Today in America  we give thanks, for what we have. And I am very thankful.

I am thankful for the roof over my head, the food filling my cupboards, the clothes on my back. I am thankful for my home, my job, my life.

I am thankful for all the opportunities I’ve been given, all the chances I have taken, all the times I tried and succeeded. I am thankful for the times I’ve failed – as they taught me to try again, never give up.

I am thankful for my family. For I have grown older, and closer with them. I have learned a lot, and carry them with me no matter.

I am thankful for my friends. Without them, I would be lost. Somehow in spite of myself, they stick around. And I will always cherish them.

I am thankful for my sister who has always been an amazing example of motherhood, sisterhood, and courage. Who has allowed me to be an ungrateful child, who grew into a grateful woman, and was always there no matter what if and when I needed her.

I am thankful for my brother. Who showed me an amazing world of pop culture and what reading, and an education could do for me.

I am thankful for my father, who has allowed me to always follow my own path, working with very little to give me so very much and make me who I am today. I am thankful for his quirks, his way of seeing things, that I have inherited. Proud to be Runian through and through.

I am thankful for Kathy, my aunt who has always been a surrogate mother, father, sister, friend to me over the years. Who works til she can’t anymore to keep every member of this family going. I am thankful to her for passing on that nurturing, crusading spirit onto me.

I am thankful for my mother. For what I am because of her. For what I will be. I am thankful that I see her smile, her eyes, when I look in the mirror. I am thankful I hear her laugh when I do. I am thankful I am her daughter.

I am thankful she went missing. I know I shouldn’t say that. But I am. Because she gave me a gift when she left. I learned how to be stronger than I ever thought I could be. I learned to be smarter, and more decisive. I learned to act, to care, and to work more than I ever knew I could. I am thankful for the people brought into my life because she went missing. I will never forget them, all of them, from advocates, to searchers, to other families of the missing, the community of Wooster who stood next to me in my search. I am thankful for the people who held me up, kept me going, helped me every step of the way. I am thankful she has died, on her own terms, because her doing what she did lead me to care, to know more, to learn things I never would have otherwise.

I am thankful she went missing. Her going missing was a gift. It brought me and my husband together, showing us we can survive anything, together. As long as we kept together, we could be miles apart. We could fight our own wars, and still fight to keep each other.

I am thankful she went missing because it taught me to appreciate what and who I have in my life. It taught me to cherish everything, leave nothing to waste, and love more. She went missing and I learned how fortunate I really was, and am. I have learned to be more grateful to everything I have in my life.

I am thankful she went missing as it made me grateful for the time I had with her. I am thankful she was my mother, for the things she taught me, for how I now cherish my heritage and where I have come from.

 

I am thankful for everyone who reads this. For my hope is this story, this life, will aide someone else who has to go down the same path. For those who let me tell this story, and share it, and never let my mom be forgotten.

 

Thank you.

Ever feel like you are standing in a very crowded room, but you feel very isolated and on your own? I suppose most people get that feeling sometimes, or maybe a lot of the times. Especially when you have a missing loved one, or a family member lost to suicide, you feel like people can smell it on you, see it like a big scarlet letter across your chest. You feel like it marks you somehow, and that mark is visible to everyone around you, strangers and not. You feel isolated.

I get that feeling with holidays. Especially Thanksgiving. While this is a specific time of year where I should be meditating on all the things I am thankful for, how lucky and blessed I am. I instead loathe the holidays, this damn turkey infested one more then the others.

You see Thanksgiving was primarily the holiday I remember with Momma. Not saying it wasn’t spent with my father or anything, as it was, but the majority of the time it was Mom’s day. And damn that woman could cook a meal so good you would be hard pressed to not feel thankful for everything under the sun. But she’s gone. It will now be the third Thanksgiving without her. The third one she isn’t here to make all those delicious things, to watch horrible movies with (like 2008′s screening of Zombie Strippers) over dinner.

The first year without her was 2010, and my husband was deployed at the time. I also seemed to have developed a nice bought of the flu. A good friend of mine, Av, brought me a big plate with all the things one loves about turkey day. I cried. I was sick, alone, and so thankful that she was so good to me to bring me that plate. It meant more then I ever could have told her, and was delicious as all get out.

