They are Killing My Son

                                       They are Killing My Son

                                                    By Valerie X Armstrong

I remember my precious curly haired baby running toward me with a "boo boo" for me too kiss and make it all better.  I still see that innocent baby, in pain, looking toward me now, to  help him  and take his pain away.  Nearly a half a century has passed and whenever I look at my son, I still see him as my baby.  I guess that will never change....But, now, despite having done everything I know how to do to help him...I can't.

He was struck down in the prime of his life with Multiple Sclerosis.  I'll never forget the day, nearly two decades ago, that my phone rang and he said "Mom, there's something wrong with me.  The whole right side of my face has gone numb.  Do you think I'm having a stroke?"  I dashed home and rushed him to the ER and an MRI was taken.  It showed his entire brain and spinal cord covered with lesions.  From that point his health declined significantly, to now being quadriplegic and in a wheelchair.  Not only that, but as a side effect of the MS he has acquired another neurological disorder called Trigeminal Neuralgia...also known as "The Suicide Disease", because the pain is among the worst known to mankind, causing many of it's sufferers to take their own lives to escape the agony.

His neurologist referred him to a pain clinic nearly seven years ago.  He has never missed an appointment, never failed a urine test, has never been anything but kind and respectful to the doctors and staff, however, they are refusing to treat him anymore.  He had never taken any kind of pill, with the exception of Tylenol or antibiotics or vitamins before starting at their clinic...The National Pain Institute on Lee Road in Winter Park, Florida.  Recently, the doctor there, Dr. Sajan, told my son he wanted him to be seen through a "new pair of eyes", and handed him the name of another pain doctor, Dr. Ramos, which he had scribbled on a torn scrap of paper...I made the appointment for Chris to see Dr. Ramos and after a couple of visits he was told that they would no longer be treating him as he needed long term care which they were not willing to provide.  I called Dr. Sajan to make an appointment for Chris to come back there to be seen and they said, they weren't taking him back as a patient.  Chris and I were, and still  are shocked and baffled by this turn of events.  We asked them where we should go for Chris' continued treatment and they casually told us to find someplace in the phone book.   Chris was given a thirty day supply of his medications by Dr. Ramos, which are nearly gone. 

I have been calling every pain management doctor in a fifty mile radius from our home and none are willing to take him because of the stigma he now has of his previous doctor letting him go.  Initially, I was able to make a few appointments with some other doctors  but as soon as they found out, on our first visit, that he had been discharged by the others, we were shown the door.  Now, when I call around for appointments, I tell them upfront, over the phone, what the story is and they tell me they won't see him.  I have run out of places to call and his medicine is rapidly running out.

The last time he went through withdrawals, I had accidentally dropped some of his medication down the sink.  He was trying to stick it out until his next doctors visit that was a few days away, but I heard him yelling for me.  He was on the floor with his body all contorted, screaming in pain, from what seemed to be a full body "charlie-horse".  His having MS causes his withdrawals to be very bad.  It causes  him to have contractures and seizures, which could be deadly for him.  I called 911 and they took him in an ambulance to the emergency room, where they gave him a morphine IV.

This "Opioid Crisis" that is on the news, of late,  is causing a big problem for actual pain patients.  My son needs his pain meds for the pain itself, plus the fact he is now physically dependent on them.  He doesn't take them to get high, but just to be able to exist with the pain that his MS and TN cause him.  He has had so much taken from him...His mobility, his job, his friends, his ability to just exist pain-free.  He can't shave, barely can eat anything, but Ensure, can hardly speak from pain, and now they are actually trying to kill him by withholding his medication.  The Center for Disease control and their new guidelines have made it to where the doctors are throwing the baby out with the bath water...They are trying to stop addicts from overdosing, but killing the other people who actually need the opioids to survive...

I'm not one to subscribe to conspiracy theories, but it does make me wonder if this is a way the powers that be are using to rid society of the disabled and sick people.  I'm exhausted and panic stricken from trying to help my son and fearing what the future holds for him...I've cried, I've begged, I've prayed....Now I don't know where to turn.  I've never felt so hopeless and alone.  Doctors are supposed to help people. He needs palliative care and now!  I'd give anything to be able to trade places with him and take his pain away.  I'd much rather have it than to see him suffer.  He's still my curly haired baby and I will do anything within my power to make it all better for him.  Please, God, help us.

