Darlene Purcell's Blog

I am the only girl between two brothers.  The younger one was born oxygen deprived and has lived most of his life in a dream world.  The first thirty  years of it I took care of him.  Its a long story.  I’ll elaborate in another post sometime.

My older brother could have been a member of Mensa.  I was two when he started school and being the chatty little boy that he was he came home every day excited about what he’d learned wanting to do more than just express it, he showed me the abcs, how to read and write.  In doing so, he opened up a lifetime of tools for me.

The first books I read at two years old was the Bible, the Paradise book ( Jehovah’s Witnesses version of a children’s picture bible with targeted bible stories) and Grimm’s Fairy Tales.  An old volume that belonged my ninety-something PaPa Purcell.  (Born in 1879 I feel like I’ve lived through two centuries of knowledge about so many eras he love to weave stories about.  He was a blacksmith in the old west and inspired bits of my first two novels.

From the moment I began reading, this little songbird also began writing poems and singing little songs I made up from them.  I was so painfully shy I never shared those with anyone but they all heard me singing and I remember the smiles around me when I’d realize I was singing while washing dishes or tying my little brothers shoes.

We had a stormy childhood, little tidbits will appear in my posts no doubt in time.  I was abused in many ways but reading and writing saved me.  I was locked in a controlled world where I wasn’t allowed to have my own sense of self or freedom to be a child.  I worked around the house because girl did the housework and in a family business from the age of eight that taught me a strict worth ethic and two career skills that still behoove me even now.  Artist and Bookkeeper.

Writing is an addicton like any other addiction and I spent every penny I could get my hands on to buy paper and pens.  Wrote under the covers with a flashlight barely able to get through classes the next day.  I hid those stories.  They were my reality that I could share with  no one else and was terrified would be read by someone who could hurt me over them.  But if I hadn’t of written those emotions out, I would have died.  Because no child can bear that kind of pain alone without some kind of outlet for it.

I wish I could say things got better when I was fifteen and got my legal emancipation, went to work at a government sewing factory as a surger and finished high school at my own pace.  I took my baby brother with me.  He was thirteen, going through puberty and now on top of being slow, Schizophrenia was unleashed in his head and he still hears voices even with medication.  He also has Alzheimers, Parkinsons and kidney disease from being a willing test subject for medications that were experimental then but now widely used for people with that mental illness.

To say it was a scary  time and I had no clue of what to do and no one to help is an understatement.  So I worked, took care of us the best I could and got my education.  He was in and out of Austin State Hospital so many times I lost count.  I did all I could to make him feel loved and I was one of the few people who was never afraid of him, even when I woke up once with him straddling me with a butcher knife talking out of his head ready to kill me.  I was his mother and his lifeline even in his worst moments and all it took was the sound of my voice to sooth him, although sadly I could never bring him back.

He’d still be living with me, if I hadn’t created my own family.  He was so jealous of my little daughter that he attacked her when she was five and I was forced to put him in a half-way house where he’s been ever since in Dallas.

It broke my heart to let him go and it took years for me to relax and realize I wasn’t the only one who cared about him or could take care of him.  Those people have been a godsend for him and me.  The drugs he’s on now have given him lucidity, no more voices. He still struggles with being behind the world by about eight seconds but he’s as smart as my older brother if you just give him a moment to respond.

If writing became my emotional outlet, reading was my escape from the real world and when I started school I was that little kid with the arm full of books who could barely walk out the door there so many and I had read them by the next morning, ready to get new ones.  I think I actually read all the second grade Teacher had to offer and she went in search of more for me.   God Bless you Mrs. Frazier.

Its always been my dream to be a writer but I was too busy all my life taking care of other people to do more than work, be a full time wife, mother and housewife.  When I was 36 I had an emergency hysterectomy with complications and was laid up for six weeks in bed.  I wrote my first novel Singing Heart during that time.  It was a story I’d had in my head since I was five and I finally had a chance to bring it to life as an adult.

It sat on a floppy disk for years and my daughter read it when she was sixteen.  Along with poetry I’d kept in diaries for years.