The second year Matt, my husband, was home. And we had the news mom’s body had been recovered just a few weeks before Thanksgiving. We still didn’t have her ashes yet, and were in the process of trying to cope and understand what was happening. 2011, the holiday fell on Matthew’s uncle’s birthday. So we traveled to his grandparents for the day, but didn’t have the usual fare. Since it was his uncle’s big birthday, we had all of his favorite home cooked meals by Gramma. We had roast beef and macaroni salad, and chocolate cake. I was so happy, and thankful, that the day wasn’t like what I was used to with mom, but was instead something so much more. A celebration of Rob, surrounded by friends and family, feeling nothing but love and nuture. It helped me get through the day, and see Thanksgiving as not just a big holiday with a big empty place without mom.

This year it’s just Matt and I. No big plans. I’m going to attempt to cook the turkey and all the sides the way mom would have, as an homage to her. I will not be angry that day, I will work on that very hard. I know I will be sad, and I am now. So very sad, and hard to really control it. I miss her so much, and every time a day like this comes, it physically hurts. I just keep going through the motions, so as to keep moving. I miss her. A lot. I keep saying that, because I don’t always know what else to say.

But through that longing, I have found somethings to say I am thankful for – within the context of mom having been a missing person, and now deceased.

First of all, even though I wrote an entire post on this before, I am saying it again. I am thankful for Det Belcher. I will always be, til the day I die. That man was amazing to us, and is an amazing law enforcement professional. I sent him a letter, the post I had written. I was so nervous about sending it, that I didn’t until long after I wrote the post. I expected nothing of it, I just wanted him to know how much he and his job meant. Well, he wrote back. A short letter, that held a lot. I cried my eyes out reading it, and honestly still do. But that response, that I never expected or required, gave me a big emotional healing. It ended a lot of things. But it let me know also that her going missing, me never having her again, changed a lot of people’s lives. And for the better. I don’t want to say it was worth it, but knowing that my letter helped him, and meant something to him, a man I would never had met if it wasn’t for mom doing what she did… Well then I guess everything that came from it wasn’t so bad. It helped me to see that big heap of good in a bad situation.

Secondly, I am thankful for what the case did to me. It drove me, it gave me purpose. And that is something I’ve held on to. I may not know my place in the world of the missing anymore. I feel very lost there, and unsure of what to do to continue. I want to continue in it, I want to help in that world. But I also can’t ignore the sucide portion of things. There is a lot of work there I can do, I just have to find my niche and set too it. But that drive has lead me to meet amazing people, to conferences in North Carolina and a retreat in Nebraska. It’s taken me to New York to meet other families. It’s put me in touch with countless people. It made me WANT nay, NEED to do something to help. I may not always succeed and be great at it, but I try. I don’t want to stop. But that drive also lead me in places I never would have thought. In October I raised over $400 thanks to friends and family for the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, in their Out of the Darkness Community Walk – ironically held on the 1 yr date mom was recovered. The walk was HORRIBLY organized, and poorly executed, but I did it. We raised that money in mom’s name, so that in hopes of a different family never having to expierence what I did and do everyday since mom’s suicide. That made things worth it again, just alittle bit.

Thirdly I am thankful for the opportunities this has brought. It has given me a lot of opportunities to travel and speak. To honor mom, myself, suicide, and missing persons. Recently I was interviewed for a doctoral study on women whose mothers commited suicide when the daughters were in their 20s. It helped me understand a lot about myself, suicide, and the entire process. An opportunity I never thought I’d have. I am very thankful for the candidate for allowing me to take part in her study.

And finally fourthly, thank you Myrtle. For giving me a piece of mom, something to hold and care for. Something to have care for me back. That little pup saved my life, and I know it. I already wrote about this as well – but sometimes things need repeating.

I’ve done a lot since mom went missing, and after she was found. I don’t know what else I will end up doing, or where it will take me. I know that doing the things I did gave what happened more meaning, more purpose, a sense of better being. I can constantly be scared, sad, and depressed, but I do use those feelings to turn the whole thing around and make it almost worth while. Find that silver lining so to say.

I don’t know sometimes really. Many things still are disappointing, frustrating, angering, saddening. But I am a lucky girl. I got a resolution. I’ll never have answers, so I’ll create my own. Work within the place I have.

Be thankful this year. Be thankful every year. Every day. Because one day, you’ll be wondering where it all went, ya know. But while there, while wondering, and for those still searching for their own resolution – use it. Use it to do something for others in the same place, to change it just a little bit.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Now I just hope I don’t burn the bird.

