Senseless Deaths

I have recently had two deaths in the family.  I am still working through them, but not for the reasons you might think.

Yes, I am sorry they are gone, but I’ve accepted that already. I cried a little but my grief is mixed with anger, so I know I will eventually have to work through that.

One I will miss terribly.  The other, I will always wonder how I could have made a bigger difference in his life.

Death number 1:

The first death was my cousin’s.  My cousin was fantabulous.  I didn’t grow up with him.  I babysat him. He was considerably younger and so I never really was around when he was a teen or growing up.

The visits to our Mexican side of the family had been few and far between, by then I was a mom and responsible parent.  My young cousins seemed wild and we all worried and wondered if they belonged to gangs. One visit in particular, I remembered seeing gunshot holes in a straight line along all the cars across the street from their house.  My aunt and uncle moved from there shortly thereafter wanting to get the kids to a better neighborhood. Given the circumstances of his death, my brother’s response to the news is, how grateful he is, we didn’t grow up in that environment. Mother kept us away.  Mother may not have been quite sane, but she still had a mother’s protective instinct. I thought for a long time she was ashamed of her family, but perhaps not.

Still, they are family and for that reason, I’ve since tried to get to know them better.

For 30 years, I lived out of state and hadn’t seen them in quite a long time even though I stayed in touch by phone and mostly just with my aunt, their mother.  When I returned four years ago, I started visiting them again.  All grown up now, “RA” (not his real name) and I became buddies.  During my time away, he’d had four kids and they’d had kids. He was no longer with either of their mothers and now lived next door to my aunt, his mom.

On m first visit, I drove up in my “dirty” car.  I’d just washed it either a couple of days before or the day before.  He insisted, he’d detail it.  In short order he had all his buddies washing and buffing every inch of it.  Before long it looked brand new!!!  I didn’t realize that washing alone doesn’t cut it. A good waxing and buffing makes a world of difference!  Spit spot.

I offered to give him something for it but he always refused.  When my son got his new, used car, he taught him how to take care of it and when they were done his car now looked spanking new.  That particular time, because he had worked on two of our cars and quite laboriously, I might add, I once again offered him a sizable amount of cash for helping out.  That time he took it.  I think he went to the casino afterwards. I was, of course, disappointed and vowed to not do that again.  Instead, I thought I’d give him something in trade, perhaps.  I’m a first born.

On some afternoons, we would talk and occasionally have a beer together. He was warm and kind. I did get around to asking him if he’d belonged to a gang and he said, No, never.  We would talk about everything and I saw nothing but a good guy.

He was also quite artistic and gifted me a Betty Boop clock that I knew my airline pilot brother would be envious of and he was. Betty Boop

On that first visit, when I was in LA for a screenwriters workshop, I told him of my screenwriting desires.  He had gotten so excited about my screenplays.  It was neat, he looked up to me for all he thought I’d achieved, even though a part of me was so afraid to disappoint. He was interested in what I’d written and even hooked me up with a guy who had once been in law enforcement who might help my research. My story centered on a kidnapping and a woman’s unknown connection to the cartel.  Later he would tell me, “Cuz, don’t do it.”  He was quite serious. I didn’t understand his change of heart, but even though he said it sounded great, he reiterated, “don’t do it”. He said, it was dangerous.  It never made sense to me since lots of writers write about the cartel.  In fact, there are so many cartel stories out there, how would one more make a difference?  I said, it’s fiction after all and my queries were non specific, plus I told him, most everything I had, I got off the internet, the rest was made up. Nevertheless, I let it go because it wasn’t developing the way I wanted it to anyway.  Unfortunately, there was also one about a kidnapping that came out soon after.  Plus that year, so many cartel movies began to surface that I would be hard pressed to sell it anyway, even with revisions.

On my aunts property, she had fruit trees. RA would harvest giant grapefruit and from her tall avocado trees, avocados.  She would sell them to the neighbors or passersby that would stop and ask.  Of course, that was frequent since RA made her a big sign inviting them to buy.   “RA” would also be the one to climb this tall ladder to harvest the fruit so his mom  could sell them for a little cash (like 10 for $1 or so), mostly so they wouldn’t go to waste.  When I was there, I’d hold the ladder for him as he’d tie it and himself in before he’d get to work some 20+ feet up.  Between him and his brother they took good care of his mom and did things for her all the time.

