I was 8 and I was a spitting image of you. 
I had your jet black hair, & your just a little bit to big nose.
& I undoubtedly looked like the only female version that could only be you.

“I was truly a daddy’s little girl, because you were the single most important person that I loved with all of my world, I talked about you endlessly, & told anyone that would listen how my dad owned the worlds greatest restaurant.”

You didn’t have a lot of money, but you would never tell me that.

You made sure to instill humbleness into me by your “Talks of rice” when me and my brother would play rock, paper, scissors over who would ask if we could get Chinese. 
You would always say, “We got sandwich meat at home, kids in China would steal for a grain of rice!”

To me, you were rich in not only money but your love and laughter that you always showed me.


I lived with my mother, but that never stopped you from driving the endless distance it took for you to get to me.

You had a dream of a restaurant where you were the cook, & I was the server. At only 8 years old people thought I was the cutest thing ever.


Leann Rimes was coming here, and all I wanted was to go.

You & me, taking on the world to get to the concert that my 8 year old self thought was the best day of my entire life.

I got the picture with her autograph, and sat there mesmerized, as I was in the same room as my favorite artist ever.

“That night, you were the best dad, any little girl could ever have, and I was going to tell the world about it.”

One day, Depression over took your little girl, and you did not know how to cope, and I did not know how to tell you that I did not want to live anymore.

You spent the money you had on the doctors, begging them to just “make me normal” but normal, was not a word, that my vocabulary knew.

So, I learned how to hide the depression of the daughter you did not know.

It would start there.


The day you stopped being the best dad any daughter could ever have.

I don’t believe you ever truly stopped being that dad, I simply believe that you didn’t understood how to grieve the daughter you once had.

The day you bought a black corvette, would become our silent relationship.
It would become the single thing we loved to do together.

You would drive, and I would listen. 
I can still tell the stories to this day.

Those days grew my love for music. We connected over the albums of Alan Jackson, Journey, & Sara McLachlan.

“The top was down, the music was loud, and we never spoke, we just drove. 
The music was our secret conversation, and the song was the mood of me, and it’s how you knew if it was good or bad, and if you needed to worry or not.”

We never spoke of my thoughts, we never spoke of your thoughts.

One day, you stopped driving, and I stopped listening & our relationship suffered once again.


At 16 I became the helper to the servers at your dream restaurant.

I was now becoming the daughter of the best dad again.

Our relationship was blooming, and I was happy once again.
You were no longer grieving, & I was no longer depressed.


Then came the night when would I decide I didn’t want to be a girl, but now, a woman.

I changed my mind a minute too soon, and it was too late.

I drove home that morning scared, afraid, not knowing what to do.
I talked to the brother that would help end the relationship of the best dad a daughter could ever have.

You were mad, you were livid, you said things you did not mean, and I found the bottom of a bottle of pills to cope.

I took way to many, because dulling the pain for forever was what I needed to do.

“Your grief came back, and I hid my secret!”

I became the daughter that no dad would ever want, & you became the dad that no daughter could ever need.

I tried my best to promote the daughter you needed me to be;
but I needed to find worth inside the pants of another man to prove to you that I controlled my own body.

“ I said no! I clearly said no, but I laid there, Never fighting not even for a second.”

At 16 I had no idea that your body has it’s own reaction to fear.

My body’s reaction; Freeze.
It’s what I did; it’s all I knew.

“I released my secret one time only to hear, “ You put yourself there, and you didn’t fight so shut up you were not raped””


I never spoke of it again, and I never gave you the benefit of the doubt to know the truth.

I needed to let you think that I was irresponsible, and had sex with men whose first name is all I knew.

I never told you, when I would go to my little job as a cashier, he would come in and go through my line, buying nothing but orange juice.

My heart would drop into my stomach, and I felt like I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe, it was my secret to bear, and I had to keep it!

Every time, he would say, “I just want to make sure we’re still okay?”

My fear of him, was so much bigger then my desire for you to ever know the truth. 
At 16 years old, I did not think you would protect me, I thought you would judge me.

I turned to sex, to help myself understand that I was the one in control of my own body, and I had the power to say yes or no.

“That would be the day our relationship died, once and for all.”


You are the master at saying you love me, at saying you are proud of me, but you are not.