In 8 days I walk in honor of mom for suicide prevention. In 9 days, we mark the one year anniversary of mom’s remains being recovered. And for those days, I still haven’t quite wrapped my mind around how I’m even at this point.

But it has got me thinking. And while thinking and me don’t always mix, and most times results in my dancing around, sometimes with a gobbling turkey hat on my head… I was thinking none the less.

This time I was thinking about Detective Belcher, and his amazing work and help he gave me from June 2010 until April 17th, 2012, the last time we spoke. April 17th would have been momma’s 60th birthday, one I was looking forward to marking with her. In 2012, instead of toasting mom surrounded by her friends, laughing and joking, my husband and I instead drove to Ohio to offically close mom’s missing person case, and see the scene where she was found for the first time. Since then I haven’t been back to Wooster. I don’t know if and when I will be there again. But I wanted to tell our Detective how much I appreciated him. I have thought about this for a long time, even when the case was still in progress. I am so very thankful for him, more then I could say.

Three months into our case I gave him a photo of momma and I together, with a frame that said “Thank you” on it. I gave him that photo because I wanted him to always have a reminder that this case mattered, that my mom mattered, that I needed him to care. This was before I knew him well enough, before we really worked together. I gave him that picture before I realized he was going to make me feel like the luckiest girl in the worst situation in the world. Before I knew how much he would help, and work, and keep at it til the (now bitter) end. Before I knew that LEOs like him existed somewhere other then a police drama on TV.

The day I gave him that picture I said that having mom missing made me feel like I was on one of those dramas, except everything wasn’t wrapped up in a pretty little bow after an hour, including nonsensical commercial breaks. I said that I didnt know how this would turn out, but better or worse, I needed to know what happened to my momma, and I wasn’t going to stop until I knew. When we went to Wooster on April 17th, there we were standing on the spot my momma’s remains were found, he walked us through how she was found, what the scene looked like (no I haven’t seen the pictures yet. Don’t think I will.), as he walked me through it all. I wanted to scream. Instead, as he went to leave so Matt and I could have a moment alone on the spot my mom chose to leave us on, I hugged him as hard as I could. I mumbled some kind of thank you, explaining that he will never know how much all his work meant to me. I don’t think I really gave him the true idea of what I thought of him.

So here it is. A letter I will send to him, my thank you. It won’t be perfect, it won’t be always pretty. It probablly won’t even convey everything I want it too, and I will forever be thinking of things I should have said, or added, or whatever. But it needs said.

Detective,

This is one of those things I’ve meant to write for a while. But it’s one of those things that you never are quite sure how to say, or write. This is one of those situations that is faced by a lot of families, but one no one expects. There is no how to on this, so I’m just gonna wing this because I don’t know if I will be able to convey what I really want to say, or even everything that needs said.

So here I sit, the one year anniversary of mom’s recovery looming on me. To mark this day, instead of an event, we will be walking in honor of mom in the American Foundation of Suicide Prevention’s Out of the Darkness walk – raising donations to help another family in hopes that someone else will never go through what we did. We want to pay forward the empathy and compassion we were given at our lowest times. We are doing this because we need too. And I am writing this because I need to finally say something…

Thank you.

Thank you for everything you did from the time you entered into our case, to the day we went to the scene she was recovered at. Thank you for being you, and caring, and for really being an amazing investigator.

Throughout the time mom went missing, to today, I have met a lot of families who were faced with situations similar to mine. And, sadly, the majority of those amazing people have dealt with nothing but road blocks and lack of empathy and want to help with a missing person case. I wish that wasn’t the case, but it made me even more thankful for the assistance I had from you and the Wooster police. Especially with a case like ours. Not many people care when a poor older woman with a history of depression walks away from their life, and technically it’s not illegal either. Unless your a child, or an attractive young white woman, these cases don’t ever seem to get a lot of attention, or the hard work they deserve. But those people, regardless of age, gender, race… They deserve someone else to care, because the families cannot go it alone, even though most I’ve met have had too.

As I travelled to all those states, contacted all those organizations, met all those families, I seemed to be an odd duck in the room. Not just because I personally am an odd person, but because we had a department, and more so a detective, who cared.

