Fears of Aging: Chapter 75

A few years ago, my mom would talk about how scared she was to be getting older. She, being a woman of God, is not afraid of growing old or dying for that matter. Truth be told, she voiced being afraid of losing who she has always been. Her mother, Grandma Leathia died at the early age of 42 years old. Her father, Poppy, lived to be 92 years old. Grandma died from a brain aneurysm. But from what we could gather, Poppy, a St. Louis native originally from Louisiana, was still in fairly good health and in his right mind well into his early to mid-80s. What a blessing, right? Sometime after that, he began to have issues with his memory accompanied by mini-strokes called TIAs (Transient Ischemic Attacks).

I remember how nervous my mom was the year he came to visit us when he 86 years old. He stayed a few weeks and was such a riot! A few years later at the age of 90, he came to live with us in Alabama but was visibly not the same mentally. We noticed he had physically slowed down considerably and was not as sharp or quick-witted. This began a slow but steady decline in his mental acuity and health. In two short years, he would die of complications associated with Dementia and Alzheimers. Thus, the root of Mommy’s fears.

I think when she turned 70 years old, she began to look at life much different. It’s wasn’t so much as, what all she had left to do, but more that she may have done all she could do. But as I learned from becoming an empty-nester in 2016, this couldn’t be further from the truth. A mothers work is never done. As we approach her 75th birthday, a little over a month away, she doesn’t realize she is still very much needed. I’m surrounded by friends and family who have lost their mothers and it makes me realize how much I cherish her and how blessed my family is to have her.

My mother has literally been my best friend my entire life. No, she’s not a friend instead of a parent. My mom has always been more than just my mother. We have an unbreakable bond. She taught me how to take my first steps in this world and to take my first steps in life. She’s been by my side through the births of both my children, raising them and now guides me as a new grandmother of my one-year-old granddaughter.

She taught me how to clean and keep a house, how to cook and even though I don’t like to, how to iron. Everything I’ve ever needed to know to live a successful life as a woman and mother, she taught me. Any mistakes I’ve made in my life, she saw them coming and tried to tell me about it beforehand. I look at my own daughter now, as a young mother and can only hope I’ve been and will be, to her, who my mom has been and continues to be for me.

I pray when I am 70 or 75 years young, first, that I will still be here, and second that I’ve lived a life mirroring hers. So, I take it upon myself now to reassure her when she worries about slowing down, that she earned to put her feet up and she’s still very much needed. She may not be able to do everything she used to do, but that’s why I’m here. I’ll do whatever I can to lighten her load so she can rest sometimes.

She was married 47 years, raised six children, helped raise 24 grandchildren and 20 great-grandchildren without ever complaining or giving up! That doesn’t even include the growing number of honorary (not blood-related) grand and great-grandchildren. To my children’s childhood friends, she’s forever Grandma and to my best friends, she’s Momma Furr. Not to mention, all of our ex-boyfriends or girlfriends and ex-husbands or wives from back in the day, to who she will always be Momma (or Momma Furr). She’s Momma to so many! We’re all so very blessed to have her!

I know God has and will continue to guide and kept her throughout her life. I am proud that He blessed me to be here with her and never leave her side. As April 2019 vastly approaches and carries my mom into her 75th chapter of life, I pray she no longer fears losing anything. I pray she finds peace of mind in the fact that we will continue to get through this life together. I’m not going anywhere. I know her fears run deeper than that. Still, it’s my prayer. But I must add, Mommy if a man comes along, sweeps me off my feet and asks me to marry him, you’re gonna have to give up the house on the hill and move into the west wing of our mansion😂😘😘😉😉! I am too old to settle for any ordinary Joe 😀. Jk! I love you, Mommy!!

Poppy Luther Clemons, Sr. (2005) and Mommy (2017)

Summer of 2009 (9 of 24 biological grands plus 1 more grand)

2018 (All grands above except 2 on opposite ends and one 3rd from the left/grown up. Cousins (4 girls) with their babies born months apart!)

Various shots of my mom over the years and others with me getting her picture without her knowing just so I’d remember those moments.

The center picture is Me, Arthur William Furr, Jr., my oldest brother and our Mommy on the last Mother’s Day with us. It would be the last picture of him taken. He died that next month June 18, 2009, two days before Father’s Day. Rest on peacefully big brother❤! Until we meet again!

