Bar C Publishing and Distribution.

As parents how many times have we come to our children’s defense? I’m sure you didn’t count as I didn’t yet the answer is the same. As many times as was necessary and we would do it all over again.

Whether we are fighting a disease of known origin or circumstance a loved one finds themselves in, as parents our first and only instinct is to protect. To protect you must use your voice, when it comes to protecting others my opinion is often outspoken and I will readily come to the aid of any underdog, it is a part of who I am. But when it comes to defending or standing up for me, my voice is uncharacteristically silent and absent. I hesitate to speak openly almost as if I am undeserving of defense of any kind. Why I will not do for myself, as I have done many times for others, I do not know.

My voice has been silent upon an issue which had been making a small part of my life very stressful. I also suffer from Eczema and though I seem to have the rash under control most of the time flare ups do occur when life becomes unsettled for prolonged periods.

I did my best to evade an issue, I tried to be perfect. IMPOSSIBLE. Finally I became annoyed and angry at myself for allowing the situation to continue until my body reacted as my voice was paralyzed.

Six months before my son died I developed Eczema (13 years ago.) I could see the future and it was bleak. Then, I likened Eczema to my body crying when I could not. Eczema for me is having rashes and sores develop on my feet legs and sides. The skin would blister, and then weep a never ending supply of clear fluid, my body grieved when I could not.

So when a sore recently opened on my hand and began to weep, I knew the situation as uncomfortable as it was had to change. I had to use my voice for me. Things came to a head, all my frustrations were voiced and my feelings were aired. I felt the situation couldn’t get much worse so it could only get better, right? Right! Apologies were made, behavior was modified and things have changed a lot for the better.

It was so very difficult for me to use my voice, for me. That same voice which had defended counseled and supported on numerous occasions, but always for others. Outwardly I am not a shy person-inwardly I have my insecurities just like everyone else. When those insecurities work against us the time will come when you must put these insecurities to the side, put yourself first and know you do deserve and you are worthy, have respect for YOU. Use your voice; make a change be it for the better or the worse. The freedom of voicing your feelings will liberate your mind body and soul from the silent weeping within.

There are many circumstances which we cannot control, what we can control is how we respond to these circumstances. By not responding we are making a conscious decision, making a choice. Finally I chose to use my voice for myself, it wasn’t easy, if another occasion arises I will speak out, I hope I have learned not to wait for my body to react on my behalf before my voice does.

A week later the angry red flesh on my hand is calming, the weeping has stopped and my wound slowly heals as I continue to heal and learn more about myself. Healing takes time and goes far deeper than that which we see.

To have hope, means believing in something when there is no reason left to believe in anything. I had hope, when I spoke out for myself and this time I was right. Occasionally you will find, if you are patient that not only are you right, but that you will be all-right in the end.

By taking care of ourselves we can then take better care of others, sometimes speaking up for ourselves is not a selfish act but a wholly necessary one, in order to protect, preserve and respect the true value of self. Old as we may be, if our parents or loved ones knew of our struggles, they would fight no less for us, than we should for our selves.

If you recognize, know and understand nothing, from me know THAT!

Emily Richardson

aka Deborah Collins

copyright barcpublishing.com

The recession has wrought havoc throughout the whole country. A recent incident caused no doubt by the sad state of the economy, brought this crisis to our neighborhood, which has affected many of us in different ways.

For me ideas resurfaced which I had previously (or so I thought) dealt with or ignored as best I could. Thoughts which were always just that, thoughts!

My husband and I would occasionally visit a nice restaurant not too far from where we live for a great steak. The steak was good and comfortably priced. We were always welcomed with a big smile from the young manager and promptly seated and served. There were never many customers eating when we were there, the car park may have one or two vehicles in it when we would drive on by and we could see the writing on the wall. The restaurant couldn’t hold on for the summer crowd and closed a few weeks ago, we were saddened yet it had seemed inevitable. A few days ago a work colleague told me the smiling faced young manageress who greeted us had committed suicide.