Crystal died when she was twenty-four from Cervical Cancer.  She was repeatedly misdiagnosed and by the time they found out what was really wrong she had two weeks left to live.  She fought for and won eleven more  months with chemo and radiation.  During that time I was her caregiver even though she was a newlywed.  Her hubby was decimated and she turned to me and we bonded even closer knowing it was our last moments together.

She told me a few weeks before she died that she loved my novel and all my poetry and art work.  I sketch in charcoal.  She said that if there was a real heaven then surely one of the pleasures there was reading from a huge library.  She painted a picture in my head of her sitting in a comfy chair in a huge library filled with every book ever written on earth, reading forever to her hearts content.  Like her mommy she started reading and writing at two.  I made sure of it.

She told me that she wanted me to publish SINGING HEART before I die.  So the month after she died I went on Amazon and put it out there, unedited because I had no clue how to do that and I let it sit on a shelf there all these years until someone read it and loved it enough to help me edit it. Only a few people bought it and there were thousand of downloads when I gave it away free but only a few reviews.  Those who read it seemed to like it.

During those years I wrote SAM which is a kind of fictionalized version of my Dad’s childhood.  I lost him to Cancer six months after I lost my daughter.  I was lost for so long, too destroyed by the loss of my only child to do  more than go through the motions of living.  I could not write after that second novel, could barely speak.

Last year I came back to the land of the living and began wanting to live.  There were years when I prayed for God to let me go too.  There was nothing left in this world for me.  Then my mother grew ill and needed to be with someone and so we became roommates.  She’s in heart failure and I have nursed her through two strokes and heart attacks since November of 2017.

While I have been confined to the house every day and night for months on end I began writing and I could not stop, still often waking up with my fingers poised above the keyboard, sometimes I just reread the last paragraph and began writing again.  I have completed nine new novels that I have edited and am making book covers for, one of which I introduced on Amazon on April 22, 2019 called QUICKIE.

I changed my genre from Historical Romance/Mystery to one that seems to be flooding the market and selling like hotcakes.  Erotica/Romance.  I’m about to release the other eight novels in the next few months.  Beginning with the one I’ve been up all night re-reading and editing, BEAUTIFUL BEAST.

These are not BDSM or male dominance and sexual experimentation novels.  These are stories of people meeting in the oddest of circumstances and going for it when they feel that spark that only happens once in a lifetime.  The  men in these stories aren’t bad but they do have bad-boy fire in them and they would kill to take care of the women they are in love with despite themselves.

These are just the prelude of the novels that will be lining those heavenly shelves and Amazon, because rather than let ideas slip away, I am always inspired, I have started 46 novels altogether in the past few years and they are anywhere from 70- 380 plus pages  nearly finished.

I am shocked when people say they are only able to write one novel at a time.  My brain shifts in to so many gears no matter what interests me but when it comes to writing I am a druggie binging until my fingers nearly fall off and I have use Visine to keep my eyes from burning.

I have new ideas for books that I am longing to put on paper.  But I’ve been busy this past few weeks now that the internet finally came my direction.  I live so rurally it hasn’t been in my area for years.  I’ve been working on builing a website, catching up with FB and Twitter, actually began brand new with all of them and editing, making sure my books are up to par and designing covers with a program I am still learning to use.

Its all greek to me and learning so many things at once is exhilerating and exhausting.  I just want to write.  I’ve been looking for an agent and reading everything I can my hands on to find out how to promote my novels.  I finally came to the conclusion this morning that I will spend a few hours a day promoting and editing, putting out the others on Amazon.

But I’m going back to what I love most.  Just writing.  Everytime I finish a novel, I think about Crystal sitting in that chair in Heaven, reading one of them and laughing or crying as she turns the pages. 

She loved me unconditionally, believed in me when no one else ever did and I miss her so much.  Even if it only a fanciful dream, the thought that she’s excited to read the next novel, that she’s the reason I had the courage to finally put my words in to the world for better or worse, that keeps me addicted to the one vice that I will never give up.