A few weeks ago, he was shot, assassination style.  The news said that, except for his age, 63,  it had all the markings of a gangland “hit”.  But what got me is that it was a story that got snuffed almost immediately. It was weeks before his body would be released to the family.  Am I overstepping my bounds in saying so?  I hope not.

It was around 2 AM.  He was riding his bicycle home, after visiting a “friend”, after said friend called him over.  Was it a set up?  We still have no answers and pictures are sparse for a reason.

At first, I thought perhaps, because I knew he liked to gamble, that maybe he’d gotten in debt with the wrong person.  But that was just a guess.  No one else seemed to have a clue.

I’ve since learned the FBI is investigating.  The FBI?  Hmmmm

The story gets curiouser and curiouser.

Death Number  2 –

Last weekend, we deposited my ex son-in-law’s ashes at sea.  My daughter and granddaughter came out for the services.  She was his first and I believe his only legal wife. His mom, sister and ex football jock friends from high school were there and all his homeless “crew” were there.  The contrast disconcerting.

The homeless sat or stood on one side and the country clubbers on the other.  How did this once good looking guy go astray?

I knew he had an alcohol problem when he married my daughter and I only suspected the drugs.  One time, when I visited them, I had observed him stepping out momentarily with something in his hands and then returning moments later, but I was naive to those matters at the time. Was it a drug deal?

What I didn’t know is that he had once used my daughter, while she was pregnant with our grand daughter as a drug mule. So, his addiction and her love caused them both to make some unwise choices. I never knew.  Drugs and alcohol, for me anyway, have never been a temptation, for which I’m grateful.

We talked them into moving to Colorado to live with us hoping that away from his druggy friends, that he’d kick the habit.  They were there for six or seven months.  We employed him at our bicycle business and kept him busy, but he was miserable.  He didn’t have his drugs, that we knew of, but he still had access to alcohol.

While cleaning one day, I found a stash of alcohol, several bottles of vodka, whiskey or whatever.  I went back to check later and those were gone and several others had taken their place. Where and when was he getting these? One day, I asked him to run to the store for me, so he borrowed my bike and took off.  After more than an hour, I went looking for him on my son’s bike. (the store was nearby) I found him sitting on the bridge, downing cans of beer and tossing the empties into the Colorado River!!!  I took the cans from him and we had a chat.  When the chat was over he hugged me, thanked me and then closed in for a kiss.  I pushed him away and told him, he was drunk and I’m his mother in law, for Pete’s sake!  He was only 21.

I wasn’t angry at him because I recognized only too well that this young man had a serious problem. (My ex had been an alcoholic, but a good natured one such as BAC, (not his name). He was a teddy bear… a gorgeous, handsome, charismatic hunk (at the time).  Women had trouble not forgiving him. Instead of getting angry, they forgive and forgive, which was a disservice to him. Some time later, the kids announced they were moving back to CA. We were not happy.

They got their tax return and he was going to go on ahead, get a place and send for the girls.  We never saw him again.  My daughter, after waiting awhile, learned he had moved in with her former roommate.  She filed a divorce in absentia.  I’m not sure if that’s the correct term.  She would later marry a guy who became the only dad, my grand daughter would recognize as dad.  He and his family love her to pieces.

BAC didn’t show up in her life again until he learned she’d had a son. His mom, sister and brother were always in Becca’s life, so it wasn’t as if he was totally unknown to her, but he wasn’t dad and she’d never met him.  She finally agreed to meet him.  By then, he’d been in and out of prison, lost an eye in a fight and was living on the streets.  He’d stolen from friends, and abused his friendships. He was a mess, but despite that she says philosophically, “he lived life on his terms.”  She doesn’t hate or admire him.

My daughter met his “wife” and she told her that he stayed away as much as possible because, he said regarding his daughter, “she was the only good thing I ever did” and didn’t want to ruin that. She was the only child he would ever have.

Now, here he was, at 48, in a box. (His mom gave permission to use his pic on this blog.)

The program had a picture of him when he was young and the way my daughter remembered him when they first met.  She lost it.  She never expected that hurt to spring up after 26 years.

The homeless people laid out a spread you would not believe, but no one, except the homeless ate anything that they’d prepared. Even then, they didn’t eat until most everyone had left. We drank water and dipped only what our own hands touched.  There was a pork loin (several, in fact) that were on the barbecue, but when I saw this guy slicing it up with his filthy hands… well.