I was shocked and so very saddened. For whatever the reason, be it the restaurant or not, this sweet, smiling young woman with her whole life ahead of her was so unhappy, that death somehow seemed preferable to present day life.

I told my husband the news. He made the comment that he thought there was a flaw in her plan. I was totally surprised! Where was the sympathy? Where was the compassion? He didn’t get it, he just didn’t understand. We are a long time married couple, whose marriage and relationship survived and beat the odds when life threw it’s worst at us (The death of our only child.) and now I discover my, acting, that everything was okay, when in reality it couldn’t have got much worse, had been so good that the man who loved and cherished me and still does, had not seen how close I had been to ending the pain once and for all! I was amazed! I voiced my surprise to him.

“Well, have you ever thought about suicide?” He asked confident or so he thought in my reply.

I chose to put into words what had until then only been silent, secret and very private thoughts.

“Yes I have.” I said.

The familiar feeling of almost intolerable pain and emotional suffering the loss of a child can have upon your physical body, came rushing back with brutal force.

“So why didn’t you?” He asked gently.

I was lucky enough to have several reasons; the first was that I knew I couldn’t cause my parents the same kind of grief I was suffering. Children are not supposed to die before their parent’s; it is not the natural order. There was no way I could inflict the pain I was suffering upon them, no way.

The second reason was that just because I felt hopeless today it didn’t mean I would feel hopeless tomorrow. If I committed suicide, I wouldn’t be around to see how I would feel tomorrow.

Thirdly, I had enough of what I call, life experience, behind me to know that this physical and emotional turmoil would probably, hopefully pass. As bad as I felt now I knew the feeling was unsustainable. Sooner or later my body and my mind would grow tired of the negative thoughts and with hope, numbness may set in and eventually exhaust it’s-self, then no thoughts are possible not even of suicide, until that too eventually fades.

The fact that someone as close to me as my husband, who loves and cares for me like no other didn’t get it, finally made me realize how convincing I had been when I acted as if everything was okay, when in truth I was close to embarking into the unknown. I don’t condone suicide, I don’t condemn, but I do truly understand the thoughts and reasoning behind those who feel they have to act.

My thoughts and prayers go out to the families suffering from suicide. Suicide is rarely spoken about, a taboo subject. Please do not ignore those whom seem to be coping, often we hide beneath a veil of normalcy which couldn’t be further from the truth. The calm outward silence of some can conceal a deafening scream within.

Emily Richardson.

If I help only one, it is enough.

www.barcpublishing.com

I was at my local grocery store the other week, doing a quick shop for milk and cookies; you know the real necessities of life. As I was heading to check out. I walked towards the, no more items than this # isle. When a ten or eleven year old boy with dark hair and equally dark eyes suddenly stopped in front of me and sat on the floor at my feet.

“Mum, Mum.” He said. “Come to this line, there’s no one here.”

He said all this while looking at me. I could do nothing but smile down at him while thinking. What are you doing sitting on that filthy floor? Only to have the question in my mind answered when the boy re-tied his loose shoe lace.

I walked past the boy to the cashier who was now waiting for me. Her immediate remark was.

“I bet you hear that all day long.”

She had mistaken me for the boy’s mother. I turned and looked behind me as the boy got off the floor and went to stand beside a lady who could only be his Mum, who had apparently been standing right behind me, but in a different isle.

“No.” I said. “I don’t hear that all day long. But it would have been okay if I had.” The cashier was a little perplexed.

For me the memory is stamped upon my emotionally scarred heart.

For a second that boy could have been my son, for a second I could have been his mother. He wasn’t quite as old as Matthew would have been had he lived, but he was close enough for me to imagine.

To have that chance happening acknowledged by a person with no knowledge of me or my history somehow made the impossible again possible.

While having a biological child is no longer an option for me, it doesn’t mean I cannot be a mother again. I just have to find my way. I now know this is possible as I have already been recognized as a mother, even if it was a mistake. Mistakes are not always what at first they may seem; some mistakes are life lessons in disguise.

