Archive | February 2014

It Hurts Too Much To Cry.

For the past few days, I’ve been having a really hard time.

My mind has been running wild as I’ve been trying to maintain everyday life as well as coordinate a graduation celebration this weekend.

Whether I’m prep-cooking, cleaning, driving… I find myself getting lost in the anger I feel over this whole mess.

I never felt trapped in my own mind like I do now, constantly having to force myself to stop and pray. I have to remind myself that things won’t be like this forever, one day I’ll be able to breathe.

It makes me so mad and so frustrated that so much is taken from us every day. Memories and happy times are put on hold until my niece has a voice of her own. Snatched out of our life before we even knew what was happening, taken from our family tree and so conveniently put into another. The anger makes my heart race, and I so often feel like I’m on auto-pilot because my thoughts would otherwise paralyze me. I just want some peace. I want this all to be over. I want to wake up tomorrow morning and have someone tell me it’s not real, that this new reality has just been some horrible mistake, it’s all been a nightmare I can now wake up from.

I’m so exhausted, mentally and emotionally, and physically there are so many days I just want to stay in bed, in the dark. It’s a revolving door of hope and heartache. One minute to the next is unpredictable. Any little thing can trigger it, and every time it hits, it’s like having my heart ripped out over and over and over again. (Thank you, Lupita, and may you reap what you have sown.)

The wound just won’t heal as long as my niece is in the dark about the circumstances of this horrendous adoption. I can only imagine the pretty-little-lies she’s being told. Actually I try not to imagine that because if I allow myself to, I will snap, plain and simple. The crushing weight of this hurt is enough to make the strongest person buckle at the knees. We’re all in so much pain, but we have to push through it, we have to make ourselves get up and out everyday. It’s all just so tiring, being trapped in this mental enigma, always having half of your mind preoccupied no matter what you do. Needing justice, vindication, wanting to scream at the top of your lungs that it isn’t fair and it isn’t right.

I’ve become so cynical and I can’t even help it. Wishes and dreams have been replaced by caution and suspicions. Can you blame me? I haven’t spoken to a neighbor in almost ten years, I don’t make eye contact because I don’t want to let anyone into that intimacy of looking into my eyes, I don’t talk to strangers and barely respond to them even though they’re always trying to talk to me. This person I’ve been forced to become is someone I never thought I’d be. I thought I’d always be outgoing, a social butterfly who couldn’t get enough fun or friends. The only people I have in my life are the ones that have been there for ten years or more, those who knew me before this drastic transformation. People who know how bright my light once shone. People who knew me when I could seemingly singlehandedly make the world go round.

It’s frustrating. It’s maddening. It’s consuming. It needs to be made right.

It’s been so long that I’ve felt this way that I don’t remember what it was like to not have to think about this. It’s hard to get through life carrying a huge bag full of broken pieces. Life goes on around you, and you can’t fall apart because so many others depend on you to be strong and in control. They look to you to let them know it will all be okay. Frankly, I’m surprised at my strength and endurance. Truth be told, it is God alone who has carried me because not for one day could I have managed. It hurts too much to cry, the physical pain of  the loss of a child actually hurts your body. It doesn’t just hurt your feelings and emotions. I never knew that it quite literally hurts to cry until this all happened. Just like it feels good to laugh, tears bring an ache that reaches the core.

I cling to hope. I protect what is left of my broken heart. I suffer quietly as I tell our story.

Can you blame me for how I feel? Do you pass judgment upon me because I don’t know how to handle this? Put yourself in my shoes. What would you do?….

Scrapbook Page: Prayers of a Writer


❤     To feel most beautifully alive means to be reading something beautiful, ready always to apprehend in the flow of language the sudden flash of poetry.

❤     If you are not too long, I will wait for you all my life.

❤     Prayer is not asking. It is a longing of the soul. It is a daily admission of one’s weakness…. It       is better in prayer to have a heart without words than words without a heart.

❤     Do not the most moving moments of our lives find us all without words….

❤     To read a writer is for me not merely to get an idea of what he says, but to go off with him and travel in his company. 

Justice, One Page at a Time

The past few years have brought as much confusion as they have brought clarity.