I started out in this world so shy I hid my face in my father’s neck and blushed beet red if anyone noticed me.  That continued until…well sometimes I’m still that shy. 

I began reading and writing when I was two years old.  Someday maybe I’ll write a book about my solitary childhood and what propelled me to create stories to keep  my sanity.  Lets just say many years later, having led a very colorful life, it has always been my dream to have a bookshelf filled with  my own novels in print.

Yesterday that wish came true.  QUICKIE isn’t my first novel and definetly won’t be my last, in fact there are nine others already completed about to be published in the next few months.  But it is the first novel that isn’t JUST an E-book.  I ordered my first copy in Paperback last night and I’m working on formatting my other published novels as well so they too will sit on my bookshelf.

When I leave this world all I have to leave behind is the love I shared and the words I wrote.  I have outlived all but a few of those I cared for and all of my children.  They left too early in life to give me grands.  My immortality is simply whatever my readers feel when they open one of my  novels and I have written many genres perhaps to give a little glimpse of my soul on deeper levels.

I fell asleep last night around two am, writing.  Woke up this morning fingers still on the keyboard and started again where I had left off until Jewlie, my 12 year old tabby cat began giving me kitty kissies, hoping for her morning grub.  She has big Betty Boop eyes and a Betty Davis gravely voice when she chatters.  She was really laying it on thick this  morning buttering me up hoping for some Fancy Feast.  She eats better than I do most days.  Sometimes I go for days forgetting to eat or drink, lost in my own world.   I’m trying to force myself to be a little more social  not only to promote my writing but to catch up with old friends.

Writing is an addiction like any other and when I’m not living in a dream world I’m creating a new one for the next novel.  I write it all down as I think of it and sometimes I have many novels in different stages, such as now, just waiting to be finished.

Several are edited and ready to be published, just waiting their turn.  I love this part of life, even though I miss those I once shared it with.  The sorrowful part of growing old is outliving those you loved.  As you age it gets harder to let in new loves because there is just so much grief one poor heart can beart in a lifetime of letting go.

One of the things that keeps me writing is what my twenty-four-year-old daughter Crytsal said just before she died from Cervical Cancer ten years ago.  She loved to read the novels I had written but never tried to publish.  She told me that she believed everytime one appeared on the bookshelf on earth it would appear in Heaven too and I better keep writing and get published so she could read them all while she waited for me to join her there.

I like to think that she is sitting on a comfy chair, in a heavenly library, with her little dog Brucie in her lap, sipping a cherry vanilla dr pepper, reading the book I just put on the shelf two days ago.  I can just see that beautiful smile on her face as she turns the pages and feel her love across the miles of time and space.  Fanciful delusion or just one more mystery of the great unknown to be solved?  I’ll find out someday but for now it keeps me tapping those keys and moving forward in this world.

I’ve been offline for almost two years.  Not by choice but rather, location.  Rural living has it perks but not all of them are on the grid.  Last week I got hooked with the first of the new Fiber Optic Cable lines offered EVER in our area and I’m thriled to be part of the world again.

Ghosts I don’t mind be haunted by….

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I don’t want to be one of those people who share their grief endlessly and monotonously, to the point that you can’t read their blog without feeling depressed.  So I have shared only a little here and there of the loss of my only child Crystal Xzan.  There are no words to express how beautiful she was inside or out or how much I miss her.  This world is insane without her and it’s because of her love for me that I can endure being here another moment.

A few weeks before she was diagnosed with cancer and told she was terminally ill at the tender age of 23, Crystal was new to computers and sat down one night with her hubby Jason and was messing around, learning how to use Media Movie Maker on Vista.  She made this movie of our lives together and wrote the poignant words that now comfort me when I miss her the most.

For all of you who are missing someone you’ll never see again in this lifetime…I hope you wlll watch this with me tonight and feel the love that my only child felt for me and be reminded that even as one chapter of our lives ends, a new one begins.  Mine began again on earth as hers began in heaven.  I do have hope to see her again in tha perfect place.  I feel so fortunate to have had the time I had with her here on Hell!  She would giggle at that…she had such a sense of humor…and she would have agreed that it was hard here on earth but she was happy to be here too.  She loved life and she fought so hard to have more time.  She had eleven more months after being told she only had two weeks to live.  That was my stubborn, willful daughter who believed in miracles and feared nothing and would not give up.