Middle left is me, Mommy, and Kinya, one of Arthur’s sweet daughters who recently became a first-time mommy! (2018)

(Two of five sibling great grands)….Twins great grands Zy and Xavier, who my mom and I are helping to raise right now❤ (09/2018)

My granddaughter Avianna Faith (02/2019). Her was sweepy😘😘😘Gramma Baby❤❤

Five grands who grew up together here with Mom and I…Of course, my son and daughter on opposite ends looking like twins lol; two of nine beautiful kids of Arthur, Jr. his youngest daughter with the shades on and youngest son beside her; my other older brother, Tim’s youngest son in the white shirt. (2013/14)

Crunch Time

“A Quiet Storm”

Written by Shawna D. Moore

March 9, 2019, @ 2 pm and 7 pm

Stillman College

Birthright Auditorium

I decided to lighten my content today. My last few posts have been really dark. So today I’m going to discuss the stage play “A Quiet Storm” written by Shawna D. Moore, coming to Stillman Colleges Birthright Auditorium on March 9, 2019. In approximately three weeks, I will grace the stage alongside the most seasoned, phenomenal actors for the very first time. I’m feeling so many emotions right now. But the greatest ones are pride and excitement!! I am proud to stand up for myself and conquer my biggest fear, social anxiety.

I can’t completely express in words how I feel right now. My nerves are not too bad, but I feel them trying to shatter when I think about how close we are to show day, less than three weeks away. But I am determined to beat this fear once and for all! It has held me hostage for over twenty years. No longer will I be afraid of groups of people or people in general. It may sound silly to some. But when you grow up sheltered with little to no contact with the rest of the world other than school, you tend to be afraid to associate with others because you were never taught how.

I knew this was the right journey for me when I walked into Shawna Moore’s home my very first day of rehearsal and felt at home. I didn’t feel nervous around anybody that came in. Usually, I’d freak out, excuse myself, and have to take deep breathes and put a cold towel on my head. But God is so good! This cast has become family and I know these relationships will last a lifetime. I’m honored they think I’m even good enough to be on the same stage with them.

I thought I would come in this, check off this accomplishments list and go on to the next. But I have grown to love acting. I am surrounded by the most talented people. I’m so grateful for the opportunity that has opened up a whole new world for me. Surprisingly, I hope to continue to act and do more stage plays. I know Shawna will make it to Hollywood one day and I am proud to have been part of her journey.

Now, it’s crunch time for us. We have three rehearsals a week now instead of two. It’s amazing to see this come together as it has. The audience is in for a full rollercoaster of emotions. You will laugh, cry, feel somber, feel joy; feel every emotion one at a time and all at once. This story is one that needs to be told. Our communities shy away from talking about and getting help for mental illness. Through Shawna Moore’s vision, hopefully, we touch at least one person and give them the courage to get the help they need. No one ever needs to go through their quiet storm alone.

FBTWOS: Out of Love With Me (Part 2: The End of an Era)

The End of an Era

Way before my divorce, you’d think I would have fallen out of love with him, but actually, I fell out of love with myself completely instead. Why? Well, I was angry at myself for allowing him to hurt me for so long. Turmoil, hurt, betrayal, and pain ruled my entire young-adult life leaving me so very empty. I hated the fact that I didn’t get out of my marriage after my son was born. My children, I will NEVER regret! During this rollercoaster ride season, I placed most the blame on myself, thinking something had to be wrong with me; What am I doing wrong? What am I doing that makes me not enough? I must be done something for him to not love me? I lowkey still wonder to this day if he ever did.

I kept thinking how hard I worked to do and be everything he said he wasn’t getting from me. I gave him my all, everything in me. By the physical end of our marriage, I was exhausted and became just an empty shell of a woman. I say physical end because I realized that during his final affair, he not only gave his time and himself but for the first time, he gave his heart to another woman. I began detaching myself in my mind so it wouldn’t hurt so much. Consequently, I left mentally long before physically walking away.

I felt drained. I felt as if I wasted my entire adult life on a man who cared nothing about me. Yet, I still loved him. I didn’t divorce him because I wasn’t in love with him anymore, Lawd knows I was! I wasn’t giving up on him either as he thought. I was tired. I was physically in so much pain. My mind hurt. My soul ached. My spirit was broken. But because I always looked beyond the who he chose to be in our moments to who I knew he could be in his, I only walked away because I really did not want to die.