For me this is one lesson that left me with a feeling I will treasure, because for just one second I was…

© Deborah Collins aka Emily Richardson.

Remember hope. To have hope means finding something to believe in when there is no reason left to believe in anything. Never ever give up on hope.

If I help only one then it is enough.

 I sit here looking out my window as large, almost weightless snowflakes gently drift towards the ground. The wind lifting them first this way then that. Until their final destination is reached, be it the roof of the house, the wood piled by the sliding glass doors, or the steps off the front porch making decent potentially treacherous.

The delicate snowflakes remind me of my personal journey of learning to live with sadness. I cannot remember exactly when the weight of grief diminished then slowly lifted from my shoulders. I do not remember the time of year, the day or what I was doing. I just know that my heart felt lighter, my shoulders no longer drooped under the burden of monumental loss. Physically my body didn’t require so much effort to make it function. It wasn’t such a strain to get up in the morning and proceed through the day.

Not that my feelings of love had in any way lessened, they hadn’t. It was just the weight of my world, on my shoulders no longer seemed as crushing or as unbearable.

A mistake some people make is to believe that by learning to live and function in a normal manner in society after losing a loved one, means that you have got over your loss. What ever that means?

The longer you mourn in no way equates to the depth of your devotion, as does the shorter you mourn in any way depreciate your loyalty or allegiance.

Learning to live through bereavement is dictated by no-one except ourselves, we all live within individual timelines. Living through loss is the hardest lesson to learn. The emotional journey is much like the snowflake drifting past my window. Its descent from heaven unexpectedly altered to follow a different path, diverted by wind or the pot holes of life, yet each ultimately fulfilling their destiny.

This crossing is followed by many others and you are not alone. Reach out if you have a need, find acceptance and comfort in your world.

Search for the way until your individual direction is revealed, where you may occasionally slip, yet step forward with a lighter load and like the snowflake blown by the winds of time, you will after all fulfill your destiny. Just maybe from a different direction than once expected and conclude in a surprising place.

© Deborah Collins aka Emily Richardson.

Remember hope. To have hope means finding something to believe in when there is no reason left to believe in anything. Never ever give up on hope. If I help only one, it is enough.

                                                       I come from that surprising place.

Winter doesn’t mean you have to feel cold.

 Winter has definitely come to my house. We weaned nine month old calves away from their mothers a couple of weeks ago and just like all babies, they thrive on routine. So, for the first few weeks of adjusting to life without Mum, we feed them concentrated pellets twice a day. That means I sometimes have to get up at six thirty in the morning and feed before I go to work. This morning I had the added chore of breaking ice. Fresh readily available water is a vital life giving element in any environment and especially important in cold weather to young calves, yet easily overlooked.

Our family suffered another devastating loss; a not too distant cousin’s twenty two year old son was murdered. We offered support as best we could knowing we couldn’t alleviate the pain or anguish. We personally revisited the crashing weight of loss all over again. Having lost our son, I am still surprised when confronted by a bereaved parent and still cannot find the right words to bring some comfort and hope. But I may have been looking to give and find comfort, at the wrong time, in the wrong place.

 My parents came to visit recently and stayed for two months. This may seem like an impossibly long time to some, but for the most part I get along with my parents very well. Don’t get me wrong, we do not always agree. I drive if we are going anywhere together. How Dad drives when he is out of my sight is up to him, if I cannot see, how can I mind? Hey it works for me. As long as both my parents come back from a day trip in one piece, I do my best not to worry.

 The two months seemed more like two weeks and then they were gone. We e-mail and I received a note from my Dad a few days ago, there were just the usual updates, but he chose to finish the letter with.

                                                                                                                      “I’ll love you forever. Dad.”

                                                                                                                                                                    I have always known my Dad loves me, but to read it, warmed my heart and my day. The feeling is with me still. My Dad loves me as I love my child, forever. We forget but should always remember, we are all someone’s child. For no other reason than that, we should all know we are much loved. Said or unsaid. Written or not written. There is no expiration or timeline, there is only forever. There are many things which may bring warmth to winter; heat isn’t necessarily always the source. If you look in the right places at the right time you may find unexpected, welcome warmth and just because it is winter, it doesn’t mean you have to feel cold.