I used to think, that you didn’t believe in me, that I was not good enough for you, me, or anyone for that matter.
But what I know now, is that you did not understand.

& For that I will always be eternally sorry.

Because, I took away your right to be my dad.


As our relationship ended you became colder and colder into the father you are today.

Sometimes I watch, as you laugh with the servers of your restaurant knowing that you wish they were truly the daughter you wish you had.


I have spent so much time, wanting to be accepted & loved by you! From the way I styled my hair, to the clothing I wore, I needed for it to make me the daughter you wanted.


Last year, you closed the doors to your dream restaurant.

I was working there every day; our relationship finally becoming again, what it was when I was your happy 8 year old little girl.

“For the first time in what seemed like my whole life, I was the daughter you wanted, and I knew you finally loved me!”

The day you closed those doors, was the day I lost my father.

I have held on to the anger of you closing the doors of not only that restaurant, but to the relationship we finally had for far too long now.

I don’t know if I can ever be the daughter you want.
& I don’t know if you can ever be the dad that wants his daughter.

Just know, that through all of the hurt & pain of the lies & truth, the unanswered texts, & the missed calls,

“I will always hope that I can one day be the daughter you want & need.”

Love you always.

Your Daughter.

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Sometimes it seems it’s just to much.

To much to write to much to think.

I sit up at night, staring at the ceiling of the house.

Counting backwards from 100, counting backwards from 10, count the sheep, count anything really


You say talk about depression, addiction, anxiety and more.


But when I talk you don’t listen.

But oh do you judge.

The actions of people become emotion I must say.

Emotion that’s mine and only mine yet here you are, trying your hardest to hurt the image I’ve created.

Do you think you can hurt the image of the crazy I have become ?

Do you think your can hurt the image of the person I have already shown the world.


“You must forget big brother that your skeletons are no deeper than mine, your mess ups are no bigger then mine, yet the light you have decided to shine on mine, is not nearly as big as the light I have never shown on yours.”


You see the nights you called from the hotel with your eyes half closed, laying in bed wondering if you were only alive or dead, I never told a soul of your hard times, your bad times,

Your times of being literally almost dead.

I never told a soul of the times, the times in the car, the times I thought were actually dead.

The times I called, I called our father screaming, screaming in hysterics, oh my god, I think he is dead,


Oh my god, I think he is going to kill me, as you punched the drivers side of my window over and over and over and over at only meth, Xanax, and whatever drugs flowed thru your veins, into the anger into your hands.


The shaking and terror of the mother of your children as she sat in the passenger seat thinking oh my god, he just might actually kill us,

Oh big brother know today, that your skeletons are no better than mine.

So judge me today. Judge me tomorrow, but just know.

That you have no right to tell me how to feel about what you did to me.

Your action your decision, just like mine.

Your own emotion is yours, just as my emotion is mine.

You don’t have to accept it,

You don’t have to like it.

But you damn sure have to sit the fuck down & live with it.

The person you are, is not the person I loved, the person you are is the selfish one, who knows no compassion.

I suppose I could use the only term to explain of how a “dry drunk” is the term it really is.

“So do me a little favor big brother,

Deal with your own skeletons before you decide to come after mine.”

But still, I love you always.


Every day for a month my son looked at this box of cake mix, looked back at me and said “mama can we please make a cake?”

Tomorrow, we can make a cake tomorrow.

Everything my son wanted to do today, forever became tomorrow & tomorrow almost never came.

Today, we made a cake!
We made a cake with so much frosting.
with so much chocolate.

Today, I decided that everyday I would do one of my promised tomorrow’s until I could tell myself Today, I’ll be a better mother.

Motherhood is not about perfection.
Motherhood is about doing the best you can.

Children will never remember the promise of tomorrow, but they will always remember the memory of today!

Today, take a second, step back & just breathe.
Know that you are doing the best that you can.

Just make one simple thing a day that would’ve been a tomorrow & make it a today!

It will make your child’s day, Every. Single. Day.


We are what Time Magazine calls the “Me Me Me’ generation!

We’re selfish, we don’t care, we use Facebook and Twitter 90 percent of the day. We don’t do anything unless it makes us happy and benefits us, we want everything now and we don’t care about civic change!

We are the least politically engaged and we don’t care about community outreach because it doesn’t affect us!