The Glove

By Valerie X Armstrong

This glove is just one of many that have been worn by a hard working man I know...a man who has worked since he was a young teen and is now middle aged...pushing senior status...I saved it as a testament to the sacrifices he has made for his family...Sometimes he went through two or three pairs a week...sometimes more. These gloves are worn thread bare from the dirty, hard, heavy work this man has done to eke out a meager living.

 The hands they are worn to protect are not just ordinary hands, they are the talented, sensitive hands of a musician who can make a guitar evoke any emotion known to mankind. This man has worked at any job he could find, when necessary. He is an accomplished musician, recording engineer (with a Full Sail degree to prove it) , Deejay, surveyor, electrician, among other things, but when work in his chosen fields was scarce he would do just about any job to support himself and his family...

He is no free loader or slacker. In fact, he was seriously injured doing the work he wore these gloves to do. That, plus being a victim of an auto accident just a few blocks from his home has rendered him disabled according to the United States Social Security Administration. 

Getting approved for disability is a grueling task in and of itself. It sometimes takes years to be approved and countless forms and doctors verifications are required. It is paid into by the worker, just like retirement, and is not a freebie from the government paid for by taking away from anybody else.

 It irritates me no end when holier than thou people who are fortunate enough never to have had any accidents severe enough to cause them permanent disability, complain that their hard earned tax dollars are paying for some "dead beat" on disability. The amount paid by disability is not enough to live on. Hard work does not always equal money and success. Just about anyone at any time can find themselves in a similar situation, so be careful before you judge someone else. Karma, you know.

 

Move Over Ivanka

By Valerie X Armstrong

When I was a young wife and mother, I did many things to contribute financially to the household...I worked part time jobs of various kinds along with helping my husband in his business...I sold real estate, worked retail, managed a tanning salon, cleaned offices, bought and sold antiques for profit , did party catering for friends and family, baby sat, did ironing for others, sold exercise equipment door to door, tutored kids and adults and tried to start my own clothing design company. 

  The idea to start the clothing company was a good one.  I had design that was original and a hit with the plus sized community.  Being plus sized at the time, myself, worked out well.  I advertised my creations with a hand drawn, hand written ad in the back of a plus sized magazine called BBW (Big Beautiful Woman).  It was a popular magazine and the first of it's kind created especially for the plus size market.   All the models were plus sized beauties and the articles were great.  My little ad got quite a lot of interest and questions, but not a lot of sales from individuals...I did, much to my surprise, get several large orders from dress shops all over the country.  I was just making these outfits by myself in my dining room with my little portable sewing machine.  I could make one in a couple of hours, but the orders were so large that I was spending every waking moment on them and still couldn't keep up with the orders.  My sewing machine started to malfunction.  I knew I needed help...The customers I had already served wanted more and sent repeat orders...I was trying to find help and get a loan to get professional equipment.  I knew nothing of business.  I had just expected to have a few individuals send orders and I could handle that, but I was inundated with orders....BIG orders.  This was before the internet and I tried to research starting a business, but I wasn't too savvy at that point and had no formal business plan.  I went to the Small business Administration and bank after bank trying to get a loan to rent space and buy equipment and hire help, but was turned down repeatedly...Some even smiled condescendingly and patted me on the head..  Eventually, I ran out of steam and had to give it up.  My success did me in.  It made me sick having to turn down orders...I gave it my best shot though.  It's so much easier when you have money and backing to make a successful business...Having a famous last name doesn't hurt, either.

Friday the 13th...Here it Comes Again

By Valerie X Armstrong

 I come from a rather superstitious family...My grand mother was Irish and always knocked on wood to ward off trouble if she thought she had spoken in a way that might have been a jinx to herself or someone she cared about...She would make sure to toss some salt over her left shoulder if she had happened to spill some, inadvertently.  She swore, when she was a child,  she heard a banshee scream and saw it run away from the house across the street where a neighbor lady had just died (She described the banshee as a tiny hunched old woman wearing a long skirt and a bandana). We always were aware when it was  Friday the Thirteenth, and were especially cautious on those days.

  A lot of this rubbed off on me and I spent many a day trying to avoid cracks in the sidewalk for fear of contributing to my mother somehow breaking her back.  We were keenly aware of black cats crossing our paths while we were driving, and would lick our index fingers and touch them to the inside roof of the car to prevent any ill fate from befalling us from the jaywalking felines.