I am so proud of her.  She told me I had to get published before I die.  That every time I put a book on the shelves on earth they would appear in heaven and she’d be in the library in a comfy chair reading them and missing me.  I like to think that she has read Singing Heart and Sam there and soon she will be reading my third novel Silently Screaming.  When I get there she will still nag me to keep writing.  ha…ha…

She loved a good story more than anything else and I can’t begin to tell you how many of them I made up for her at bedtime as a little child.  When she was so ill that she could barely even keep her eyes open, she still would say, “Mommy tell me a story.”  I would tell her about heaven and how her father would come down and escort her home to be with him while I finished my time here on earth.  The week before she left this world she was far away.  She reached out and took my hand and smiled and asked.  ”Do you see him Mommy?”

I asked, “See who baby?”

She looked at the foot of the bed and nodded.  ”Daddy.  He’s wearing a black long coat with a bright white scarf around his neck.  It’s so long and he looks so young.”

I nearly cried because Fermin was a newscaster when we first met and he used to wear that long trench coat and the white scarf I get him for his birthday when it snowed.  He looked so handsome and always made my toes curl when he’d blow me a kiss heading out the door at four am tp READ the NEWS…  

I had never told Crystal that story.  It was a memroy from my past I never thought to share. There was no way she could have known about that scarf.  I believe with all my heart that was her Daddy there watching over her waiting to take her home.  She believed it too and when she died it was with a smile on her face after the most agonizing year k of her life suffering that unspeakable pain.

This is the horror I think of when I remember her last year on earth and the comfort I find in knowing that SHE did not die.  She just left the planet.  With someone who loved her as much as I did.  She left me this video, unbeknownst to either of us when she made it, just how much those words would mean to me for the rest of my life.

There are no words I can share to express my true grief…but these are her words of comfort and love that I will treasure forever…with all my heart…

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Murphy’s Bitch….

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Herman grinning at me….

    It’s hard to believe another year has passed or that its been that long since my last blog. I wish I could say time flies when you’re having fun but the truth be told it was one of the roughest years of my life on so many levels.
 
 
 
    You remember Murphy’s law? Anything that can wrong will at the worst possible moment! Well I’ve often felt like Murphy’s personal Bitch this year. He cracked that whip and pushed all my buttons hoping I’d crack.
 
 
 
     I didn’t. But there were times I felt like I might. In one of my earlier blogs I shared an Ice Storm that wiped out mine and mom’s home and personal belongings. Shortly thereafter I nursed my daughter for nearly a year as she fought a very brave battle with cervical cancer. Unfortunately she won the battles but not the war.
 
 
 
    My father followed her to heaven some six months later, also diagnosed with cancer. Mom and I ended up staying in Crystal’s little rental trailer house. I’ve been here five years and in that time the floor tiles and carpet have all peeled up or been taken up due to black mold or the unleveling of the house as its shifted.
 
 
 
    I did manage to paint the walls three years ago but they look pretty dingy now too. The roof leaks, the walls are molded inside and you can smell it no matter how much you clean or spray sweet smellem.
 
 
 
    We have never had the money to recoup our losses so each of us have an antiquated mattress and box spring that hurts our backs and makeshift night stands with a lamp. I painted the floors brown but that paint has long since worn off. If you don’t walk in shoes across the floors you have a heel full of splinters. Yes, it like baking in an oven in the summer and being in a freezer in the winter. But its a roof over our heads and its the last place my daughter was alive and the only place where I have any roots in this world to sustain me as a mother who has lost the one person in the world who made any sense in this world.
 
 
 
    To make this situation even harder, everyone from near and far seem to dump their newborn kittens on our front door. They would die if we didn’t take them in and I love animals, ALL animals too much to let one starve to death or be alone at the mercy of the elements and other wild animals who would harm them, crying to me for help with terror in its eyes.
 
