I admit it, I've been feeling pretty low this week. Haven't gotten a lot done. I felt pretty bad about missing church, again, but this time I didn't even get the option of going. So I spent the time working on some gifts I'm sending out next week. I was supposed to finish them this week.
You know those times in life when things just sort of pile on top of one another until you feel buried underneath a huge mound of garbage? That's how it feels right now. My health problems cause financial problems--in more ways than one. There's the obvious issue of my not working, and more than once I've heard that my workers' compensation rate is the lowest it could possibly be. Then when the insurance denies refills on meds the doctors prescribe me and Bryan has to choose to either pay for the meds out of the grocery budget or watch his wife be in pain, you can imagine what he chooses. And you can imagine the guilt that causes.
It's impossible not to feel guilty. I've been feeling so awful I'm wondering if it's possible to develop PTSD from situations such as mine. How do you ever get on top of it again? How do you break the cycle? I saw the neurologist on April 5, EIGHT months after my initial injury. We're still waiting on the insurance approval to begin treatment. Right now I don't technically *have* a doctor until that treatment plan is approved. I don't know how long it will take to get approved, or how long the treatment will last until I start to feel better.
And then what happens? I'll be honest. This has gone on for so long I'm almost afraid to get better. I want to get better. I want to not hurt anymore, but I don't know what to do about the fear and anxiety I'm having. What's going to happen when I'm expected to resume normal life again? Am I going to feel ready? Am I going to *be* ready? And I don't even know if we're talking months or years.
The financial strain is killing us. The emotional strain is even worse than the financial strain. And it's affecting the entire family. This is the kind of thing that's impossible to shield the kids from. I've started looking longingly toward the summer months because at least then they won't have school stress to worry about. They'll get some kind of break, because I can't give them a break from me.
And let me tell you, that guilt you can't measure by the bucket load.
In my darkest moments, and this week has been full of them, I want to rail against the injustice of it all. I went back to work because Bryan couldn't find a job. I went back to work because we needed money, cash flow, because I was trying to be a responsible parent and adult. I worked for 5 weeks before hitting my head on that stupid counter. 5 lame weeks. And I've been laid up with this stupid head injury, this inane brain injury, for going on NINE MONTHS. Sometimes I get so pissed about that I want to scream.
What did I do that was so wrong?
Then I calm down. Eventually. I know it was just an accident. And I know there's a plan. I believe that. I don't know all the details, and that can be frustrating, especially when I see how the struggle hurts my kids, but I have to trust God. I have to. He's brought me this far.
He didn't bring me all the way through all the rest of that crap just to dump me here. I know He didn't.
Thursday, April 28, 2016
Thursday, March 24, 2016
I Love My Mommy
Last night I was trying to fall asleep, trying not to think of all the little ways I'm failing as a mother, as a human being in general, and I couldn't stop the tears that came to my eyes because yes--logically I KNOW my daughter loves me, but the majority of the time I don't feel loved. And of course, any time I let my shell slip and show even a tiny fraction of how much it hurts I feel worse because the LAST THING I WANT IN THE WORLD is to make this harder for her, to give her guilt.
So yes, I was crying myself to sleep, feeling sorry for myself, trying not to, but there you are. I was. I'm human. I have weaknesses. I have moments when I wallow. Even though I told myself over and over that I was overreacting, that she didn't mean it, that -of course- she loves me.
Today, I was fighting through a particularly awful headache day when I realized Brandon's package that came earlier in the week included an SD card. With videos. Video responses to the letters we sent him. After I watched them I wanted to send one of them to my brother in UT but it was huge, so I had to find a free SD card in the house and copy it. The only one big enough was in my camera, so I found my old SD card (1GB) and copied all the files off of it so I could use that in my camera while Jim has the other one with the video on it (8GB). On the 1GB SD card I found the above video.
I wasn't even thinking about how awful I'd felt the night before. I wasn't looking for something to make me feel better. This was the answer to an unspoken prayer. This was God telling me that maybe, just maybe, I'm not as useless or hopeless as I might think I am.
And I am grateful for tender mercies just like these.
Tuesday, March 22, 2016
I Give Up
I say this to myself several times a day.
I give up.
I can't do this anymore.
I'm done.
Fighting constant pain/discomfort/fatigue is one of the hardest struggles I've gone through. Add my never-ending battle with depression/malaise, and you've pretty much got my life.