We will write a review on Facebook if our Amazon package is not delivered within 2 days, but we refuse to stand up any kind of social change!

We believe our rights are our God given right, yet we won’t stand up to fight for them.

We want the world, but we don’t want to work for it.

We follow people who have shown success, but we refuse to help anyone gain success.

We want everything now, and we don’t care who we hurt in the process.

We believe that if a social injustice isn’t effecting our daily life that there is no need to try to change.

We want change, but we don’t want to help bring it about.

We only have a voice, when it will benefit us.

We share Facebook and Twitter stories of people “Twerking” because it’s funny, but skip over the homeless person who served 5 tours in Iraq and has PTSD because “That just doesn’t make me feel good”

We complain about everything, yet do absolutely nothing to change anything about our situation, and expect other people to help us fix it, or “give us a hand out”

59% of our generation is self — absorbed 
& only 29% of our generation is compassionate.

The problem is that out generation simply does not care, until it affects us, or someone we care about. we ignore problems within our city, state, or country unless it directly affects us, and then expect other people to “fix it” when someone violates our “rights”

I’m a millennial and I hate my generation.


“I’ve been a nurse for 35 years and I can tell you right now, your son is not in respiratory distress. You need to sit down, and let me do my job” — the floor nurse taking care of my son

He was moved to PICU an hour later

“A high heart rate is normal in laryngomalacia babies — a floor nurse

His temp was over 103F she never bothered to check.

“He looks to be breathing pretty comfortably to me” — Night time 2nd year resident


He was moved to PICU two hours later and put on high flow oxygen

” I just want to make sure you know how to take care of him, so we want you to room in with him while we watch you” — His PICU doctor

He was back in the same hospital 2 days later in respiratory distress after I took him home because the doctor thought I was lying. He wound up getting a Gtube, and was sent home on full time oxygen.

“It’s not that bad of a case of pneumonia can you just calm down and let the doctors decide what to do” — a floor nurse

He would wind up in PICU that night because the resident never ordered the antibiotic, and he got dehydrated from not receiving any fluids all day after his nurse let his IV blow and never changed it.

“If you leave that hospital I will call DHS on you!” — His pediatrician

He was released the next day after demanding infectious disease come look at him. They admitted he was not as sick as they thought he was and did not need IV antibiotics.

“Maybe you should stop complaing about his crying and just be thankful he is even alive” — the surgical resident

They sedated him 4 hours later because they tried everything from morphine, versed, benadryl, and even methadone, he never stopped screaming for over 24 hours.


I could go on and on about the things I have been told by both doctors and nurses about my children’s healthcare. It’s a problem everyone knows about, that no one will talk about.

If you were to walk into a special needs Facebook group what you would find is the overwhelming fear and anxiety that raises the moment a parent asks what will happen if they stand up to their child’s doctor.

“When we live in a world where a parents fear of DHS is stronger than their desire to advocate for their child, then something needs to be done.”

The first time I was bullied by a doctor I was told by another special needs mother that I was going to need to learn to take the bitch out of my pocket, to stand up, and to stop being scared.

That did not happen for me over night, and I called my mother many times who is the equivalent of Madea, I shit you not, she got my son transferred to a different hospital in two hours, when they had ignored my request for that repeatedly.

The reality, is that this is happening everywhere, to any parent that doesn’t agree with their child’s treatment, or any parent that doesn’t think their child’s doctor is doing enough.

I’m not sure there is an easy way to fix it, but I know the first step has to start with awareness.

“Pediatric healthcare shouldn’t be where doctor’s are always right, nurses judge, and parental concerns are ignored. Yet, here we are in 2019 treating mothers like it’s the 1950’s and they just need to sit down and shut up.”

Parents everyday are spending thousands of dollars fighting DHS for their child back after a doctor called on them, for something that was not true.

I have been threatened with DHS two times in my children’s life, and I simply googled the phone number and handed it to them, and let them know as soon as they called I’d be retaining a lawyer.

Not surprisingly they never called, because I wasn’t scared, I didn’t back down.

When doctor’s, nurses, and hospital’s are using DHS as a scare tactic to bully parents into doing what they want them to do that is a huge issue.

Pediatric Healthcare is by all means the perfect profession for the Egotistical person and parents are paying the price for it.


but hey,

“Welcome to Pediatric Healthcare: Where doctor’s are always right, nurses judge, and parental concerns are ignored.”