The emotional turmoil, physical pain, stress, and mental intrusion of his betrayal caused me to attempt suicide twice. The first time was with pills. I was so disappointed to wake up still in this world over 12 hours later. The second time, I sent my toddler babies outside to play and locked the door. I put towels under every door and turned the gas on. I sat in the kitchen waiting to die. As the gas dizzied my head, I felt relieved. Then my daughter knocked on the door calling for me. Thank God for her. I broke down in tears, snapped back and cut the gas off.

My children saved me that day and many times after that when I felt too tired to carry on. But, I left my marriage because the last time it would come down to saving him or saving me, for over a decade I chose to save him. But that day, for the first time in my adult life, as I saw myself slipping away, I had to choose to save myself. I knew if I had stayed any longer, I wouldn’t have kept it together. When I left, I was depressed, manic, suicidal, unhappy, empty, and sad. But, I was free.

Out of Love with Me

I was corresponding with a fellow blogger, @poeticjourney521.com about how it’s impossible to love someone else if you don’t love yourself. Sometimes the trauma of heartache leaves us on empty. We find ourselves void of emotion, including love, and mentally unhealthy. My new friend, @poeticjourney521.com is compiling a book on how different couples first met. I am excited for her and wish her the very best. Go follow her now. After our conversation, my creative juices began to flow.


The first time I fell out of love with myself, we hadn’t been married long and I found out he was cheating. In fact, I ended up with my first STD after only a month. He confessed to sleeping with someone two weeks before our wedding. We lived in his childhood family home. After the first month at my in-laws, he’d hide clothes in the bathroom closest. Get off work at 11 pm, go in the bathroom, speed dress and drive off before I could get up and greet him. His pager messages often told of his escapades from the night before.

I was completely and simply naive. From the start, he made me feel inadequate and alone but I honestly thought things would get better. The one thing I learned from my parents was that staying together in toxicity was nothing was worth leaving over. Small bits of happiness and infrequent smiles was enough. Inadvertently, I learned that loving him was more important than loving myself. I watched my wonderfully loving mother do it my whole life and if she could do it… I had no idea about her fears and that her love for us made her stay.

Devastating enough, my earliest memory of complete devastation and subsequent repetitive forgiveness occurred in the form of a phone call. I was working my way through nursing school as a carhop and drive-thru attendant at Sonic. He worked as a mental health worker at a mental health facility. He always spent weekends like a single man, going out with friends instead of spending time with me. One weekend, he fell off the face of the earth. I mean disappeared without a trace for days. As you can imagine, I was frantic, calling hospitals, his parents, friends, everybody, but no one had seen or heard from him.

At this time, we lived in a duplex facing the street. It had an open floor plan, meaning, no hallways. You walked from the living room into the first bedroom, through to the second and from there to an open kitchen with a side back door that led outside. My mom and oldest brother lived on one side and we lived on the other. His cousin, my sister, my mom and I were sitting around trying to figure out the next step to take. Because he was over 21 and had done this before, the police wouldn’t file a missing person report. So we waited.

Some time into the third day, my brother in law gets a phone call. He hung up the phone, told me that he is fine and tries to brush me off. Good thing is, the feature star 69 had just become popular. The investigator in me, along with the ‘oh hell no’ that surfaced picked up the phone and *69 the number. A female “hello” responded. I asked for him by name. She messed up and asked who was asking? I said, his wife!

She proceeded to tell me that he told her I was his ex-girlfriend who was stalking and abusing him. Needless to say, after our conversation, she slapped him and put him out. I found out they had been together for three months. I’ll never forget her name, Bobbie. She was a culinary arts major. This explained why my best friend told me she saw him with a girl in the mall that was dressed like she was a chef. Hat and all. I should’ve believed her.

I never thought that forgiving him then would be the beginning of 100s of times I would be devastated by him only to forgive him again. I don’t know if he had a sex addiction, was just a whore, just didn’t love me, didn’t love me enough to be faithful or loved me but didn’t care enough to not hurt me. But what I do know is that wasn’t the first time and wouldn’t be the last.

I wanted to ask him many times, does it not matter that you were my first everything? That no other man had ever touched me? Do you not think I’m special because you were my only? But his continued infidelity over the next nine years would answer those questions many times over. Even now over 15 years after our divorce in August of 2002, I have this innate need to know if he ever loved me?