In the back of my mind I always thought that these superstitions might just be so much goat droppings, but just in case they did have some basis in reality, I treated them with a healthy respect.

My first husband was killed in an accident at work on Friday September 13th.  He was only twenty years old.  We had a small baby only four months old.  Losing my husband was bad enough, but  to lose him on THAT day really freaked me out.  I thought perhaps there really is something to the superstition, although I've read and re-read all about the origin of the legend.  I received little comfort from being told it was only coincidence. 

 What made and still makes matters worse, is that over the past several decades, since my husbands death, the number thirteen is inordinately obvious in my day to day life.  I will awaken in the night and it's always 2:13 or 3:13 or 4:13 on my bedside digital clock...Never a fourteen or a fifteen, or even a twelve, for that matter.  When  ever I glance at the clock during the day...same deal... always a 13.  The number keeps coming up in all different scenarios..It jumps out at me as if it were my husband trying to send me a message from beyond. 

 Unless I have to do  something really important, I'll probably be at home lying low on any given Friday the Thirteenth. I hated sending my kids off to school on those days and I still never fail to let them know when a Friday the 13th is coming up and caution them to be extra careful. 

 Tomorrow is Friday September 13, 2013 , so to all my friends and family, whether superstitious or not, take care and be well.

Always and Forever... Spirit Messages?

By Valerie X Armstrong

If you've never lost anyone close to you, that you dearly loved, you might not understand.  You might dismiss me as a wacky nut job.  I would have thought that myself, before it happened to me.  I was the world's biggest skeptic, putting the Amazing Randi to shame.  Even today, I try to come up with logical reasons that would explain my experiences.

 There is a certain amount of wishful thinking that comes along with the grieving process.  We have a hard time accepting that our loved ones are really gone.  We scan crowds hoping for a glimpse of their faces.  We react with a hopeful start when we hear a voice whose timbre is similar to the one we are missing so badly...We look for signs, any signs, that our loved ones are still close by... and sometimes we get them.

Before my mother passed away, she told me that if there were any way for her to contact me after her death, she would. Strangely, she is the one from whom I have not received any signs that couldn't be explained. 

It began with my sister Ginny's passing in 2002.  We were very close.  During my entire lifetime, I was never apart from her, except for just a few days. 

 When Ginny was here with me at home, during her last few years, I had put a lamp in her room.  It was a doll lamp with an old fashioned girl holding a parasol, dressed in yellow, with long blonde hair.  I told Ginny it reminded me of her.  There were never any problems with the lamp until Ginny passed away.  One day, soon after Ginny was gone, I was in her room and I spoke to her out loud.  I said something like "Ginny, I miss you. I wish you could be here with me".  The lamp flickered.  On many occasions thereafter, when I went in that room and talked to Ginny, the lamp reacted the same way.  It only flickered under those circumstances. I couldn't make it flicker any other way...The bulb wasn't loose.  There was no short in the wiring or the wall socket, and it was plugged in securely.

That was the first experience I had, that couldn't be chalked up to mere coincidence....I didn't hear much more from Ginny, although I still feel her nearby...I think she was trying to assure me that she had successfully made her crossing, and that she was okay.  It did make me feel somewhat better.  Spirits are known for communicating through electrical means.  Supposedly, since they are essentially energy, themselves, they can manipulate things like that.

Most of my communications have been from my late husband, best friend,and soul mate,  Walter.  They started, following his injury at work,in 2008, which proved to be fatal. 

 There were two instances, in the beginning. One was in the Neuro ICU waiting room at the hospital.  Walt was still  "alive", but in a coma.  I think his spirit had already left his body.  I was sitting in the crowded waiting room. The TV was on some kid's channel.  I heard "our" song ("I don't Want to Miss a Thing," by Aerosmith, the theme song from the movie Armageddon), coming from the television... 

   It wasn't a musical TV show. The song just happened to be playing in the background of some scene.

That was the only song I ever heard in that waiting room....Of all the millions of songs and hundreds of TV channels and shows, and only a random few times when I would be sitting there in earshot of that TV, why would that song be played at that moment?  What are the odds?