When you first entered our case you told me you would do everything you could to try to find her. At the time, I honestly wasn’t expecting much. I had heard the stories about cold cases and how these things don’t always have a resolution. But you blew me, and many others away, with your diligence and dedication. I am very grateful for that. For you following all the leads, tracking down all the records and the forensics people. For checking in constantly. For even when you were in training making those calls about the unidentified remains in the salt mine. For letting me know of all changes and progress no matter. I am very grateful that you didn’t think me crazy, or obsessed, or for ever seeming to pass harsh judgement at all the things I did seperatley. For helping when family became overbearing and toxic. For just realizing I was a girl who needed answers about her mom, for better or worse. For guiding me along on a path I honestly still to this day can’t believe I had to go down.

When you first entered our case, and we had that first event in the park, I handed you a picture of mom and I – because I was scared it would be a case that would get left at the bottom of the stack and I would be alone to do it all. I didn’t expect anything, and I don’t mean that to be taken offensively. You completely changed my perception of law enforcement, and of small towns in Ohio. I know for a fact that if she had gone missing in Erie we would have been totally alone. Even in Elyria, the assitance you gave us would not have been at the level it was.

I write this because I worry that you don’t always understand how good at your job you are. How the world needs more people like you, in the position you were in, to do what you did for us. I know you, and others in the department had said, that this was a something ya’ll hadn’t dealt with really – most missing were runaways and the like. But you did it. You kept it going. When all this started I was so scared I would be very alone in this case, with Matthew deployed, and my life being 3 hours away from Wooster. And your constant updates and touching base put me at ease. I honestly do not think I would have come out on the other side of it with my mental faculties intact.

When mom’s remains were found, I had no idea what would come next. I wasn’t sure I could just stop. I was scared of a lot of it. I was, and am, very appreciative of the fact you called me that night. That you let me know as soon as you could. For all the craziness that came from it, from waiting on the remains when they were at Mercyhurst, and checking in with Matt and I durng all of that. We both felt more stable and ok with the results because of the care you took.

On April 17th, the day we came to close the case, collect her affects, and see the scene, I was honestly very nervous about asking you to go with us to show us. I didn’t want to come off as needy (or something) by asking you to take that last step with us. But again you proved any conceptions I had about law enforcement wrong but taking the time to walk us through it all. It gave me a amazing sense of finality I was lacking in it all. Seemed to end the whole circle for me in a calming way.

I’m not sure if this seemed silly, or unnecassary… But I want you to understand what you meant to our family. What you will always mean to our family. You helped us get our mom back, Mr. Belcher. While it may not have been the ending we hoped for, it was the one we were prepared for. And straight through til the end, you were a rock for us. I have said it before, but I have to say it again, there aren’t enough like you in the world, especially for us families of the missing. Your continuing efforts on our case, kept me going, kept me wanting to push forward. Matt has said that he was always very thankful that you helped, and how you were with us, while he was serving overseas. You let him focus on his job there and not have to worry so much about me here.

Your example taught me to not let go, to help others in the same way that you helped me. Your work made me want to tell this story, of everything it entailed, pretty or not, so that families who are still searching can see what we had and know that there is help out there, there are those who care, and will help – even when it seems there is nothing to be done.

In March we gave a speech, mom being honored in loving memory at the National Roundtable Conference hosted by CUE. In our speech about our journey, and our end to the case, we told that whole room how grateful we were to you. We talked about how much you had helped us. We let all those people that are still searching for thier families to hold on, because there are investigators out there who do give a damn, even when it seems there aren’t.

So again, Mr. Belcher, thank you. Thank you for everything. You truly are one of the best people I have ever met. You are an excellent, more amazing then words could say, Detective. I hope that department knows how lucky they are to have you, and how much of an asset you are to them. You made a horrible situation not seem so daunting and hopeless. Thank you for giving us strength, and renewing our faith in people. If you ever wondered if what you do makes a difference, one that really changed peoples’ lives for the better, if it is all worth it in the end, know that you have. Know that you really are a hero to us. Know that you made a difference to our family that will never be forgotten.

So here I sit, the one year anniversary of mom’s recovery looming on me. To mark this day, instead of an event, we will be walking in honor of mom in the American Foundation of Suicide Prevention’s Out of the Darkness walk – raising donations to help another family in hopes that someone else will never go through what we did. We want to pay forward the empathy and compassion we were given at our lowest times.

Thank you for giving me my mom back.
Thank you for helping us bring her home, and us some peace.

Helen

I write a lot on here about my struggles when momma went missing, and how I had to cope with her remains being found, and the fact that she had commited suicide. I focus a lot on me, myself, and I on here. After all the blog has always been “A daughter’s Story – Loosing mom and finding myself”. Which is good, don’t get me wrong, because sometimes you need a place to put everything cluttering up your mind. This blog has always been about that.