For months, I've refused to let myself utter the words of capitulation. I refused to surrender. I won't be a quitter. Won't give in. Won't give up. Won't stop trying.
Until I did.
But, every time I said, "I give up" I've kept going. Saying isn't always doing. I know the process--thoughts proceed words, words proceed actions--but let's remember that as a teen I used to say "I'm going to kill him/her" to express frustration. To date, I've never killed anyone. Granted that's an extreme example, but there you are.
I'm not giving up the grand total sum of everything. On the contrary. I'm giving myself permission to give up the moment. Concede the minute, the hour, even the day. I lost this round, I'm going to take a pain pill and rest. Or the equivalent.
Bryan and I had rather a fun set-to yesterday. It was the first time in a while we'd been home alone together, and it was good overall. Emotional, but good. Turns out I've been so good about not complaining (because I'm sick TO DEATH of talking about my condition) that he had no idea how abused I feel by the system we're dealing with right now. As an example:
My doctor, back in Jan/Feb, wanted me to see another neurologist for a second opinion on my condition. Neither of us was satisfied by the first neurologist, who basically prescribed a bunch of mood altering medications for my pain and then released me into the care of my PCP. The first neurologist they found didn't take the workman's comp (we get that a lot), the second one ended up being a nephrologist, who is a Dr who specializes in kidneys. Not remotely the same thing. So my Dr's office told me to find a neurologist who will take the insurance and then call them and they will send over the referral. Frustrated with the whole thing (because I really, really am), I was dragging my feet a bit. I'm tired of being prodded at. I'm tired of feeling like I have to justify my pain and prove I'm not faking. I can't imagine why anyone would think I would want to live my life like this.
Last week, I went back to my Dr for my regular follow up/status visit. We were ambushed again by the home care nurse who has been contracted by the workman's comp insurance people to sit in on some of my Dr visits. I never know when she's going to be there, can't prep for it at all. Just without warning, boom. I'm sure she's a nice person, but it feels very invasive to me. And she does nothing to keep the conversation on track. At my visit, which took place directly after my son's visit for his acne (so she was in the exam room during his visit too, which I felt was inappropriate) she, the Dr, and Bryan talked about acne, high school, classic cars, and pretty much everything but why we were there in the first place. My head was pounding by the time we left, and I was furious. This is supposed to be a Dr visit, not a social call. I very much want and need (for the sake of my pain levels) everyone to stay on topic and get through the appt as quickly as possible.
Anyway, it was this nurse who told me that I had an appointment with a neurologist in OKC for April 5th. She said "they" had scheduled the appointment for me, and wrote down the Dr's name, address, and the time of the appt. It took me a few days to recover, but eventually I got to wondering who she meant by "they." She didn't mean my Dr's office. Last I heard the ball was in my court to find a neurologist.
Yesterday I called the neurologist in OKC and asked them about my appointment. It's a good thing I did, because I was given the wrong time for the appt and we would have been late (after driving for 2 hrs to get there). Turns out the workman's comp insurance adjuster had found this Dr and made the appointment for me. Why she never told me is a mystery. We do have an open line of communication and have spoken before. She has both my email and my phone number. I can't help but feel like this is a "let's catch her faking the system" sort of set up.
But, like I told Bryan, I'm tired of proving to people how miserable I am. If we didn't need the $400/mo I'm getting in payment compensation for not being able to work I'd tell them all exactly what I think of them and where they can stick their nosiness. Which is sad, and makes me feel even worse about myself and my current situation.
So, yes. Some days I give myself permission to give up. If I didn't, I'd go completely mad.
I give up.
I can't do this anymore.
I'm done.
Fighting constant pain/discomfort/fatigue is one of the hardest struggles I've gone through. Add my never-ending battle with depression/malaise, and you've pretty much got my life.
For months, I've refused to let myself utter the words of capitulation. I refused to surrender. I won't be a quitter. Won't give in. Won't give up. Won't stop trying.
Until I did.
But, every time I said, "I give up" I've kept going. Saying isn't always doing. I know the process--thoughts proceed words, words proceed actions--but let's remember that as a teen I used to say "I'm going to kill him/her" to express frustration. To date, I've never killed anyone. Granted that's an extreme example, but there you are.
