but in my mind, trivial things seem to get stuck when it comes to my daughter. And there are lots of thoughts that when they actually get un-stuck, make this nightmare a little closer to, real.                                             And real is a place I hope I never fully get to.

The heartbreak I hope no other mother has to live through.

    I’m new to this, so forgive me if it isn’t what you thought it would be. I just feel that I have to put my feelings to words. My husband and I lost our daughter on May 15, 2016. She was in a terrible car accident on May 13th that took the lives of two other people in the car, instantly. She lived through 2 more days, with the help of life support. The hardest thing I ever had to do in my life was to tell the doctors to turn the machines off, to just stop the hurt and let her go to God. I miss her more than I could have imagined. It hurts everyday, some less so than others, but it is always there. I cry every day. I don’t want to wake up, and then I don’t want to sleep. Any time I smile, I feel guilty. Any time I can get away from my home, when I return, I feel like I left something out that I was supposed to do. Continue reading

An evangelical’s open letter to President-elect Trump:

I could not have said it better myself!!

Dear President-elect Trump,

Congratulations on your historic win. Your campaign was anything but conventional and to say that the odds were stacked against you would be a gross understatement. You have effectively and officially marked the beginning of the end of the Clinton machine as I’m sure that, this very minute, their donors are bailing like rats into the sewer. The people have spoken, and it is clear that we sense something in you. We sense momentum. We sense a course correction. We sense real hope. We sense a push-back against political correctness. We believe we have elected a champion for our cause. It’s a good day for conservatives everywhere.

Something needs to be said though.

We, the people WILL hold you accountable.

You made many substantial promises on the campaign trail. One of the main reasons you were voted in is because we are sick and tired of empty…

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