But it has got me thinking. The entire time I was engrossed in mom’s missing persons case, and when she was recovered, and everything else, I knew I was not alone in the path I was on. There was always this one other person there, feeling everything I was without a way to deal with it, or express what was occuring to them.

That person is Myrtle, mom’s prized chihuahua.

When mom went missing it was like any other day to Myrtle at first. Her owner woke up in the morning, got dressed as if she had somewhere to be, but this time never came back. Myrtle was still up in mom’s room, hidden behind a door, all alone, waiting for someone to come up and be with her. The early morning hours of June 5th, 2010, were the last Myrtle ever got to spend with a person who was her entire world.

Let’s back up a minute though, to before this crazyness all began.
Back in 2003 Mom lived in a cute little house on 2 dead end streets in Elyria, Ohio. But that year came to close with her loosing that home and moving into a small 1 bedroom, 3 room house on the other side of the highway. The landlord, an old work friend, suddenly showed up one day and brought momma the gift of Chihuahua. Since around 2005 Myrtle has been a presence in her life.

The time she had Myrtle, they were stuck together like white on rice. They lived for each other. Mom wouldn’t let Myrt outside without her watching, carried that pup up and down stairs. They would watch TV together, share a cup of coffee (split into one bowl for the pup, and a cup for momma). She would make her all kinds of little crochet things. You could see the love radiating from them. Myrtle kept mom going, kept her waking up everyday. Mom was Myrtle’s everything and anything.

Before Myrtle came to live with mom she had been given up twice. With mom she was left twice. Once into a shelter when mom moved to Wooster – which is too long a story to go into now - and then when mom went missing. Mom let Myrtle run the show. I wasn’t too eager to have Myrt come live with us.

Then comes June 5th and mom walks away from her life. We have some proof she sat with Myrtle for hours before. Gave her lots of beggin’ strips. Then made sure she had food and water, curled her up on the couch in her favorite spot, with the blinds cracked so she could look outside, and left her behind.

For a month I wasn’t allowed to remove Myrtle from the room, as the police were still investigating, and they had to know where the dog was at all times, since tips were coming in that mom was seen with Myrtle. I hated leaving her up there. The house she was in had 3 very large dogs that the little chihuahua was not on good terms with. So there she sat, in that room, just waiting for mom to come home. I cried when I heard her whimpering, scared, alone. When the police tramped through the room looking for clues, when Matt, Barb or I would do the same. We took her for walks, we tried to comfort her. She was always trembling and scared. Her life had left her all alone, and how was she to know if she was ever walking back through the door again?

So the end of June I got the go ahead to bring Myrtle home to Erie with me. It was a 3 hours ride, and Myrtle hid in the back of the pet carrier trembling the whole time. It broke my heart. I realized that I wasn’t the only one hurt the most by what momma had done. Myrtle had lost something more then a mother, she lost an entire world in mom’s disappearance. I vowed I would make up for that abandonment, and make her feel like the most loved thing in all the world.

We brought her into our home, and the tranisition wasn’t easy. She was scared and acting out. I was stressed, scared and grieving. But slowly we got to know each other. Slowly we clung to each other, seeing each other (I think) as a last connection to Mom. We taught her how to be a real dog. She learned to take long walks on the leash, how to run around outside free, how to learn to work on commands. She became a lot to us. To me.

I don’t know if I could have survived the time mom was missing without Myrtle. She kept me getting up in the morning, because she needed to go outside, needed food, love. She kept me grounded, gave me something to come home too that loved me unconditionally. She sensed when I was having a panic attack and would come running to curl up and be goofy til I stopped crying.

When Matt came home from his deployment she about bowled everyone over to get to him she was so happy he was back. When Mom’s remains were recovered, Myrtle refused to leave my side as I laid on the couch in silence crying, crippled by the grief.

I always say on here how hard mom being missing was on me. How affected I was. How I went through the steps, and did the work, and dealt with it all alone. But that was wrong. That was selfish of me. Because I lost my mother, but that pup lost everything she ever knew. When we brought mom’s ashes home, Myrtle sat by the door to the room they were in and wouldn’t leave it for a while. I couldn’t help but just hold that little pup and cry.

Together we climbed our way through, helping each other up when needed.