A New Day.

The frost has it’s grip, upon the land tonight,

The moon is at it’s full, there’s not a cloud in sight.

The sun rises, past the trees,

turning the frost to dew.

As day once dawns, frost retreats.

Ice stubbornly clings to shadows, a few.

Rising sun and big blue sky, remembers not the day before.

So welcome this new day, as one you have yet to explore.

Deborah Collins. Aka, Emily Richardson. Mum to Matthew forever.

Remember hope. To have hope means to believe in something when there is no reason left to believe in anything. Never ever give up on hope.

© Bar C Publishing and Distribution. Publishing and promoting true worth and value of self.

My husband had gone hunting, muzzle loading season had finally opened up in Kansas, so he disappeared and I was left to feed the bulls, check the few cows that are due to calve sometime this fall and feed all the dogs. Not a lot to do, but I always procrastinate and feed the bulls sometime after dark.

The bulls respond to the rattle of a feed bucket just as Pavlov’s theory states. They are also conditioned to come to the feed trough when they hear the gate squeak on its rusty hinges as it opens. Nothing was any different this night; accept I had chosen to take a flash light with me. I was impatient, so I called to hurry them, the bulls lowed in response, they were across the other side of the creek.

I panned the flash light to see if they were coming. They lowed again, they were getting closer, then the light reflected a gleam from their eyes, sometimes they shone red other times they seemed yellow. One eye, occasionally two reflected back at me from the shadows, the black bodies of the bulls were completely concealed. It seemed the eyes danced in the darkness like specter’s floating in the ethereality. The dew drenched grass was parted or crushed beneath muffled footfalls; the quiet star lit night reminded me of Halloween, ghosts and the after life.

The four bulls happily buried their faces in the feed bunks and the apparition of yellow and red eyed specter’s disappeared, as appetites were satisfied and imagination returned to reality. The soaked grass wet my leather boots as I retreated, closing the squeaky gate behind me. An owl hooted in the distance, my cat arched his back and gave my leg a contemptuous flick of his tail, looking up at me his eye’s glowed yellow in the darkness, yet my flashlight was turned off, Halloween refused to be ignored and the darkness beckoned.

Hubby went to check the cows last night just before it got too dark to see. He came back in and after we had eaten, he asked what was I going to do the following morning? I had a day planned of not doing too much. My parents were arriving from England and I was going to finish a few little things here and there around the house, before their arrival.

My plans changed when hubby informed me the neighbor's bull was in with our cows. Not what we wanted, so the following morning I saddled up Roc, my quarter horse who I haven’t ridden for a while and whom was feeling very fresh. He is my go to horse, when I need to get a bull in or gather cows. The bull isn’t too difficult to manage, yet the cow that is in heat, gives a lively show once we get to a crucial point. The cow, #34, turns one way then another as fast as she can go. Roc is right on her and it is an exciting ride for a minute or two. We finally get the cow headed, thankfully the bull has stayed with her after she's given in and they both run right into the coral.

Neighbor is called and he soon arrives with his livestock trailer and hauls the bull away. Wants to pay me for my time, but I would rather have a good neighbor who helps with fixing fence and he may have to help me get my bull out of his cows one day. Bulls will always make you eat humble pie, this time it wasn’t my bull causing a problem, next time it may be.

Alan Vines writes to, This England Autumn 2009, he finds a verse tucked away in his wife’s note book after she has passed away.

It is something we should all think about, I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did.

You cannot see or touch me,

But I’m standing next to you,

Your tears can only hurt me,

Your sadness makes me blue.

Be brave and show a smiling face,

Let not your grief show through,

I love you from a different place,

Yet I’m standing next to you.