My grand daughter and I made an attempt to talk to them, but discovered that most of them seriously suffered mentally and from their addictions. They did say, he talked about us often.  It was difficult to watch. We learned that some of these folks had, at one time, had come from good homes. Some were well educated and talented. I learned they  are provided phones and other resources by family and friends, who have not abandoned them completely, but don’t know what else to do for them. There was among this older group, one young man, who is probably not unlike BAC was at one time and it saddened my heart to see and wonder where he would end up. It was sad all the way around in so many ways.

BAC died peacefully I hear.  He got up one day and sat down at the table and that was it.  He died where he sat.

My daughter said, she believed it started when his father died while he was still in high school.  He never got over it. I think people are more aware of the impact of traumatic events these days, but perhaps not so much then. No two people suffer the same and for some, it is deeply hidden and surfaces subtly.

His high school jock friends turned out. They went to college and he went to drugs, but they were there anyway.  Some were childhood friends and others he’d grown up with later and they came.  Two of his friends went out on their boards to deposit his ashes.  None of his homeless friends except for his wife, would walk that far (one block) to the beach for his send off.  For me, it was so evident who his true friends were.

 

When his friend had paddled the required 1/4 mile to deposit the ashes, he said that once the ashes got wet, they felt like 50 pounds on his back.  The sea was not in his favor and he returned exhausted.  That’s friendship.

Bret sendoff

 

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Michael Kelly

Leukemia is a disease I seldom hear of anymore.

There are a number of other cancers still talked about, but I haven’t heard the word leukemia as much as it once was.   Has it been given another name? Is it still the number one cancer in children?

The answer to that is yes and no it has not been given another name, at least not according to NCI. Leukemia is still number one in addition to its variations, followed by brain cancer. See link for others listed.

When I was young, I never completely grasped what it meant.  Polio was the big thing when I was growing up. In our day we were given live polio vaccines and invariably one of my classmates would succumb to this horrible debilitating disease in varying degrees.  My friend Gloria’s little sister was confined to a wheelchair. She died at an early age, but still managed to have a somewhat fulfilling life, got married and held down a job. My friend Sally was another, she wore braces on her legs and used crutches most of the time.  As she got older, she could sometimes go without.  It always amazed me at fast she could move, stiff legged and all. Then there was Leon, a boy I dated at one time whose only sign of it was poor posture.

As I got older every now and again I’d hear the word “leukemia” spoken in hushed tones when someone’s child or a relative had come down with it, but it was usually done so furtively as not to frighten us, I guess. At times I wished I could come down with this mysterious illness or something like it so that I could be fawned over but I never did.  Little did I know.

My first experience with it was when a very dear friend of my daughter was stricken with leukemia.

I was working at the junior high school  my daughter and her friends attended at the time.  I met Michael earlier on or at least before I was assigned to work with him. Michael was actually my daughter’s best friend’s boyfriend but he became her best friend as well. Michael was also the most popular boy in school.  This kid was friendly, smart and cute to boot. Everyone loved him.  That was in 7th grade.

I always thought it odd that her best friend’s boyfriend called our home as often as he did, but she insisted there was nothing to it.  What was odder still was that it didn’t matter if my daughter was or wasn’t around because he was just as happy to just chat with me. We talked about so many things.  It tickled me. He already knew what he was going to do with his life and was so full of energy and promise.

My job at the school was to tutor kids who were seriously ill and had missed a great deal of school because of treatments, doctor appointments and such.  I kept them up with their studies. So, you can imagine my shock when his name came across my desk at the beginning of the next year.  I’d not heard he was ill.  I was told he’d gone away for the summer with his family.  Apparently, I was misinformed.

I don’t know when he first received the diagnosis but that summer, at 13, his chemo was started. He came in late the following school year. When he first showed up back to school, he was wearing a wig as was commonly done in those days. He walked through the halls keeping his head low and avoided all his friends. As much as he liked me, he didn’t want to be treated special and refused my help with his studies.  He kept up fine though. He made it clear he didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for him and because of that he avoided eye contact.  He broke off with his friends at first and pretty much kept to himself. As his health improved at the end of the school year, he looked so much better. When he learned his leukemia had gone into remission and as his hair had grown out we were starting to see a glimmer of his old self starting to get back into the groove of being himself. He let his friends back in and we began to talk again, but never as before.  It was obvious he was still considerably more subdued and the sparkle that was Michael didn’t shine as bright, but there was hope and he perked up.