I  believe Walt was telling me he loved me and it was ok to let him go and remove his life support, as he was really already gone, anyway. 

 The other happened one Sunday while Walt was still in a coma in ICU.  I went to the little Presbyterian church around the corner from me...It is a tiny, old, wooden chapel,  with only a handful of parishioners, all much older than I.  Something compelled me to go to church that day, after not having gone in ages...I went alone..

The sermon was about "Titus" and receiving daily "manna".
Oddly enough,  when Walt was air lifted by helicopter to the hospital they didn't know his name and he was considered a "Doe",  like John Doe...

They had given him a code name in the emergency room, "Doe -'Titus'- April"...

Until I had filled out his paperwork and given them his correct info,  I had to ask to see him by using the name "Titus".

Okay,  the first time I have been to church in I can't remember how long, and the sermon is about "Titus"  and "manna from heaven" saying you will be sustained?

I really think Walt orchestrated that one too, to let me know he is still watching out for me.

One of my family member's son- in- law is a minister.  She goes to church every week.   When I related this story to her,  she said ," 'Titus' is not one they speak of often".

So, just my overactive imagination, or something more?  

A year or two later,  I received another unexplainable communication from Walt.

I was looking at pictures of him online. I was really missing him just about the most I had since he'd been gone.  I was noticing his strong hands in one picture, and the old, worn out, cut-off jeans that were so familiar to me. He was wearing the tee shirt which said "FUN" on the front, which was one word to sum up Walt's personality.

I was sitting in front of the computer sobbing and aching so badly for him I felt like I couldn't stand it another second..
I went to Google and for some reason, I typed in the words, "please come back", in a desperate attempt to reach him.
Right at that moment all the electricity in the house went off!
It came right back on, but for that brief, exact, moment it shut right off. The computer shut down and  re-booted,  all the electric clocks needed re-setting.
I know beyond any shadow of a doubt he was letting me know he is here. There is no other explanation...

It was just like Walt to shut the whole thing off. No flickering of lights for him, like Ginny did (that was typical of her gentle way). Nope, he wanted to make sure I got it. 

The same, exact thing happened again, about a year after that...Once might be a coincidence, but, twice?

Perhaps the next communication was the strangest of all.  Shortly before a recent Christmas, I was out in front by my planter, clipping my rose bushes and unruly Hibiscus. My son, Chris was outside, nearby.  I commented to him that I missed Walt helping me with the yard work.  I always did  the pruning and Walt would pick up the branches and put them in trash bags,  which I think is the worst part of the job.  Just as I was bending down to pick up thorny clippings, I noticed something shiny sticking up vertically, out of an ant hill.  It was sparkling in the sunlight..I reached down and picked it up.  It was a large silver heart shaped charm with diamonds around it .  It was engraved in the middle with the words "Always and Forever".

I almost fainted!  I had never seen that charm before and neither had Chris. No one had been around here that could have dropped it. It was sticking right up in plain sight, right outside my front door, and I found it right after I mentioned Walt. I tried to rationalize it, by thinking it might have been dropped by a crow flying overhead.   But, later that day, when Chris was moving my old computer, he found, underneath it, two things; an old newspaper clipping of Walt's and my engagement, and a gleaming state quarter, which Walt collected .   I think the newspaper clipping and the quarter were there just to confirm who sent the heart, as if there were really any doubt.

I still continue to look for signs from departed loved ones, but some are so obvious, I don't have to look very hard.
Draw your own conclusions. 

My Last Earthly Gift to my Mom

By Valerie X Armstrong

For anyone who doesn't know my family well, this might seem like a strange tale...For those who do know us, it's just another "business as usual" story.  We are a family of artists, writers, and musicians, sprinkled with a little Addams family vibe and an appreciation of subtle humor.  One thing is for sure...We love and respect one another deeply and always try to do the very best to make each other's lives as pleasant as possible. 

We share some of the same traits or idiosyncrasies, nothing terribly weird, just, we like to sit in the aisle seat at theaters, preferably the back row.  We like to be alone at times to reflect on the beauty of nature and embrace the calm.  We love holidays and always make a big deal of them and we don't disbelieve in the hereafter and the presence of our departed loved ones still being close to us as we go about our daily lives.

My mom was a flower child before the time when they were popular.  She was gentle, highly intelligent, creative, talented,loving,and cool. A modern day wood nymph.