Want to help us change Pediatric Healthcare?
Simply scroll down, hit the share button & share this article with the hashtag #Iwillnotsitdownandshutup

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I woke up to the color of yellow vomit, the vomit that comes once there is nothing left from the years of growing in your stomach that could ever be there.

I laid on the bathroom in front of the toilet for what seemed like ages. 
I hugged the toilet like my best friend I hadn’t seen in 10 years just praying it would give me just a little relief from the constant dry heaving of the yellow bile that came from the red hot fire pits of hell as it came up my throat.

Sometimes, I’d make it back to my bed, just to be reminded that the emptiness in my stomach was not the emptiness in my stomach and was now what was going to be either on the floor or back into the toilet.

I can’t tell you that I remember very much after that, other than waking up at some point drenched in sweat, vomit still stuck in my hair, shaking, and wondering why I had put myself thru this yet once again.

It was exactly what I always found at the bottom of the bottle, but it would never be enough to make me shy away because after all the bottom of the bottle was what I needed, it was what I wanted, and no amount of vomit, was going to keep me from getting what I both wanted and needed.

“I was the person I needed to be when I found the bottom of the bottle, I was the person I wanted to be when I found the bottom of the bottle!”

I found Love or should I say Passion, at the bottom of the bottle.
I met the man, that loved the addict that I had become and we made passion like fire and ice. We fought like Eminem and Rihanna, and there was no doubt that we were going to burn the house down and watch each other die for the passion of the fight, or the sex that would only succumb to that very fight.

Loving him was like loving the heroine, it was all I needed, and he and alcohol flowed thru my veins like the drug I could never let go of.

I found myself in the bottom of the bottle.
I am the one that everyone wants to drink with, I am the lover of tequila, music, late nights, and date nights, fueled with adrenaline, laughs, and intoxicated choices that made me feel like I was living.

I was living the best life of my life.

I found my clothes in the bottom of the bottle.
Tequila was my drink of choice, and old tequila sure did make my clothes fall right on off, to the ground; and with my southern charm it was no feat finding a man to oh so willingly take them off.

“I had already found love thru fire and ice, and when that was no good, the guy next door was waiting for the tequila to run thru my veins and into his pants.”

I found my life in the bottom of the bottle.
Just that, my life. 
My entire life was totally & utterly inside the bottom of the bottle and I did not care. 
My life became a way to make excuses for reasons that I deserved to drink , it became a way for me to know that if I just got thru 8am to 8pm that I could have my “Life” in the bottom of the bottle that I wanted to be living 24/7.

I found Macklemore inside the bottom of a bottle
& he saved my life.

I found OtherSide inside the bottom of a bottle
& it saved my life.

I found Starting Over inside the bottom of a bottle
& it saved my life.

If you are not an addict chances are you have no earthly Idea that those two songs even exist.

If you are an addict we can all agree that those two songs will speak to your heart better then any amount of alcohol or drugs ever will.
You will listen to them as you get high.
& You will listen to them as you get drunk.

& When you finally decide to get sober those songs will be your anthem, they will be there reminding you of the life you never want to go back to, the life you cannot go back to or you will die.

& when I say you will die, I mean You. Will. Die. 
There will be no coming back, if you do not decide to get sober, your family will watch you wither away into nothing.
Your family will watch as you choose drugs & alcohol over everything you onced loved and needed.
Your family will watch as you choose drugs & alcohol over your kids, your mother, your father, everyone, and everything that ever made you a better person.

I found many things inside the bottom of the bottle, but finding Macklemore saved my life.

“Find what you need to save your life in the bottom of the bottle and get sober, it doesn’t matter what you find as long it reminds you everyday that being sober was, is, and always will be a lifetime better then being drunk or high every single day!”

As Macklemore says, “If I can be an example of getting sober, then I can be an example of starting over!”