Too soon it came and went. Sadly, by the end of summer he died.  His mom, God bless her, knew we were pals and gave us a call.  We and the whole school were devastated.   She’d not known how much time, he and I had talked on the phone before he was ill, only that he was friends with Tina.  I would have some lovely conversations with his mom as I shared with her our little chats.  In the end, we laughed some and we would cry more.

Over the years, I lost track of his family  so I don’t have a picture of him.

As kids do, they move on and most would eventually forget this young man who once lead the pack, made them laugh and made them cry. That was nearly 40 years ago, yet some of us didn’t forget.  Every now and then Tina and I remember.

It’s funny how some kids, some people for that matter, can leave their mark on you in just a short amount of time. I would have loved to have seen him grow up to be the man I know he would have been, yet of all of Tina’s classmates, I followed none and barely remember a few.  Except for Michael.

 

 

Places to Donate if you so choose: St. Jude, City of Hope, and the American Cancer Society

 

Death and Condolences

DEATH

Death and how we deal with it can be different for each of us.

The truth of my situation is that my parents were both suffering, so it was a relief when they left. Mother didn’t even know us any longer and dad lost his ability to communicate or walk, which for him, as independent as he was, was a fate worse than death. It doesn’t mean I don’t miss them, and interestingly enough even though we’d had a challenging childhood, I  remember mostly the good with the occasional bad along with their redeeming virtues, such as they were. I see their passing as their chance to be made whole again. For example, mother loved to garden, so I have visions of her ambling through a beautiful garden helping to prune and nurture it. I see her feeling privileged  and  fulfilled at God having given her hands something to do. Dad on the other hand, I picture challenging God, cracking his jokes and playing devil’s advocate for some of God’s questionable decisions over the millenniums and/or, he could very well be just picking his brain.  I can see God either dodging him,  maybe smiling at his questions or perhaps giving him to someone “else” to deal with. LOL You don’t know my dad.
I think how we mourn is personal and every individual does so differently and we should grant them consideration, without judgement.

I remember a woman I worked with, who lost her son in a horrible traffic accident while her mother in law was driving. She never cried or seemed sad and was her usual self the very next day! We were all shocked she would even come to work. We all thought differently of her from then on, most assuming she was a heartless you-know-what, like how could she do that?  We all knew the boy was adopted, but he was still their child. I would personally hate to lose my step siblings, of whom I am greatly fond of,  but we are all different. I heard from other sources that from that point onward she would not speak to her mother in law again. Her birth child had survived and the grandmother was unhurt. It made me question whether or not to drive my own grand kids around and I would always take extra precautions knowing I would not want the weight of that guilt.   Later this woman and I would talk about it years later and I learned that there were so many things she had to process. Hate, anger, grief and so much more.  It wasn’t that it didn’t weigh heavily on her, she just wasn’t ready to face it, much less deal with all of them. She segregated her emotions to another part of her psyche to work through later and yes, her relationship with her mother in law was never the same and she admitted that she couldn’t stand to even look at her. That’s a lot of anger.  Being a grandmother,  I couldn’t help but feel bad for the grandmother. For them both really.

Some people grieve passionately, wailing and carrying on for days, months and years sometimes. Some are quiet and private. Some never get over the death of a loved one. Some erect shrines and shut out everything and everyone around them, focusing only on those they lost.

movie funeral
Me, (black hat) as a wailing woman at a funeral,  waiting for my cue to  “Action”.

One of my sisters is a case in point.  When her daughter died, she created a shrine with pictures and candles all around and that was her entire focus.  Her other two daughters were being sorely neglected. It broke my heart.  Her infant daughter, born severely brain damaged, due to a delivery issue, having been without oxygen off and on for parts of an hour, was blind, deaf and had little sense of touch.  For two years she tube fed her and cared for her.  The child had not been expected to live beyond a week with all her issues.  When she did, the doctors told her it wasn’t likely the child would grow but instead remain an infant.  In part that was true.  Her features did mature but her body didn’t.  After faithfully caring for her and loving on her, the child began to respond to the resonance of her family’s voices and constant stroking.  The doctors were amazed. The long and short of it is that after two years and several surgeries, she caught pneumonia and expired. My sister was especially devastated.