I'm not giving up the grand total sum of everything. On the contrary. I'm giving myself permission to give up the moment. Concede the minute, the hour, even the day. I lost this round, I'm going to take a pain pill and rest. Or the equivalent.
Bryan and I had rather a fun set-to yesterday. It was the first time in a while we'd been home alone together, and it was good overall. Emotional, but good. Turns out I've been so good about not complaining (because I'm sick TO DEATH of talking about my condition) that he had no idea how abused I feel by the system we're dealing with right now. As an example:
My doctor, back in Jan/Feb, wanted me to see another neurologist for a second opinion on my condition. Neither of us was satisfied by the first neurologist, who basically prescribed a bunch of mood altering medications for my pain and then released me into the care of my PCP. The first neurologist they found didn't take the workman's comp (we get that a lot), the second one ended up being a nephrologist, who is a Dr who specializes in kidneys. Not remotely the same thing. So my Dr's office told me to find a neurologist who will take the insurance and then call them and they will send over the referral. Frustrated with the whole thing (because I really, really am), I was dragging my feet a bit. I'm tired of being prodded at. I'm tired of feeling like I have to justify my pain and prove I'm not faking. I can't imagine why anyone would think I would want to live my life like this.
Last week, I went back to my Dr for my regular follow up/status visit. We were ambushed again by the home care nurse who has been contracted by the workman's comp insurance people to sit in on some of my Dr visits. I never know when she's going to be there, can't prep for it at all. Just without warning, boom. I'm sure she's a nice person, but it feels very invasive to me. And she does nothing to keep the conversation on track. At my visit, which took place directly after my son's visit for his acne (so she was in the exam room during his visit too, which I felt was inappropriate) she, the Dr, and Bryan talked about acne, high school, classic cars, and pretty much everything but why we were there in the first place. My head was pounding by the time we left, and I was furious. This is supposed to be a Dr visit, not a social call. I very much want and need (for the sake of my pain levels) everyone to stay on topic and get through the appt as quickly as possible.
Anyway, it was this nurse who told me that I had an appointment with a neurologist in OKC for April 5th. She said "they" had scheduled the appointment for me, and wrote down the Dr's name, address, and the time of the appt. It took me a few days to recover, but eventually I got to wondering who she meant by "they." She didn't mean my Dr's office. Last I heard the ball was in my court to find a neurologist.
Yesterday I called the neurologist in OKC and asked them about my appointment. It's a good thing I did, because I was given the wrong time for the appt and we would have been late (after driving for 2 hrs to get there). Turns out the workman's comp insurance adjuster had found this Dr and made the appointment for me. Why she never told me is a mystery. We do have an open line of communication and have spoken before. She has both my email and my phone number. I can't help but feel like this is a "let's catch her faking the system" sort of set up.
But, like I told Bryan, I'm tired of proving to people how miserable I am. If we didn't need the $400/mo I'm getting in payment compensation for not being able to work I'd tell them all exactly what I think of them and where they can stick their nosiness. Which is sad, and makes me feel even worse about myself and my current situation.
So, yes. Some days I give myself permission to give up. If I didn't, I'd go completely mad.
Sunday, March 13, 2016
The Big Reveal
re hatching is a boy or a girl. It's pretty cute, with a last name of Van Egmond, that they call the little one Baby Egg. As luck would have it, our Skype video cut out SECONDS before the big reveal--so we missed the live version. But we caught this video, which is awesome:
Literally. Any. Baby. And then there's Bryan. Big grin. Seriously. I don't think he could get any more content with life right now. Sure, we're still in kind of a financial fix, but when it comes to what truly matters in life, he's on top of the world. Especially since saying "granddaughter" to him no longer calls up a theoretical, uncertain future. Now we're talking August. September.
Without further ado, here she is:
 |
| Standard Profile. Beautiful |
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| Baby Foot |
 | |||
| Social Bug. Already sayin' hello! |
Can't wait to meet her!
"Life IS Pain, Highness"
The title of this blog is a quote from the movie, The Princess Bride (1987). I came here to post about two things, but they are so drastically different from one another they each deserve their own post.
Saturday morning, we learned that my brother in law lost the love of his life to a heroin overdose. She died in his arms. As heartbroken as we are for him and his loss, and the shortening of her life, there's something I want to say here. We're all dancing around the drug issue, and I don't want to do that. I didn't know Audra, and there's no way on Earth I'm going to judge her or condemn her choices. No. Way.
