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I keep losing track of the days....

Which is what generally happens to me when the kids are out of school and I'm not on a regulated work schedule.

There have been ups and there have been downs. I suppose that's life on this planet. I won't bore you will all of the mundane details.

I was feeling the nudge to write yesterday...just a tiny flicker of what I used to feel. It's been a while since I've written too awful much.

On Thursday night last week I had two old friends over for dinner. It was Kathy's mom Sally and Kathy's sister, Sherrie.

Kathy was my bestest friend when we were fourteen. She was murdered when we were both that age.... Something like that leaves a huge hole in you as an adolescent. I think as you grow older it comes back to you in moments you don't expect.

At any rate, the dinner was wonderful. Spending time with Sally and Sherrie was sweet. Sally brought a book when she came--a scrapbook. There were baby pictures of Kathy, toddler pictures, home taken pictures all the way up to when her last pictures were taken and posted in newspapers. Newspaper articles with her pictures and official notes from the men working on her case. I slowly turned each page and recalled my time in a dusty Thurston County Sheriff's office a few years ago. I had boxes and boxes of evidence from the trial, and boxes of pictures. Pictures I now wish I'd never seen. I shook off those dark days and closed Sally's scrapbook.

Having them here was sweet...and sad. We've kept in touch all these years. Lost each other, found each other again. We've all lived our lives in the past 36 years...married, had children, some now have grandchildren. Moved away, moved back. Loved, loved and lost...our hair is slowly turning gray, our bodies slowing down. We shared our stories with each other, with Kathy sitting quietly in the back of our minds.

I many children would she have now? Would I be able to tease her about her gray hair or the wrinkles around her eyes? I hope we'd be able to laugh about that old couch in her garage that used to be OUR hangout. The black light and the fun. I wish I could connect with her on Facebook, or text her a funny message.

But I can't. William Cosden Jr. made sure of that when he took her life. I'm thankful he's in prison and can't hurt anymore girls.

But I sure wish I could talk to Kathy one more time too...


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A Poem to an Abusive Man

I've been doing a bit of research on abuse, domestic violence and how it usually ends. It's not pretty and it's painful and I hurt every time I read another woman's tale of horror.

Did you know that emotional abuse is as detrimental as physical abuse? And that most emotional abusers continue on to become physical abusers? I didn't. I do now. I found a site where formerly abused women, on the path to recovery from their abusers, have written poems. This one below is one that haunted me.

Thank You

You wooed me with poetry
I bit on the hook
Had I only first read
The name of the book

I would have avoided
The very first page
For pages kept turning
Revealing the rage

The ups were a great high
The ride was a bash
But I rode with my eyes closed
To avoid seeing the crash
I knew it would come soon
But I never knew when
The rage and the leaving
And the path to the end

You had to control things
Determined you would
Emotionally destroying me
Every way that you could

Elderly Abuse

I heard a loud thud the other morning around 3:30 a.m. I checked my monitor but he'd once again turned it to the wall so I was unable to see if he was still in bed. I went downstairs right behind my sweet husband and dad was on the living room floor moaning and holding his head. He'd fallen. Hard.

The first picture is the day of the fall. The second is the day after. The black eye keeps blossoming. He has a gash on his head, hidden by his silver hair and he skinned his shoulder/arm. He's a mess.

Was he using his walker? Nope. 85 year old toddlers cannot be told what to do. Or rather, they can be told what to do, they simply won't comply. Ever. In fact they get down right angry and throw fits. It's not pretty.

His physical therapist came to the house the next day and strongly told him to use his walker EACH TIME HE STOOD UP. Has he? Nope. Nyet. He was very angry with me yesterday because I kept asking him to use his walker. Also, I asked him i…



Back on the horse
Monkey on his back
I see no light
Not even a crack
Back to delusions
Back to the lies
I see through his words
He can't hear my cries

Back into his soul
Back into his veins
The poison he pours
Dark liquid his chains

Backed into a corner
Heartbroken and torn
Back into the needle
The eye of the storm

Back to the wall
Soul bruised torn and broken
Back to my pain
His eyes half open

Back into the horror
Will he ever come back
Back into the nightmare
A needle in a sack

Back into his childhood
I loved him with fury
Looking back on his life
His choices my jury

How did this happen
Back to evil and sin
How can he do this
Lines on his skin

Back to my weeping
Back to my sorrow
My son, my love,
Has no more tomorrows
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