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Perhaps the Mayans were right. Is this the last year for us? :::shrugs::: Who knows...

January has not been an auspicious beginning to the year. My good friend Claudia suffered a brain bleed and on New Year's Day, her life support was removed. With my sister Julie, and another friend, we dressed Claudia's body for the last time. I've dressed the deceased before, including my mother. Perhaps nothing brings me closer to the knowledge that the body is simply a vessel for the spirit and the 'real' person, than handling their remains and feeling the emptiness that pervades their mortal coil. Claudia was not there, it was simply what she left behind when she passed over.

I was also asked to speak at her service. Crying before things began, I went to a quiet place and said a prayer for strength. I could not stop my tears and I did not wish to cry as I spoke of my friend. My prayer was answered and I was given a calm and a peacefulness to fill my heart.

The gathering after her service was pure Claudia. She'd planned her special day and asked that maple bars and candy bars, cookies, rootbeer floats and comfort food to be served. Balloons and confetti at each table. Claudia wanted a party and a party was had. Before they closed her coffin, I placed a tiny seashell in her hand. As they lowered her coffin, I had my husband place a larger shell on top.

Claudia loved the beach and had just recently come back to her Pacific Northwest from Arizona.She is not here....

As much as her passing caused heartache, it also reinforced to me of the truthfulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ. We do live on. We do not end at the death of our physical body. I'm incredibly thankful for the gift of the resurrection and the knowledge that we will see each other again.

Then my father's beloved dog passed away. I think that even as an adult, it's very difficult to see a parent cry. My father has always been a rock. When I was younger, he was superman to me. In fact it never occurred to me that he could feel pain. Ever. Aren't all daddies that to their daughters? Unfortunately it's not so....

Thankfully my father has two wonderful son-in-laws who dug the grave for him....

Our doggie Cassie became ill and we were told it might be cancer. Three days later we were told it's not. We're incredibly grateful.

We've had a great deal of snow and an entire week off of school and work. Well, work for me at least. Lance had to keep working, poor guy. Now it's raining and we're expecting flooding. Thankfully we only lost power one day.

This hibernation of sorts has caused me to bake. I think it's something imprinted in my DNA. Cold=Need To Bake. I've not heard my family complaining.


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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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