What is up with this year! Labor day has come and gone, not sure if it was the same everywhere, but the water at a cousins house, in his usually very welcoming swimming pool, was definitely on the, freezing your butt off cool side. Others seemed to be of the same opinion, as hubby and I returned home early from a family visit. (Sunday afternoon.) We passed several boats heading away from the lake, all covered up and seemingly put to bed for the winter.

It seems to me that the year is flying by yet again, with the weather apparently hurrying along the process, accelerating towards fall. Yet I love winter. I love the food, the clothes you can wear and most of all; I love a fire on a wet, blustery night. Soon the leaves will be falling softly, gently to the earth, long scarves, wooly hats, heavy coats and beef stew bubbling on the kitchen cook top will become common. Jack Frost is just around the corner.

For me the year is going just fine and winding the year down towards its close is not necessarily, a fall down. For some of us, fall is an up!

My appologies, the site has been down for a few hours, which for me turned into a few days. I hope the wait was worth it.

Past Future

Though we love our house, it is an old house and at some time in the not too distant future we will either have to manage a major remodeling, or knock down the house and rebuild. Either way old memories will be injured in the process.

So, this weekend I tried to get ahead of the pain. I redecorated Matt’s bedroom, the baby blue walls with the cabin, lake, deer border had become too sad. Matthew, our son if he had lived, would now be thirteen.

My parents are coming to stay for and extended visit (2 months.) it was the catalyst I needed. I cleaned out closets and a chest of draws. Something’s I kept, others I washed and will donate to the Salvation Army. (I couldn’t fold the clothes.) A little I burned, I couldn’t throw anything away.

Then I painted and covered the soft blue walls. I’ll be honest it was difficult; until I realized Matt’s room should never have stayed as it was had he lived. I’m sure by now had he lived to thirteen, he would be clamoring for a more age appropriate room. And being the parent I am/was, I hope I would have fulfilled his wishes. Even so Matthew didn’t live and I am decorating despite him not actually being here.

One wall, the one opposite the window, is an “Antique White,” so it will reflect the light somewhat and make the room brighter. The other three walls are “Lampshade,” which is one shade darker than the “Antique White.” The “Lampshade” has an earth/sand texture as well, which I like very much and it is a nice contrast to the other wall.

As I couldn’t find a boarder I liked, a relative at a recent family gathering suggested a wooden boarder with all the cattle brands branded on it. I thought this was a great idea and have rounded up all the old branding irons and intend to brand a 6 inch wood plank, varnish it and then place it around two of the walls.

I purchased a masculine, earth toned, multi textured bedspread and will have Matthew’s initials embroidered across a corner. In addition, I have thought about spelling out his name in rope, on a wooden board and hanging that on the wall next to a Bier Stat landscape print I bought and had framed.

How does this help with home demolishment or home renovations, I hear you ask? Firstly, I don’t have to walk away from that little baby blue room. Secondly, history cannot be undone or covered over, not even with three coats of paint. More importantly, a portion of the newly decorated wall, with the baby blue exposed along with the cabin boarder, will be cut out and removed if/when we build a new house. That piece of the old wall, in the old house, will be moved along with all the old memories associated with it, into whatever kind of new house we eventually decide upon.

This may not make sense to anyone but me, my husband thinks we are decorating because my parents are coming. I choose not to enlighten him as to the real reason why.

I just know, I need to prepare myself for the separation of yet another physical item which keeps me connected to my son. It has been nine years since Matt passed away. I still remember the weight of him in my arms, the smell of his freshly washed hair, his long eye lashes and big brown eye's. Now I have to imagine the teenager acting up and testing boundaries, as his Dad and I surely did.

Today I choose to look towards a future which should have held promise, even though the past has denied the actuality. I can still dream of all that could have been and at least decorate in reality. By relocating the bedroom wall, I will continue to find ways which ensue there is always room in my house, in the future, from the past.

My name is Deborah Collins, aka Emily Richardson. I publish and promote life skills true worth and the value of self. Remember hope; to have hope means to believe in something when there is no reason left to believe in anything.

For more information please visit www.barcpublishing.com