Did I waste my entire young adult life, the best years of my life, on someone who never even loved me? These years led to the destruction of my entire world as I knew it. Had I left him after the first time I knew of, would I be a pediatric nurse now, neonatal nurse, a nurse practitioner or even a doctor? Would I have never gotten fibromyalgia if I had just given him his freedom or never married him, to begin with?

I loved him. Everyone could feel that from me. We used to have a bond so strong; a connection nobody could break. So I thought. But he chipped away at it every time he hurt me. He had this habit of giving me a single silk rose every time he broke my heart. By the end of about seven years of marriage, as we packed up one military house to move to another, I had an entire box of silk roses.

I looked at them one day and said to myself how many more before I say enough is enough? I must admit I did blame him for my sickness and for me losing everything I worked so hard to achieve. I blamed him for not being able to provide a normal life for our children. I was angry for a long time. Now I know we were too young and immature. Because of my sheltered upbringing, among other things, I was too naive. He wasn’t done messing around in the streets. I still have issues concerning our children because he walked out on my daughter when she was six weeks old. I don’t think I ever got over that.

We divorced when they were young because I didn’t want the hurt to begin to touch them. They were almost six and four years old. After our divorce, he chose not to see our kids for two years and still was not in their lives until they were 16 and 18 years old. My daughter married her first true love when she was 19, like myself. She had her mother, but sons need their father. My son never had his in his life. He is now 21 years old. I watch him continue to struggle with that every day.

Valentine’s Day 2019

I’ve always been annoyed by Valentines Day. I guess it started with not being able to celebrate it as a child. I never had a real relationship before my ex-husband. So for the better part of 11 years, he was the only person with whom I spent V-Day. I estimate that half those V Days were good, but the other half, whew chile, was hell on earth! I may be wrong, but I don’t remember ever getting a delivery like my co-workers and friends.

After our divorce, my then boyfriend/ fiance of four years would give me things to treat my illness, like lavender candles, Epsom salt, massagers and etc. He didn’t realize I wanted beautiful personal things like jewelry and flowers. After that, I even grew to hate flowers. Pitiful right? But I guess that was my way of dealing with never getting any. In fact, I’m not sure if he really understood me.

When he proposed, we were all at a restaurant having dinner. He sort of slams the box with the ring in it on the table in front of me and says, “Here!” Then he proceeds to tell me the Walmart receipt is in the bottom of the box. Lord knows I cannot make this stuff up! It wasn’t where the ring came from, but how he didn’t ask for my hand in marriage. It would not have mattered to me if he tied a string around my finger, just as long as he got down on one knee, told me he loved me and ASKED me to marry him.

Today, some ten plus years later, none of that matters. But these experiences and those since have only made my standards higher. I refuse to settle for anything less than I deserve. Still, it has been a hard holiday for me. I know it’s man-made but all the gushing is not easy to see when you know you’re a good woman who hasn’t been blessed to meet the right man.

Because life is so short, I have wondered sometimes if I let Mr. Right go or accidentally looked

over him. I’ve even gone back a few times just to find out I was right to move on the first time. I do still think about this one guy, but after going through a marriage always competing the other woman, I refuse to be “the other woman” because I don’t want any woman, wife or girlfriend to feel as insufficient, worthless and unloved as I felt being cheated on. But I do wish a Happy V Day to my exes!

As of this Valentines Day 2019, I am embracing this day. I am looking forward to celebrating this day with whomever God sees fit to send me. I’m not going to spend it sad-hearted anymore. Change is good only if you change yourself. In the meantime, I will continue to celebrate my children, my grandchild, my babies I’m helping to raise, my mother, my family and for the first time, myself!!

This year 2019 is my year of promise, growth, celebration, opportunities, healthiness, love, light, laughter, and joy. This is the year I stop wishing and wanting but actually do and accomplish!

Happy Valentines Day 2019 everyone!!

God bless you all!!

Finality of Death: Home Town Violence

I hate the finality of death! It’s looming over me like a cloud as it does sometimes. Either there’s been too many dying around me or death is coming. I’ve always had a sixth sense. But, I have always been able to pray and shake this feeling. Not this time. I prayed death wouldn’t come in threes, as the wives tale goes, unfortunately, it did. Even though I did not know them personally, I pray for their families as I would my own. I can only hope someone would do the same for me.

