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I never stopped loving...

Today marks the 22nd anniversary of the most amazing event of my life; the day I became a mother for the first time.

It's something of a miracle to me that I can remember every moment of her birth.

One of the lighter moments in my 21 hour labor (and it WAS labor) came seconds after her birth when my mother said, "Oh Pam, it's a boy!"

I distinctly recall laying there with my eyes closed (I was exhausted) and thinking, ', it's not a boy. I know it's a girl'

The doctor then pronounced, "Mrs. Kinnaird? You have a beautiful baby girl"

My mother's intuition was far better than any ultrasound could ever be,

They laid that tiny bundle in my arms. I can still feel her velvety soft cheeks and her wrinkled up brow. Oh how I loved. How I still love. How I will always love.

From diapers to potty training, from snuggles to teenage hormonal horrors that often left me shattered and nearly broken, I never stopped loving. I kept a Mother's Journal for her and in it I wrote that there were times I would quietly go into her room as she slept to look at her. Tears of pain and frustration running down my cheeks I would gently caress her cheek, whisper to her how much I loved her and then return to my own bed.

Parenthood is not for the faint of heart.

I'm so proud of my daughter--for her quiet strength, for her return to the strong faith in God and the gospel that she's been taught all her life but had to find out on her own the truth of it all. I'm grateful for the trials and the hardships and the heartaches.

I never stopped loving.

Thank you for teaching me unconditional love, my daughter. Thank you for leaving your heavenly home and for being loaned to me for this mortal life.

I love you. Always remember that m'ija. Always. Happy Birthday!


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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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