She left this earthly plane on August 5, 1981.  I wanted to have her buried in a setting befitting her personality.  The problem was, at the time, I was short of funds...I picked out a very nice cemetery near where we lived so I could visit often.  There were some lovely available spots but they were out of my price range.  I had to settle for a spot that I could afford, which I knew my mother would have hated, but I had no choice at the time. 

 I felt so guilty leaving her there, crowded among strangers, in the middle of the shadeless park, when I knew how much she disliked being in the sun.  She was a redhead and avoided the sun at all costs.  I promised her that day, that I would do what ever I could to get her some shade. 

Several years later when my finances had improved, I decided to have mom moved to one of those beautiful spots I couldn't afford before.  It was right next to a little woodsy park like area..It was the aisle seat with trees and shade and no one else between her and the lovely lush natural woodsy area, so her spirit could cavort with the sprites on a moonlit night.

On Halloween day 1987, a small group of family members gathered at the cemetery with a few seasonal refreshments, and witnessed the moving of my mother from the one spot I knew she would have hated to another that I knew she would have loved.  We gave thanks for being able to do one last thing for mom that we felt she would have thought was the coolest thing ever.  We cried and reminisced about the wonderful former Halloweens we had all spent together and we talked about this day being one we would never forget, and then we smiled.

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Human Nature and the Price of Applesauce

When my son was a baby, I was an impoverished young widow. I could not afford to buy traditional jars of baby food for him.
There was a little open air store about a block away from where we lived that sold primarily, bread, milk,sodas, beer and snacks. Occasionally a desperate customer would pop in for dog or cat food or eggs or sugar or another ingredient needed to complete a meal. For just such emergencies they kept a small supply of groceries on a few shelves which were hardly ever touched. In fact the dust was so thick on the tops of these items it obscured the paper price tags stuck on each one.
The lady who ran the place never moved from her folding chair in the back of the store. She was heavy set, sixty-ish, gray hair pulled back into an untidy bun. She wore a flowered house dress and a dingy white sweater over her shoulders. Her expression was sullen and she never smiled or spoke. She had a sparce black mustache gracing her upper lip.
I used to go in that store almost daily carrying my new little boy. I discovered they had a few jars of applesauce on the shelves, I wiped the dust away from the price tag and saw it was marked nineteen cents. I thought I would buy it for my son as an inexpensive alternative to baby food. I came in and bought another jar the next day. The third day when I came to buy more, the tops of all the jars of applesauce were dusted and sporting a new price tag of twenty cents each. All the other groceries around them were still dust covered as before.
Instead of being glad she had a customer for her old applesauce, she saw she had a sucker on the line and decided to make a bigger profit by raising the jars of applesauce one cent a jar. That applesauce probably would still be sitting there till this day if it weren't for a poor young mother and a hungry baby that just happened to stumble across it.
I hope that old woman enjoyed her few extra pennies...I wonder if they made her smile?
VXA©

LIVING IN SIN…..Grandma’s Struggle for Survival

Some women are still like slaves in the U.S. to be bought and sold by men and our government condones it. If men work for a company all of their adult lives they receive a pension for thirty years of devoted service. Women on the other hand, particularly those who have had no career of their own outside of being a homemaker, if they are lucky, receive a certain amount of “pension” referred to as alimony. The problem is that they can never marry again with out losing that money.
A man can remarry with out losing his pension but a woman , if she marries again , she supposedly becomes the “property” of her new husband so therefore the alimony stops. It is as though all the years she put in as maid, cook, nanny, companion, household manager, lover, hostess, personal shopper, partner in business endeavors, chauffeur, psychologist, nurse, broodmare, etc. never existed.
If a man were to have to pay for all those services from someone else the cost would be astronomical, but they are all received free of charge under the guise of “marriage”, from an unsuspecting female who is under the illusion that she will live “happily ever after”.