 
 
    Its not the life I chose…but its the one I have and I do my best to keep a sense of humor and to give all I have to make it work for everyone concerned. So we have a house full of purry furry’s. What little income we have goes to pay the bills, a little food for us and a lot of food and kitty litter for them. (not to mention being spayed or neutered, odomite ear drops and dewormer and those who are dying are put to sleep so they don’t suffer) Some of the cats we have are over thirteen years old. Four of them I inherited from my Dad and Daughter. I am qualified to write a book about cats but you wouldn’t believe me if I told you all the things they do. We DO have cats that call us Meowrrrmy and say NO! and mean it! ha…ha… They think they are human and I sometimes forget they are not just hairy little two year olds. I find myself talking to them like humans and they go and do something so animatistic they put me in my place in a hurry!
 
    Animals are not a plant that you can water and walk away from. They are not for a season and then you free them and let them go in to the wild. They are a LIFEtime committment. They are domesticated, fragile, feeling creatures with distinct personalities and needs and no two are alike. They get sick, they feel loved, happy, jealous, sad, lonely, social, hungry, sleepy, angry, territorial, well you get the idea.
 
 
 

    They are not my only babies. Mom is totally a cat person. I’m not. I love every living creature which is why I moved away from the city to the country. Daily I feed Herman the gopher, (he likes to pose for the camera and look at him smiling at me) eight red bird couple and too many to name doves, blue jays, brown and woodpeckers who live in the trees behind us, green scratch. If you have never heard of green scratch its chicken feed and it looks like barley and corn with tons of other little seeds. You can buy a forty pound bag for ten bucks at the feed store. I put out a cup of it a day right in front of my window and by nightfall there isn’t a speck of it to be seen.Herman has hibernated for the winter and I can tell you right now that his tunnel is under my bedroom and he has a mountain of green scratch to keep from starving while the rest of us are iced and snowed in. I can’t wait to see him again in the spring. He might be cozy in his little cave but the rest of the wildlife is suffering Old Man Winter noisily. They don’t like it when the water fountain is a block of ice. I go out with boiling water to thaw it and on the days its freezing it last for a few hours before they are chirping angrily wanting more water. Poor babies!

    Redbirds, the Cardinals as mom calls them, love the cold. The more snow the better or so it seems. They thrive in the cold months and semi disappear during the summer only coming out to eat a little here and there.

 
 
 
    There are black cows in the pasture just about ten foot from my window. Last week they ran bellowing in horror with snow on their backs from thirty mile an hour winds in subzero weather. It was so pitiful I stood there staring out the window crying, feeling helpless to save them. There was nothing for them to eat and they were so scared. I finally called the farmer who owns them and he laughed and said he was about to come and put them in the barn with some hay. But if he didn’t let them out now and then they’d go stir crazy.
 
 
 
    I know exactly how that feels. My car, which I inherited from my daughter four years ago, is sixteen years old and on and has been on its last wheezing, gasping, sputtering lag for over a year barely getting us to town once or twice a month to do a little grocery shopping and see the doctor. It finally sputtered out, gasped black smoke and died back in late november and living rurally we have no taxis, buses and only one nearby friend to get us where we need to go. She is in town a few miles away. But she is 83 years old and terrified to slip and fall in the ice so she can’t come and give us a ride very often.
 
 
 
    I don’t have the credit to finance a new vehicle or the income to pay for it. I have been working on selling my jewelry in Dallas at a friend’s estate sales but people want to pay yard sale prices for new sets of it and I can’t make a profit that way. I’ve written two novels which I’ve promoted on Amazon and Twitter but I don’t have the internet capacity to do either on a consistent basis. So they too have only made a few dollars. Even though the people who have read them gave them great reviews for the most part. Especially my latest novel SAM. The last review for it was exactly how I felt as I wrote. I laughed and cried and felt something almost spiritual as I reread and edited it. If you’d like to check it out it’s at http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00E0AWMDY
 
 
 