But we need to stop denying that heroin is a problem, or stop labeling it as someone else's problem. Heroin is the street drug of choice for people who can no longer get the prescription drugs they're addicted to from their doctors. I can't speak to Audra's situation, and I won't, but I want to point out that addiction can touch ANYONE. You don't have to be self-medicating your way through a rough life to become addicted. You could be recovering from a car accident, or an industrial accident.
Drop the stigma. While I believe that we need to take whatever responsibility is ours for our choices, each of us needs to accept that "Big Pharma" is an industry. They're not out to see us cured. They're out to make money.
Medicate carefully. Always question. If you don't feel you should take a medication, ask your doctor. Ask your pharmacist. Be informed.
Rest in peace, Audra. Know that you are forever loved.
Saturday morning, we learned that my brother in law lost the love of his life to a heroin overdose. She died in his arms. As heartbroken as we are for him and his loss, and the shortening of her life, there's something I want to say here. We're all dancing around the drug issue, and I don't want to do that. I didn't know Audra, and there's no way on Earth I'm going to judge her or condemn her choices. No. Way.
But we need to stop denying that heroin is a problem, or stop labeling it as someone else's problem. Heroin is the street drug of choice for people who can no longer get the prescription drugs they're addicted to from their doctors. I can't speak to Audra's situation, and I won't, but I want to point out that addiction can touch ANYONE. You don't have to be self-medicating your way through a rough life to become addicted. You could be recovering from a car accident, or an industrial accident.
Drop the stigma. While I believe that we need to take whatever responsibility is ours for our choices, each of us needs to accept that "Big Pharma" is an industry. They're not out to see us cured. They're out to make money.
Medicate carefully. Always question. If you don't feel you should take a medication, ask your doctor. Ask your pharmacist. Be informed.
Rest in peace, Audra. Know that you are forever loved.
Wednesday, February 17, 2016
The Flip Side
At this very moment 20 years ago, my wedding began.
Twenty years. That's a milestone. That's significant. That's important, especially in this day and age. It's remarkable. Twenty happy years is a miracle.
Except I'm not happy today.
I freely admit that this stupid brain injury, coupled with my medicinal cocktail of mind and mood altering drugs, has me in a bad spot. There's a reason they warn people with brain injuries to avoid making any serious or life-altering decisions on their own.
Like unpublishing every single book/poem/short story I've ever written. Taking down my website and disappearing, becoming nothing but an internet ghost with old URL's and defunct purchase links.
Or running away from home.
That's, essentially, why I'm here. Because, while I'm happily married and wouldn't change Bryan for anyone in the world--because after the passion and fun and heartache and everything life is, he gets me. Genuinely gets me. And that's more important than anything else.
But I woke up Monday morning mad. And I went to bed Monday (ahem, afternoon--personal timeout) mad. And I woke up Tuesday mad. And I didn't sleep at all last night because I finally understood why I was mad.
Like any normal human being, I WANTED TO CELEBRATE MY ANNIVERSARY. It's a big one, and I wanted to do something big. Unfortunately, due to my current physical condition, I can't even comfortably go out to dinner. Dinner at a restaurant. When was the last time you gave a second thought to a dinner alone with your husband?
For our tenth anniversary, we finally took a honeymoon. Although that sounds weird, I wouldn't change that memory for anything. I'll even go out on a limb and say a honeymoon after 10 yrs of marriage is even more magical than one taken ten hours after the wedding. It was the best. In the past we talked about how to top it. Where to go for our 20th? What to do?
Forget topping it. How about repeating it? I'd give anything to be able to go to Disneyland this weekend. But, finances and work schedules aside, we simply can't. No, correction. I can't. I get anxiety just thinking about the crowds. Forget the noise. Forget the rides. I can't even handle that many people.
Do you know what our anniversary plans consist of? Bryan is going to make me a lovely dinner. My mom has arranged for none of the kids to have to come home until late tonight so that we can have the whole evening alone. At home. Why? Because it's the best we can do, and they love us.
Let me translate that for you: Everyone in my home is rearranging their schedule/life to accommodate my disability. Mine. The "mom." The one who is supposed to be the one doing the rearranging.
I'm completely split down the middle. Part of me is overwhelmed by their love and thoughtfulness. Part of me is furious at myself for requiring it.