To this day I look over at Myrtle as she lays on the couch, or is playing with our cat (Nikki, her best friend, no joke.), and she just gets these sad looks on her face. You can tell something is wrong, she gets distant and her eyes water up. You can tell she still missing momma, just like me. We both have good days and bad days. But we have them together now. And I’ll take care of her every way I can, because it’s what mom would have wanted. And it’s what that pup and I need.

 

Mom with Myrtle.

Well it’s been a month of severe writers block. I keep starting entries then filing them away as drafts. I feel like there’s so much to say, but then not enough on those subjects.

I have wanted to bring up a topic though – so I’ll try this one.

There are times when you have someone missing, and recovered, that one really notices those absences. Holidays, birthdays, anniversaries, milestones of the months and years missing. But what about all those other times when that person whose gone just weighs on your mind and you wish you could call them, or get a hug, ect.

I know here there’s been a lot of change, and I just wish, with all the wishes I can muster, that I could talk to mom about it. It’s that emptyness she left behind, that resonates more to me on these days then on any “big” date.

I started a new job over a month ago, one that I love, but one I wish I could talk to my momma every day about. I wish she was here to have helped me through the months of unemployment when I was so depressed and hopeless. I wish she was there to tell me to go for all those places I thought were long shots, all those ones I knew I could get but then didn’t. All I wanted during those months was her encouragement, her comisery, her compassion and guideance that I knew I could always turn too. Without it things felt more hopeless, more bleak. Everyday I kept almost calling her cellphone, in my depression forgetting that on the other end of that line is no longer her – someone else by now must have that number to thier name – and her voice wouldn’t there to comfort me like I had come to know for the first 25 yers of my life. When I nailed the interview, and started training, then actually working, I wanted to fill her in on all those little details, all my excitement and exhaustion. But again, there’s no momma there to call on the phone or go off to Ohio to visit and share a cup of coffee and joke with.

There’s lots of little things, and big things,  like that that make her loss more painful all over again. That bond is gone now. I remember in college when I would get too stressed or have a panic attack, my then boyfriend (and now husband) would pack us up into the car and drive the two hours just to spend an hour or two with my mom. I would get back to college/work and feel rejuvenated – completed refueled and ready to face the oncoming days and weeks with more clarity.

What about those little things? Those songs on the radio? Those movies long awaited? Those books from favorite authors, concerts, festivals, dinners, or chats with mutual friends? Those little things sometimes sting more then the big things. The big things you can prepare for, brace yourself and make contingency plans. The little things just you in a dark alley when you least expect it, knocking down all the progress you thought you had built up. Those little things that come out of nowhere with no warning can floor you harsher then any christmas without that person to open presents with.

And those little things tend to come around more then the big ones. Almost everyday, somehow there’s a reminder of that spot someone missing should be filling. And it takes a while to feel ok doing some them. When mom went missing I couldn’t watch certain television shows, movies, or listen to certain songs without wanting to break down in tears. It felt like being punched to do them without her there to share with, or discuss later. Took me over a year to be able too again without feeling guilty. And even then, it was after we were told her remains were discovered, and the cause of death. After that call, I laid on the couch for hours, cuddled up in my husband’s sweatshirt, watching hours of Top Gear, Doctor Who, NCIS, and Star Trek missing her. By that point it felt like an homage, not a betrayl, to carry on with those things we loved together.

I used to tell momma everything in my life. She was the best that way, never judging, but helping me out or holding me up.  I had a sudden realization the other day. I was sorting all my casework from when momma was missing, and putting all the buttons from families with missing loved ones in a container. And I wanted to tell mom about all these amazing families I’ve met, all the places I’ve been because of the world of the missing… Then it hit me, I wouldn’t have known any of them, or done these things, if she hadn’t been missing. I would change it all, give it up if I could, just to have her back. But her not being here, sometimes wasn’t always “there”, but was the reason for everything.

I’m not one to really believe in some greater plan, or some mysterious whatever guiding it all. But things happen as they may, no matter what. If mom was here things would be whatever they would have been. With her going missing and being recovered, I met some amazing people, saw some great things, and expierenced more then can ever be put into words. Something good to come of all the pain and anguish of the last two years.

I miss my mom, and will never ever stop. If I could I would change it all to have her back. But for now, I can find the good in it all, and be sure to keep her memory around – whether by listening to those old songs, those shows we liked, and doing things I know she loved, just a little bit.

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In Loving Memory...

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