Generally, when the woman first suspects she has been “had” is when the children are raised, the husband is successful, commanding a large salary that she helped him to achieve and he decides that he no longer needs her any more and decides to trade her in for a newer
(younger) model.
What happens then? After the initial disbelief, breakdown and grieving, she tries to find a job, which isn’t always easy if she has had no training other than the domestic work she did for her husband. Sometimes the judge will award temporary alimony until she can get vocational training…In cases of older women the judge will award “permanent” alimony, which will terminate if the woman ever remarries as though she would then become the property of another man who will provide for her. A man on the other hand can remarry whomever and whenever he wishes and his income remains unchanged.
In earlier days the social norm was for a woman to marry shortly out of school, perhaps having a brief career before marriage which was usually given up to become a housewife…The “Mrs. Cleaver” syndrome.
Women did not question the practicality of this move because most marriages lasted in those days…My grandparents were married 60 years. The woman’s natural role was to care for the children and to keep the home fires burning. She rarely even considered preparing herself for the necessity of having to earn her own living. Men’s and women’s roles were clearly defined…Men went to work and were the bread winners while the woman ran the household. Sometimes the woman would work outside the home in the early years of marriage at a menial job so the husband could go to college while foregoing her own education. During the marriage at times of economic downturn the woman would sometimes take in laundry or baby sit other people’s children to help make ends meet.
I don’t know who decided that all that work and effort on the woman’s part was supposed to be freely given to the man.
During the 1960’s things started to change. Women decided to have careers outside the home and prepared themselves through education to be able to earn a decent living for themselves. Some women didn’t think marriage was a necessity for having children. For some of the career women that was all right, but for many more women who weren’t able to support themselves and their children, the government became their “husband” providing them with a check every month and food stamps as well. These were “informed” choices these women made because the world’s view of men’s and women’s roles had already changed. The idea of marriage as a career choice for women was obsolete.
The problems were for the unsuspecting older woman who was married under the old school of thought, before “woman’s lib,” who was still playing by the old rules. She entered into marriage genuinely thinking it was the right thing to do because her mother and grandmother and all prior generations had done it. It never occurred to her that the rug would literally be pulled out from under her after she had devoted all of her youth to her husband. The poorest economic sector of the US is the older female, who no doubt did not prepare to support herself when she was young because she trusted the institution of marriage to provide for her.
What adds insult to injury is the fact, not only of the alimony stopping if a woman remarries, but her Social Security check stops too. If a divorced woman has never worked outside the home and she has been married to the same man for 10 years or more she can draw off her husband’s Social Security benefits without his being decreased in any way. He still gets the same amount and she gets the equivalent of roughly one third of the amount he receives. How they think that is fair, I will never know, but regardless, that is how it is. If she remarries, the benefits stop, under the assumption she is like a piece of livestock being “sold” to another “owner”. No consideration being given to the years of hard work, sleepless nights and self deprivation she endured while keeping house for her husband.
They don’t even have un-employment for displaced homemakers to give them a chance to regain their equilibrium. One day they have a home and happy family and the next day they are pushing a shopping cart down the tracks containing all their earthly belongings (not such an outrageous exaggeration).
Some older women can support themselves if they are lucky enough to be able to find an employer that will hire an older person with virtually no experience .Even if she goes back to school, competition is tough and jobs are scarce.
If the woman has a family to fall back on that is a great help but if she is alone in the world, she will be very lucky to be able to attain a decent lifestyle on her own.
This is why many older women are forced to make certain choices that are not in keeping with their religious upbringing and moral beliefs such as cohabitating with a man outside of wedlock. “Shacking up” has become the only way a lot of women can survive today.
If she marries the new man, her income will stop. Even if he professes to love her and keep her, how can she trust that it will be true this time when it wasn’t before with her last husband?
There definitely have to be some changes made to the system that keeps women in the role of slaves to be passed from one man to another as property when she has worked all her life in a thankless marriage to be discarded at the husband’s whim. Yes, the women of the last generation were naïve to have let this happen to them and if they had it to do over chances are they would not. However, the fact remains there are still some relics of the old social order that are suffering the consequences of the way things were done then.
A woman’s alimony should be viewed as compensation for services rendered and not be stopped when she remarries. She still put in her time and effort. Why should it stop if she remarries? It doesn’t make sense. Certainly the Social Security should continue if she remarries and she should be given the same amount her husband gets as she was working at home for him all those years to enable him to accrue all those benefits.
Once you are divorced if you are fortunate enough to find another man you can love,
it is very difficult to not be able to marry him, and to not be accorded the rights of being a wife. Even if you and he want to marry, the financial repercussions can be devastating.
Living in sin is sometimes the only way to survive financially.
I have not seen very much written on this subject. It is time this issue was faced head on and corrected. These women have nothing to be ashamed of. They are not slackers looking for a hand out. They are the wives and mothers that made our country strong. They are the hands that rocked the cradle. How can it be that they can be treated so unfairly and then be the butt of jokes and be jeered at by the very men to whom they devoted their lives.
I’m sure this will not be a popular topic among the male sector of the population that have perpetuated this dominance over females for so long.
There are ladies suffering in silence that are too proud to speak up or complain.
The law must be changed to require permanent and fair compensation for home makers and must include, retroactively, all the mothers, grandmothers and housewives that devoted their lives to their families that are sitting out there broke wondering what happened. © VXA 2009