Saturday I made cookies. Sunday was Valentines day, and I wanted to make my kids heart shaped chocolate chip cookies because it was the only valentine I was able to provide. It exhausted me. At one point, near breaking, I collapsed on the couch and drew Bryan's attention (not deliberately). He kept asking me what was wrong so obviously I had to respond. But what I said was, "Can we please not draw more attention to my condition?"
I'm tired of everyone having to make allowances for my condition. I'm tired of talking about it. I'm tired of doctors, medications, alternate therapies, all of it. I know it's immature. But I'm over my limit. I'm sick of all of it.
It cost me a night's sleep, but at least now I understand why I was so angry. I'm posting this for you 3 people to see because I'm hoping it will help me get it out of my system, so I can enjoy the paltry, unworthy, celebration of our 20 years of marriage. Because that matters. I'm not going to ruin Bryan's anniversary because I'm feeling sorry for myself.
**Update** It never stops, does it? The car has decided to literally fall apart, and now my son can't get it home. So I guess we'll take a rain check on that lovely dinner we'd planned, so Bryan can go rescue the kids. This isn't the first anniversary I've spent alone.
Twenty years. That's a milestone. That's significant. That's important, especially in this day and age. It's remarkable. Twenty happy years is a miracle.
Except I'm not happy today.
I freely admit that this stupid brain injury, coupled with my medicinal cocktail of mind and mood altering drugs, has me in a bad spot. There's a reason they warn people with brain injuries to avoid making any serious or life-altering decisions on their own.
Like unpublishing every single book/poem/short story I've ever written. Taking down my website and disappearing, becoming nothing but an internet ghost with old URL's and defunct purchase links.
Or running away from home.
That's, essentially, why I'm here. Because, while I'm happily married and wouldn't change Bryan for anyone in the world--because after the passion and fun and heartache and everything life is, he gets me. Genuinely gets me. And that's more important than anything else.
But I woke up Monday morning mad. And I went to bed Monday (ahem, afternoon--personal timeout) mad. And I woke up Tuesday mad. And I didn't sleep at all last night because I finally understood why I was mad.
Like any normal human being, I WANTED TO CELEBRATE MY ANNIVERSARY. It's a big one, and I wanted to do something big. Unfortunately, due to my current physical condition, I can't even comfortably go out to dinner. Dinner at a restaurant. When was the last time you gave a second thought to a dinner alone with your husband?
For our tenth anniversary, we finally took a honeymoon. Although that sounds weird, I wouldn't change that memory for anything. I'll even go out on a limb and say a honeymoon after 10 yrs of marriage is even more magical than one taken ten hours after the wedding. It was the best. In the past we talked about how to top it. Where to go for our 20th? What to do?
Forget topping it. How about repeating it? I'd give anything to be able to go to Disneyland this weekend. But, finances and work schedules aside, we simply can't. No, correction. I can't. I get anxiety just thinking about the crowds. Forget the noise. Forget the rides. I can't even handle that many people.
Do you know what our anniversary plans consist of? Bryan is going to make me a lovely dinner. My mom has arranged for none of the kids to have to come home until late tonight so that we can have the whole evening alone. At home. Why? Because it's the best we can do, and they love us.
Let me translate that for you: Everyone in my home is rearranging their schedule/life to accommodate my disability. Mine. The "mom." The one who is supposed to be the one doing the rearranging.
I'm completely split down the middle. Part of me is overwhelmed by their love and thoughtfulness. Part of me is furious at myself for requiring it.
Saturday I made cookies. Sunday was Valentines day, and I wanted to make my kids heart shaped chocolate chip cookies because it was the only valentine I was able to provide. It exhausted me. At one point, near breaking, I collapsed on the couch and drew Bryan's attention (not deliberately). He kept asking me what was wrong so obviously I had to respond. But what I said was, "Can we please not draw more attention to my condition?"
I'm tired of everyone having to make allowances for my condition. I'm tired of talking about it. I'm tired of doctors, medications, alternate therapies, all of it. I know it's immature. But I'm over my limit. I'm sick of all of it.
It cost me a night's sleep, but at least now I understand why I was so angry. I'm posting this for you 3 people to see because I'm hoping it will help me get it out of my system, so I can enjoy the paltry, unworthy, celebration of our 20 years of marriage. Because that matters. I'm not going to ruin Bryan's anniversary because I'm feeling sorry for myself.