She resented anyone that said her baby girl was “better off” or “in a better place”. She mourned her this way for over a year. I finally sat down with her and reasoned with her, pointing out that if she truly believed in God’s promises, then she will see her little girl again some day.  In the meantime, she needs to get back to being a mom to the two she still had.  I pointed out that continued neglect of her daughters like she had been doing could easily result in them resenting their sisters memory.  I said a whole lot more, but that was the gist.  I didn’t tell her she couldn’t mourn her or talk about her but she needed to get back to loving and caring for those still with her.  The wonderful thing is she did just that and to this day she and her girls are very close.

I have heard people deify family members that were horrid, or that they treated horribly while alive.  Especially widowed spouses or the remaining parent with children.  I understand it, but at some point in time an honest appraisal may be necessary.  My husband and I have had that talk since he was 8 or so when his father died and I think his mom elevated him to sainthood when he passed, so we sometimes speculate at what he may have been truly like. The reality being that no one is perfect and it’s okay to share that. How adults and children grieve is often different with elements of the same. Theirs can be more intense. Children can sometimes show their sadness through blaming, anger, alienating themselves from others, disinterest and sometimes resentment to the remaining parent and/or worse guilt.  One never knows how they will be.

CONDOLENCES

Some have no emotion whatsoever, others rejoice and for some, it brings peace. Because of that when it comes to condolences, one never knows the perfect thing to say.

My aunt, (my step fathers sister) came to my mothers funeral and said, at her graveside that she wanted to make sure the bitch was dead.  It, of course offended a great many people there.  She never got it that mother was mental, so whatever you do, don’t do that.

At my father’s funeral, people brought in newspaper clippings of all the amazing things my dad had done.  Never was there a mention in any of them that he had any children. (He’d left mother when I was 15 and never paid child support or acknowledged our existence)   Because we lived clear across the country, we were no longer a part of his life, not until we were adults and only because we sought him out. Until I moved back there to care for him, most people in the community were shocked he had other children besides my one sister who lived near him, because he never spoke of us. That was painful and added another level of sadness.

The reverse can also be true though, you may learn a side about someone you never knew before, like my step dad.  My step dad who was droll and generally humorless was a cut up at work.  I remember my step sisters being shocked that his coworkers were talking about their father.  He had once won an award for employee of the month.  Because he has such a sour countenance, we learned that someone had submitted his mug (picture) to some show, either Jay Leno’s or David Letterman’s, where they displayed unlikely winners of “employee of the month”. His was aired!!!  None the less, my siblings would have given anything to have known that person they were hearing about, yet overall they were glad to learn he wasn’t always a stick in the mud.

I think discernment and situational awareness is essential. Sometimes it pays to check out the tone and expressions of the bereaved before saying too much.

When it comes to condolences, choose your words wisely.  It is probably one of the hardest things to do tactfully and often, the less said, the better.  You can’t always know a family’s back story and you can add to a person’s grief by exposing something unnecessarily.  Unless of course, that is your intention.

More Detours but Now I’m Back on Track

After the divorce I went on a two week cruise with a girlfriend of mine. I went wild, you saw the movie “Wild?” well, not that bad.

I attribute a good part of that to an incident just prior to me leaving for that trip. My airline pilot husband came to visit the day before I left and tried to rape me, again. He kept saying, “you want it don’t you?” and “I’m gonna miss that ass”,  this time I did what my attorney suggested and laid there like a limp rag and didn’t fight him.  I was shocked, it worked. When I didn’t fight, he let go of me and left me alone, but it was still demoralizing. So I went through a brief self destruct period that lasted about six months.

While on the cruise, I was the party girl and at times would bring everyone in. The staff on the ship asked if I’d be interested in a job as cruise director. I guess the felt someone who could rally everyone to have a good time would be an asset.  I turned it down. What I should have done is take it, but I didn’t. They’d offered all expenses paid for me and my girls and special schooling for my girls in addition to teaching them several languages. But, I wasn’t sure I could trust the moral integrity of the crew or the pressure of performance by the staff, so I passed.

Instead, I went home got a job at the gym teaching nutrition and makeup for Jack La Lanne’s.

There, I met and got involved very briefly with the most gorgeous hunky guy I’d ever dated. We parted friends and that was nice.  We decided we were heading in two different directions and we wanted to see each other happy in that choice.  My girls were disappointed because even as young as they were, he was not only pretty but congenial as well. They liked him a lot. I think of him often, but not lustfully, just wondering if he ever got where he was going.