A victim of domestic violence, a good friends mother (nonviolent), two teenagers shot, babies killing babies and even a celebrity is only a fraction of those who succumbed to death this week. Of those, the violent crimes stand out even though they all cause the same pain. Loss. From last nights local shooting, a teenager fights for her life after being shot in the head. Another teen was shot in the leg. The code on the street here, as in many violent crime areas, nobody saw anything.

Is this TRULY the cycle of life now.

Y’all, if you know God, pay attention to your intuition because 9 times out of 10 that’s probably God talking to you. If you feel something is not right in your body or your mind, go to the doctor. Look at it as being helped along by someone/something greater than yourself. If you have medical conditions such as high blood pressure, heart disease, or diabetes, get to know your body, your normal and abnormal levels, and the normal blood pressure for you personally.

Depression is another condition that can creep up and steal everything, including your peace. Do not be afraid to talk to somebody or get the help you need. I like to believe that most people want to do good, they want to help others. But how can you help someone and you can’t help yourself? A lot of people shy away from talking to friends and family because they see that those people are damaged too and aren’t seeking help.

Yet, no one should have to die at the hands of someone who supposed to have loved them. No one parent should have to bury a child gunned down by those who are supposed to protect and serve. No child should be so angry and out in the street that they attempt to kill another child. And know that no one should feel so alone and depressed behind closed doors that they drink or drug themselves to death.

I used to do just that to numb my pain. Thank God I reached out for help. The word therapy scares a lot of people. But there’s nothing better than being able to talk to someone who’s on the outside looking in with fresh eyes and a new, unbiased perspective. When back to back murders occur as they have been, in my home town, you tend to reevaluate your life and be thankful for who you have in it.

I talk a lot about God. But I’ll tell you this, I’d rather live my life according to my God’s will and be wrong than to not live my life according to His will and be right about the Rapture. I think life is too short to argue about religion, politics or anything that you can’t take with you when you die. I’m praying for those who have been affected by violence in our communities here and nationwide. We need you, God. Heal and comfort hearts and minds everywhere.

#Death #finalityofdeath #tuscaloosaalabama #hometownviolence #violenceinamerica #God #prayer #pray #Godweneedyou #finalityofdeathhometownviolence #valeriefurrcollins


#authorchallenge @debratorreswrites @debratorresposts

Day two of the #authorchallenge is to ask a question for a deceased author. Although there are many authors that come to mind, Maya Angelou is my favorite author and the one I would love to have a Q & A session with if I could.

My question for Dr. Angelou is extensive and would be how would she want to be portrayed in a movie about her life in today’s world and who would she want to play her in the movie? Would she include the usual known facts such as the sexual assault she encountered which caused her to become mute, or her talk with Mandella in Ghana when she visited her son and her time with Billie Holiday (5-day stay)? Or would she tell of things she kept to herself and away from the world? Or perhaps both?

#authorscommunity #authorschallenge #instagrampoetry #debratorreswrites

#authorchallenge #authorcommunity

I decided to do the #authorchallenge done by @debratorreswrites

I am Valerie Marie (Furr), Collins. I was born in Tucson, Arizona but currently reside in Northport, Alabama. I am 45 years old and a loving mother of two. I began writing at a young age. In 2005, I was named Poetry.com Poet of the year for my poem Fallen Angel, written in honor of my sister in law who was murdered in 1999. In the years to come, I was published in an Anthology of theirs for my poem Inside One Another. I am a member of Realistic Poetry International, The Women of Facebook Create, and Who’s Who Among American Business Women. I also own and operate a small crochet business, Val’s Gifts of Warmth. I am currently compiling a two-part poetry book entitled My Poetic Life: Memoirs of Love and a book telling my story about living with fibromyalgia, entitled Fibromyalgia: Behind the Walls of Silence. I am looking forward to releasing My Poetic Life this fall.

First Day of School (Highschool)

High school, on the other hand, was a completely different experience. I was still smart, but I fell in love, had friends and best friends of whom I’m still friends with today. The only tough part was our strict home life that only got stricter and the hold on us girls to remain pure was daunting and bordered on fearful even at school. But for me, school was my getaway. I knew I could make straight A’s. If I heard it, I knew it. In the 11th grade, I returned my history book at the end of the year unused. I was just that good. Brag moment.