**Update** It never stops, does it? The car has decided to literally fall apart, and now my son can't get it home. So I guess we'll take a rain check on that lovely dinner we'd planned, so Bryan can go rescue the kids. This isn't the first anniversary I've spent alone.
Tuesday, January 26, 2016
More than a Diagnosis
Recently, a suspicion that I've long harbored has been confirmed. (I hate it when I'm right) I've recently learned that I have a child on the autism spectrum--Aspergers, or ASD Level 1.
Bear with me, please. I'm still learning about this, still processing, still trying to put all the pieces together. And my journey is not the same as yours, so we're not going to agree on all points.
This is my daughter. She's fourteen. She's amazing. She taught herself to read music, to play the clarinet, to play the harp, is learning the guitar, has an imagination that can really, truly take you places. She's brilliant--I mean scary smart.
She is also willful, stubborn, opinionated, adamant, exasperating, frustrating, and utterly unique. She has a difficult time making friends, and a hard time understanding social queues or recognizing the need for observing certain social rituals. She can be incredibly inappropriate at times, and not understand why she's alienated you. She also has a very unique way of looking at the world, and that has led to some memories she absolutely swears are true, but never happened. I cite a conversation she had with her uncle last year. For weeks, she repeated to me that he'd told her he'd come back in a year--and even took her to the calendar that hangs in our kitchen to show her the dates. But a brief conversation with my brother proved he'd never done such a thing. But, to her, it happened, and nothing will shake her conviction of that. Even though she's wrong about it.
I've known for some time now that this particular child of mine required special handling. Not everybody "gets" her, and consequently she's been bullied, teased, ostracized, and criticized--and not just by her peers. We're talking adults too. I'm not mad. I don't blame anyone, because nobody knows better than I do how frustrating she can be. And I fully recognize I'm far more invested in her as a person than her drama coach, her church leaders, or her teachers. They don't have to put the effort into understanding her that I've had to do, because their interactions with her are relatively brief.
The Asperger's stereotype is a person who is a genius, a savant, but who can't conquer basic social behaviors. (They don't call it Asperger's anymore, btw, it's all part of the autism spectrum now) In many ways, this is my daughter. But she's far more than just a stereotype. She's a human being who has to learn how to make her way in this crazy, mixed up world. She's a beautiful child of God, just like you and me. She's my daughter, and like every other mother in my shoes, I will be her biggest advocate.
Bear with me, please. I'm still learning about this, still processing, still trying to put all the pieces together. And my journey is not the same as yours, so we're not going to agree on all points.
This is my daughter. She's fourteen. She's amazing. She taught herself to read music, to play the clarinet, to play the harp, is learning the guitar, has an imagination that can really, truly take you places. She's brilliant--I mean scary smart.
She is also willful, stubborn, opinionated, adamant, exasperating, frustrating, and utterly unique. She has a difficult time making friends, and a hard time understanding social queues or recognizing the need for observing certain social rituals. She can be incredibly inappropriate at times, and not understand why she's alienated you. She also has a very unique way of looking at the world, and that has led to some memories she absolutely swears are true, but never happened. I cite a conversation she had with her uncle last year. For weeks, she repeated to me that he'd told her he'd come back in a year--and even took her to the calendar that hangs in our kitchen to show her the dates. But a brief conversation with my brother proved he'd never done such a thing. But, to her, it happened, and nothing will shake her conviction of that. Even though she's wrong about it.
I've known for some time now that this particular child of mine required special handling. Not everybody "gets" her, and consequently she's been bullied, teased, ostracized, and criticized--and not just by her peers. We're talking adults too. I'm not mad. I don't blame anyone, because nobody knows better than I do how frustrating she can be. And I fully recognize I'm far more invested in her as a person than her drama coach, her church leaders, or her teachers. They don't have to put the effort into understanding her that I've had to do, because their interactions with her are relatively brief.
The Asperger's stereotype is a person who is a genius, a savant, but who can't conquer basic social behaviors. (They don't call it Asperger's anymore, btw, it's all part of the autism spectrum now) In many ways, this is my daughter. But she's far more than just a stereotype. She's a human being who has to learn how to make her way in this crazy, mixed up world. She's a beautiful child of God, just like you and me. She's my daughter, and like every other mother in my shoes, I will be her biggest advocate.
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