I thought it was interesting at how easy it was or that it was possible for two people to part so amicably, without that achy feeling you get like you’d lost something.

Maybe it wasn’t really a self destruct period so much as more of a growing “you’re okay” period.

After him I dated someone I’d dated before and became engaged but that didn’t fare well. One day as I was cleaning up after dinner, I overheard him threaten my eldest child. I don’t know what preceded that, all I heard were his words when he said “you just wait until your mother and I get married!”  I immediately went straight to the living room and told him, I’m sorry but we aren’t getting married and if he couldn’t say or do whatever it was he intended now then I wasn’t waiting to find out what he’d do later. He left. I never saw him again and since learned he died a few years back.

A few months later I met another young man ten years my junior. After a whirlwind courtship, we married.  Suffice it to say, although we have two wonderful boys from that relationship, after being married to him, I didn’t pick up a Bible for about 10 years. Neither did I step into a church. It was the most suffocating period of my life. That was the paranoid camper.

During that time, I did start back to college but again never finished. At least I got to do that and I could tell that as an adult I would have been an excellent student.  It was during that marriage we moved to Colorado where we eventually separated. Unfortunately after the divorce, I had to get a job and go back to work so no more schooling.

After much therapy, my life started to get on track again.

While married to #2, I met yet another young man (even younger than the second and an employee of ours, so actually I’d “known” him for some time) and his atheism/agnosticism changed my life in two ways.

First of all he forced me not to “need” anyone or anything.  He taught me to lean on and trust my own abilities. Believe it or not that applies to faith.

Second, his agnosticism challenged my faith and I discovered that I still loved God and that my faith was still alive.  In time, he accepted Jesus and became a believer.

Shortly after we married, I was approached with an opportunity to get into the film industry.  I did a few extra parts in film, took classes and kept my feet in the water by starting my own talent agency. It paid quite well, but unfortunately jobs were few and far between in our small town.

I bounced around from job to job during this time. I had moved up to sales exec for the company I was with which sent me traveling quite a bit and some of that was to Aspen, Telluride, Vail and smaller towns in between. I did radio and later as a Realtor, I would visit those areas again, so I was in among “the stars” constantly.

Then came 9-11 and my priorities changed. Hence came my volunteer period.

I felt so compelled to do something to help in whatever way possible that I joined forces with Red Cross and assisted many disaster clients. That was rewarding for a time but after Katrina that ended.  So detour after detour and then more.

When my parents got ill, everything else took a backseat to their needs. Fortunately, my husband was right there for me and supported me in whatever it was I needed to do for them.

We packed up and moved to Alabama where we became farmers. Later I would join the staff of the State health department as medical interpreter.

My sister D later joined us and she too became my biggest advocate. WE became each others cheerleaders and mentors.

When my father was dying he kept talking about all the opportunities he had passed up or failed to take advantage of. It was regret after regret. I told Diana to listen to him. “That sounds like us”, riddled with excuses. I thought about my writing.

Years before Diana and I had talked about writing a screenplay about our parents and their dysfunctional relationship, but it never happened. (I still have the notes so someday … maybe.) Instead, I wrote about the red bra I had stolen from the five and dime and how it impacted our lives.  It was called “The Red Bra Party”. It was my very first completed screenplay.  It was abominable, but I got it done in time for two contests, so I submitted it. I was exuberant because as shabby as it was… I DID IT!

I told Daddy before he died that he could take credit for that. I got a lot off my chest with him before he died, some of which I regret because although it needed saying I probably shouldn’t have done so as he’s dying, not that he would have been so considerate. What can I say? I am my father’s child.  I did let him know I appreciated his colorful personality and how I forgave him because in reality his abuses made me stronger and they didn’t break me.  They could have, but they didn’t. Some of that could be his genes and some of mom’s.

Whatever lives they had, whatever hardships they endured made them harsh, it didn’t me.  Whatever it is that’s in me made me more determined. I’m fueled for bigger and better things and I know it!!

The screenplay I wrote after that one so impressed my actor daughter that she gave me a free trip to the Sundance Film Festival.  I got good remarks on one screenplay sent to Austin Film Festival and I’m working on improving that among several others. Now I’m blogging and meeting countless of writers online.

I’m in California now and networking and meeting more amazing people and writing again, full time, so it’s all good. The interesting thing too is, everyone is willing to share what they know.  Not what you’d expect huh?

All these detours and now I’m back on track.