I remained the same quiet, shy girl except I made great friends and we had fun every single day. I think teachers didn’t expect anything bad from me so they never suspected anything either. I was not a talker or fast girl at all. But by the time my junior year was about to end, I realized that I’d never get these years back. So I changed. I talked, laughed, loved, danced, skipped a few unnoticed classes, all the while keeping the appearance of the bookworm at home.

By graduation, I had made up for two years of being a recluse and was sad to see graduation day approaching. While most kids couldn’t wait to get out in the world, I wanted at least another year or two or for time to just slow down a little. See, graduation to them meant going on to college and then on to jobs, marriage or kids; whatever life had to offer.

But for me, with my 26-year-old, 25, and 21-year-old sisters at home, it meant being trapped. Just like them. Trapped behind four walls unable to pursue my dreams and live my life. I knew things were not going to change for me, the last of six children to graduate. My only solace was my mother. My mom was my best friend even back then. She would fill my imagination with stories of her youth and her life with Daddy. She kept me going a lot of days. She is the only reason I didn’t try to leave. I couldn’t leave her.

As we lined up to walk to Pomp and Circumstance, our excitement grew. I let myself feel every ounce of it. I took it all in until the very last second. My graduating class, the Holt High School graduating class of May 1991, cried together, laughed together and walked together.

After the ceremony, while others were enthroned in warm goodbyes, making lasting final memories, and taking precious photos, I tried my hardest to stay hidden within the crowd for a few minutes to just breathe it all in and say goodbye to my fellow class-men, teachers and staff, my friends, those special ones I was leaving behind (my best friend to this day), and to say goodbye to my freedom.

But I was denied those few moments. I was met in the crowd by my fathers stern hands attached to my shoulders, strongly guiding me straight forward, up the bleachers, and away from my freedom with tears streaming down my face, choking on the wales I couldn’t dare let him hear. Taking as many glances back at those I had made my family for four years knowing I would never see or talk to any of them again. And I didn’t. At least not until, seeing a few of them at the hospital after my father unexpectedly fell ill.

In November 1993, he went into a coma due to negligence following neck surgery, three days after my 19th birthday. Still, months later, it took me a while to realize that I had the choice to reach out to anyone, to take down those braids that held me captive, or to even know I was free to be me. When you live in seclusion, you become fearful of society. It’s difficult to socialize, trust, have friendships, and break through the hold that being secluded had on you. Therefore, I found myself living my life because of my moms grace and not actually speaking to or seeing most of my classmates until after Facebook was launched and I reluctantly joined in 2008.

This is one of the darkest blogs I have written. Did this childhood trauma help cause fibromyalgia? I don’t know. All I know is that I credit my mother for giving us, her children, life not once but twice. After my father fell ill, my mom could’ve kept us girls still under my dads “lock and key”, but she didn’t. She guided us the best she could into the world so we could live our lives and pursue our dreams. Thank you for that, Momma! I love you!

So today, here I am doing this school thing for a second time around. I made sure my children never feared me and never experienced any type of abuse at my hands. I will do the same with my niece and nephew. They have adjusted well and are doing great. Biologically, has raised 6 children, 24 grandchildren, and 20 great-grandchildren.

I say biological because she is resident grandmother to so many more. And she momma to everybody, just like her mother was when she was growing up. We have had 7 of the grandchildren go through the elementary school our twins now get to enjoy. I can’t wait to get involved in all their activities as I did with my two kids. I’m going to do my best to make sure their elementary school experience is a good one.

(My high school graduation picture)

Agony Eyes

I wonder if you can see the agony in my eyes

The heartfelt pain in the tears I’ve cried.

I’ve been stripped of all that protected me.

I’m vulnerable now, exposed, but never free.

I dare not tell you how I truly feel.

I fear you’ll crush me with your words at will.

Don’t you see how much you’re hurting us?

Do you wonder if because of you, we’ll never trust?

Don’t you see in the way I walk into the room that I’m full of fear, damnation, and gloom?

How do you reach for me each day and night?

And slowly but surely dim out my light.

You loved me in your own way even though my fear grew more each day.

As I remember how I felt during those days gone by.

I’ll wonder if you saw the agony in my eyes

Me at about 3 years old

Collage of my 2 kids that my sister Sondy sent me

My babies either one Easter or for church

2004 Thanksgiving dinner with my family and several of our kids who went through the same elementary school as the twins. Me, my son and daughter and my mom on the end.