Embracing Guilt, Grief, & Regret as a Rite of Passage Into Special Needs Motherhood

June 20, 2019

Guilt is the lump in your throat from holding back the tears, as you tell your self you have to be strong, no matter what.
Guilt is standing in the hospital parking lot at 2 am screaming at God to save your child over and over until you finally beg him to just take you instead.
Grief is lying to your child’s doctor when they ask you if you are okay.
Grief is your heart sinking into your stomach as you hold your child just a little tighter as the doctor gives them yet another diagnosis.
Regret is replaying the same memory over and over wishing you had just fought a little harder, protected them a little better, held them a little longer.
Regret is the cup of coffee you’ve remade 10 times, because you were up all night researching treatments while your child slept on your chest, just so you knew they were breathing.

Guilt.

Standing in the parking lot of the hospital screaming at God over & over begging him to listen.

“I can’t do this, I’m breaking and falling apart. I’m trying so hard to be strong, but the tears are falling faster than I catch them, and the clouds that were once my thoughts are just getting darker and darker. 
My days are getting longer, and my nights are getting shorter.
I’m doing everything right and my baby is NOT GETTING BETTER!”

I’d wipe my tears, look at the sky, and walk back inside. 
Strong was what I was going to be, no one was ever going to know I was slowly falling apart.

Every time we got a new diagnosis.
Every time we slept in a hospital. 
Every time sat in an ER at 3 am
Every time another milestone wasn’t met.
Every time I argued with a doctor or nurse to just do something.
Every time I tried to form the words, “I’m not okay.”

Guilt would tap me on the shoulder, just to remind me the he was always with me.

Guilt consumed me, fueled me, and kept me going in the darkest parts of my child’s life.

Guilt made sure, I told no one that I believed; I failed my child!

I am my child’s protector.
I am my child’s security. 
I am everything my child needs.

& I couldn’t help my child….

I failed my child….

I was not allowed to show weakness. 
I did not deserve to show weakness.
My child was fighting to live and to me, it was because I failed him.

I failed him.

Grief.

I was the keeper of the key to the plan to “fix” my child and I was going to prove to me, God, and the whole damn world that he was going to get better.
Failure was not an option & guilt was now long gone.

Until, I found grief….

“Grief rolls in like a black cloud of thunder on a beautiful day at the beach. One minute your standing in the water watching the waves splash the shore, and the next your drowning in the sea, with no way to get your head above water.”

One minute you have a plan to save the world, to regain the child God promised you when you saw those two pink lines. 
The next your sitting on the floor locked in your closet hiding from the world because the brick sitting on your chest has chained itself to your heart and you can’t see past the darkness of your thoughts.

Grief is like the wave of a tsunami, crashing into your heart, every time you come to terms with another set back.

Grief never truly goes away.

Grief moves into the lonely corner of your room, only coming out to remind you of everything your child won’t get to experience no matter how many plans you successfully set into action.

Regret.

As I come to accept that there are just certain things my child is always going to struggle with, I often find myself second guessing every single decision I have made in the last five years of my life.

Regret is ever evolving.

Regret is isolating.

Regret is the voice I hear in the shower telling me, I should have taken my child to the doctor sooner.

Regret is the voice I hear in my thoughts at 3 am telling me to watch my child sleep for just a little longer, when my eyes will barely stay open and my body is begging me to please just sleep.

Regret is quick.
It shows up 3 seconds after you make any single decision and makes you replay it over and over, consuming your mind.

Regret is when I tell my child they can eat cake for breakfast and watch TV all day.
Regret is standing next to me reminding me that something could happen at any minute.

Embracing Guilt. Grief. & Regret.

The day the I looked death in the eye for the second time and begged him not to take my child as he laid in a PICU on a ventilator on a 2:1 nurse ratio was the day;

“I fell from grace & lost all faith.”

I walked down a path of darkness consumed with guilt, grief, & regret every day.

I was done trying. I was done caring.

Anger coursed thru my body; burying any trace of any other emotion as I screamed at every single doctor, nurse, or person who dared to say anything at all to me.

” I loved you at your darkest” — Romans 5:8

Every morning I wake up just a little earlier than my kids. 
Every morning I sit outside, drink my coffee, and talk to God. 
Every morning I embrace the thoughts of guilt, grief, and regret.
Every morning I take the thoughts I can handle and I give the rest to God. 
Every day my children show me to how to be strong in the face of defeat.

Embracing guilt, grief, and regret; 
has given me the peace to see the sun,
the courage to lift my head out of the water, 
and the strength to swim to shore.

“Be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid or discouraged for the Lord, your God, is with you where ever you go” — Joshua 1:9

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