    I don’t write for fame or fortune. I love-making colorful quilts. Sketching people in charcoal. Singing and playing guitar and piano. It’s all erupts from in the same place in my soul. Ways to express my thoughts and feelings and perhaps when I leave this world, since both of my children have preceded me to heaven and I have no grands…some little part of me will live on, even if only in words instead of dna. A little piece of my heart that will connect to other hearts. That is why I write. I know my books will never go viral. I still have many to write. But as Emily Dickenson wrote and I share her sentiment, “If I can I touch one heart and ease the pain, I shall not live in vain” That feeling of connection when you write and the reader is aroused emotionally and grows mentally from what you’ve shared…well thats the part of me that I want to remembered for. The part that was real and mattered. Not just a storyteller but a real person whose life experiences and/or vivid imagination, helped others see life in new ways.
 
 
 
    It amazing how much you run out of when your on a fixed income and can’t get to town to buy what you need but once a month. We cut up old clothes we no longer wear for rags when we run out of toilet paper. Make our own detergent. I’ll give you the recipe sometime. Necessity is the mother of invention and I have quite a few home remedies and survival tactics to keep us going around here. Things that perhaps influence the era I always write in. Late 1800′s. I a true southern belle with that pioneer spirit!
 
 
 
    In the past few months seems like everything we did manage to replace since that ice storm six years ago has worn out. From the electric can opener and microwave to the clothes dryer. The list is endless. You name it and it no longer works. Even my tv died. Fortunately one of my neighbors bought a new flat screen tv at Xmas and gave me their old tv. It doesn’t have a hookup for anything but the outdoor antenna coax cable line. I pick up about six channels.
 
 
 
 
    But I am grateful. I didn’t have that for four months. There is nothing more lonely and boring than to have nothing at all from the outside world. During that time did I mention my laptop also died and I have resurrected it again, now I’m using a mouse and off-board keyboard and the screen has to be propped up. Still, If I were to have to pick one word out of all the words in the world to describe what I’m feeling right now in this moment. I’d have to say GRATEFUL. Because when you keep losing everything that makes life bearable and doing without even the necessities, when you do get a few things, even antiquated and patched up, you know what TRUE Gratitude really is.
 
 
 
    I am still alive. In the past ten years everyone I’ve ever loved and been close to has died or moved long distance out of my life, except for my mother. I wish I could say that she and I are close and are happy as roommates but you know better. ha…ha…
 
 
 
    You always end up with the person you have the least in common with. I love my mother but we are not best friends. We don’t even like the same foods or tv shows or anything that makes people compatible and peaceful together. The only thing we really have in common is having known each other 56 years. I have had to just shut my mouth and let her have everything in the house her way and not to talk back when she treats me like a two-year old even though I have more silver threading my hair than she does.
 
 
 
    I respect my mother and I’m GRATEFUL to still have her in my life when so many other are gone and I know she appreciates me too. My birthday was in November and she gave me a homemade card that was so touching and she is not a writer but she wrote something that I will treasure forever.
 
 
 
    To my Creative, Go Getter, ONLY Daughter Darlene, who ALWAYS finds a way! I’m so blessed we are sharing the rest of the rest with each other! Love always, Momma.
 
 
 
    I cried when I opened that card. We have been so poor this year that we have not celebrated any of the holidays and she wanted to bake me a cake for my birthday but the car was broke down and we didn’t have a way to go get eggs. So instead she made me this card and we spent the day outdoors with a weed eater and a rake getting rid of the leaves and trimming it for the winter. (she had to do the weed eating but I can still rake even on a walker.  It just takes a bit longer) Yes, our lawnmower died too…When I look at the endless fields and think how much I hated living in the city all those years, I am grateful for the weed eater and the view. Sometimes you work harder than you want to or feel like. But when you feel that sense of achievement and reap the rewards of your labor, it all worth it.
 
 
 
    Nuff said. I consciously choose not to be Murphy’s Bitch THIS year (2014).I realize God has his own plans for us and I am not really sure why he wants me to be on foot and unable to get to my medical appointments. I am ever grateful that he saw to it that I got a disability this year and was diagnosed for the agonizing pain that has crippled me. I am not happy to be on a walker or in a wheelchair by the end of each day. I am blessed not to be totally incapacitated like so many other are and to still have some mobility and a stubborn will to do the things that are most important to me. That is more than some people ever get the privilege of.
 