The Birthday That Almost Didn’t Happen

Today is my Birthday. I know my Mother would not mind me writing this. If she were still alive, I know she would have encouraged it.
Many years ago when birth control was even more unreliable than today…Some women who wanted to limit the size of their families used occasional abortion as a means to that end…Those who could afford to were able to obtain a relatively safe termination to their pregnancies…Some less costly ones were not so safe and downright dangerous.
When I was a nineteen year old widowed mother of a small baby, I thought I had become pregnant again…I was really not in a position to have another child…
I wasn’t much of a deep thinker in those days and really hadn’t given much thought to life in general or questioned why we are here or anything else philosophical…My life had pretty much been a series of struggles and trying to have some fun in between them.
When I was in the panic mode of thinking I was pregnant, I momentarily considered an abortion. I mentioned it to my mother, who confided to me that she had had a couple of abortions before I was born and that if she could have afforded it, I would have not been born either…I had always wondered why my sister and brother were many years older than I am. It turns out that there were a couple of other brothers and or sisters of mine who never made it here because they were aborted.
Mom cried and begged me to forgive her and said she had always regretted her actions and they had caused a black cloud of depression over her ever since…She said she didn’t know what she would do without me and she was so sorry she had done what she did… The abortions were supposed to make her life easier but they made it much worse for the guilt that she lived with on a daily basis.
I was angry with her at first for killing my unborn siblings… I missed having them in my life even though I never knew them…I was even angrier at her for considering killing me and then telling me about it…
After a while of thinking it all over and letting it process through my brain and heart, I forgave her. I realized that at the time,she thought was doing the right thing for herself and her family…I also forgave her for telling me about it, as I realized she was trying to stop me from making the same mistake that she made, a mistake that might possibly haunt me for a lifetime.
As it turned out, it was a false alarm for me, I wasn’t really pregnant after all, but I had learned an entirely knew way of looking at life from the experience.
Every birthday, when my mother was alive, she would wish me a happy birthday on March 16th, and I would respond with a happy birthday to her too even though it wasn't her real birthday, she was the one who did all the work when I was born.
My mom has been gone many years,now, but I still keep her picture in my bedroom. When I awoke this morning, the first thing I did was to look at her picture and say “Happy, Birthday, Mom”. Then I got a flash of thought…What if I had been one of the kids my mother could have afforded to abort?
I wouldn’t have gotten to wake up to the sunlight streaming into my lovely room or smell the blossoms blooming outside my bedroom window…or been able to pet the cat and dog sleeping at the foot of my bed…I would have missed out on all the wonderful memories I am so thankful for having lived with my children and grand children, who wouldn’t be here either. The guy whose life I saved with the Heimlich maneuver, at my ex husband’s company bar-b-que , also would no longer be here and his kids would be without a dad. I started thinking about the movie “It’s a Wonderful Life” and felt very much like the main character…I might not have done as many dramatic things as in the movie, but I know my life has touched many others and I would like to think that my being here has been a good thing for those whose lives have touched mine.
To think I almost missed out on birthday cake and ice cream and kite flying and the beach and the laughter of babies and the blue sky with puffy white clouds and Christmas and chocolate and a warm fire and books and music and flowers and giraffes and feeling my breath entering my body and stretching and dancing and my art work and my friends and my cozy home. The feelings of elation and sorrow of loving someone and losing that love…all these things that are part of who I am…
I am so grateful mom and dad were broke when she found out I was on the way and I was able to experience life…
I still think about my lost siblings who weren't so fortunate and hope that someday, somewhere, we will meet… That’s my birthday wish.