 
 
    I have a specialist waiting to see me. I was supposed to have three spinal infusions three weeks apart starting on Dec 26th. After that to begin physical therapy. I have a spinal degenerative disease accompanied by scoliosis and osteo arthritis of the spine from neck to tailbone. I also need a hip replacement. This is not a temporary condition. I’ve lost three inches this year. I don’t miss it that much. I’m still tall even at that. The pain is so debilitating and I don’t like to be out of it so I use natural methods to relieve it instead of pain pills. Finally I have some hope to have some relief and to be able to function more normally even though as time passes this will increase. For now I could get so much accomplished if I could have these treatments. Do things to prepare for the time ahead when I can no longer do anything but lay in my bed and wait to join my loved ones in heaven.
 
 
 
    I couldn’t get there without a car. Its 129 miles away round trip. I need a truck. One that won’t break down, to haul things I need across the miles including my wheelchair and groceries and etc. I don’t know how many times I’ve needed a truck. So I am praying for one, I’ve went online to a fundraising site and put myself out there. Only two people have responded and it’s so humiliating to tell your story and then no one cares. While I was there I actually contributed the last two dollars I had to another person whose child is battling cancer. I know how much those two dollars mean. I felt so powerless, cried while I was reading their heartache as they are struggling to make the last year of their baby’s life the best of his life. I have been there. Every moment is etched in my heart and memory forever. I clung to every last second until the moment that my precious daughter took her last breath and there is not a day that goes by this world doesn’t feel empty without her in it to share everything. Everything reminds me of her.
 
 
 
    So even though I know what they are going through and there is nothing I can do to help ease their agony, I know those two dollars will mean more to them than to me at this moment in time and I guess I was hoping that someone out there would read my story and feel that same tug. That I’d have a miracle so I can move on this year and go forward. Have the medical treatments I’ve needed for twenty years and make our lives better.
 
 
 
    I keep praying every night I’ll wake up and there will be a wonderful miracle. Every day I wake up to a cold splintered floor, with a troop of furry babies guiding me to their bowl letting me know that so and so ate the last morsels and drank the last drop while I slept and they will surely starve before I can feed them…. I pray for the house to be warm in the winter and cool in the summer. To not have to be a burden to anyone for anything. I long for my books to go viral so I could let go of my disability and work like I have all my life. Earning a fair wage for hard work. Feeling proud to be an American and giving to the rest of the world, rather than have to beg for what we need.
 
 
 
    I want to be “me” again. That starts with financial independence and then the restoration of my health. I have so many dreams that I still dream and goals that I am working for even from my bed. Until I take my last breath I will continue doing everything I can to better our lives and to be there for my mother who is at an age when she deserves to live in comfort not in squalor at the mercy of. That breaks my heart most of all. It takes the two of us to do anything anymore and we used to be superwomen who could do anything with nothing.
 
 
 
    I am grateful. I am still here. For every step forward I may take several back, but I will not quit moving in the direction that means so much to me. For US! For Momma, for my friend who needs me even though I’m crippled, for the beautiful little creatures indoors and out who depend on me to love them and help them survive. Mostly, everything I do, I do in loving memory of my darling daughter Crystal, who believe as my mother does, that I that I could find a WAY…no matter what the odds…
 
 
 
    I will praying and doing my part…and there is not much else I can do. This is my new blog for this year…its been a year since I was here…but hopefully it won’t be another before I can come back. Whatever you are doing with your new year, I sincerely wish it will be, despite all the obstacles we each are facing in this ever-changing world, global warming and depressed economy, the best of your life. Because truth be told, today is the only day any of us have and we should enjoy it, not agonize over the things we cannot change and be happy in the ways we can be. For me so often, simply laying looking out my window is so inspiring and it keeps me in touch with what is most important. The gift of life!


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Please help if you can!.

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https://fundanything.com/en/campaigns/my-hero-is-you?col=-34736

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