The more I find out and the more I learn about adoption, the less I want to know about it.

Reading through paperwork and depositions, having questions for lawyers that have been no help, people not wanting to talk to us because of the very nature of our case and accusations, it’s been awful. To have so many unanswered questions and so many unethical actions that those responsible have still not been held accountable for, makes my stomach turn.

The judge, or shall I say former judge, no stranger to scandal; Lupita, a court clerk,  facilitating and profiting from an adoption she set up while on the clock; the police, who simply never responded; the DA, look the other way rather than explain such a thing happening on his watch; the court-appointed LA lawyer, no passion, no concern, nothing but a suit; an infertile couple, who showered Lupita with gifts for my niece, there is no nice way to sugar coat that, baby buying and selling are precisely what they sound like. All the attorneys, and the way they manipulate and twist the truth with smiles on their faces. It drives me crazy to think about.

As I get closer to finalizing part one of this nightmare, it’s bringing me a little bit of peace. Seeing the book come together one page at a time takes some of the weight off. Each time I write and check details off my outline, I feel free as I get it out and on paper.  I have a few months left before it’s being sent to print, and as it gets closer, relief.

It’s our side of the story, written to my niece in hopes of her knowing the truth.  For my family, who have had to endure such a thing. It’s especially dedicated to all those that believed that destroying one family in secret to make another was worth it. I want them to know the pain they caused and the destruction that they left behind them. They wanted us to remain silent and probably think we always will. Little do they know they are being written about nearly daily.

We need a voice as much as we need justice.



The discipline of Judge James EnEarl or how the public’s supposedly “protected” by not telling them why.

This is the judge we addressed our complaints to, Lupita’s former boss.
It speaks for itself.

Dear, God….

Dear God ….

Please take this hurt away.

Help me to get through this night without crying myself to sleep.

Please give my niece the desire to know us and the wisdom to believe us.

Take all this bad and make it beautiful.

Forgive us for the forgiveness we cannot yet manage.

Break away the barriers outsiders have put in our family way.

Carry us during this time we can barely stand on our own feet.

Prepare us for what the future holds.

Brighten the darkness in our thoughts.

Remind us that evil never prevails over good.

Give us the patience to wait.

Keep us together even though we’re apart.

Quiet the chaos.

Take the burdens and make them blessings.

Protect us from the lies told against us.

Comfort us during this painful tribulation.

Release us from the bondage of bitterness.

Guide us and keep us.

These things I pray with all my heart, in Jesus’ name …. Amen.

Scrapbook Page: Hopes of the Heart


❤     We are each other’s business: we are each other’s magnitude and bond…. 

❤     We know the truth, not only by reason, but also by the heart….

❤     The most beautiful things are those that madness prompts and reason writes….

❤      If it were not for hopes, the heart would break….

❤     The process of writing has something infinite about it. Even though it is interrupted each night, it is one single rotation.

Light in the Darkness

Dealing with a situation of this magnitude takes an enormous amount of patience.

I want to shout from the rooftops about the horrible injustice bestowed upon my family at the hands of a sneaky, conniving neighbor and an infertile couple; but at the same time, it is so very personal and exposing the most intimate of hurts is not easy. In fact, it is quite uncomfortable. I want to bury the agony but instead I have to put it all out there.

I just want it to go away. I don’t want to think about it anymore. I don’t want to go to bed with it, I don’t want to get lost in thought, I don’t want the anxiety. I don’t even want to know about it myself, yet I have no choice but to document everything in hopes that their despicable acts will be made transparent. Since we weren’t given the justice we deserve, because the people who were supposed to protect us were the ones who kept it quiet for their own sake, I will make sure we get justice somehow.

It is mind-boggling how something like this could happen, in a county courthouse, and the district attorney and judge just looked the other way. A judge that later had to step down after many years for “misconduct”, a district attorney who acted like we were ridiculous for wanting answers. Our police reports never even received an answer. This tight-knit little town, where everyone knows each other and they live as if they’re above the law, and apparently they are since they just swept our accusations right under the carpet.

All I know is that I’m exhausted. I’m so tired and drained. I don’t know how I’ve done all this for so long. I don’t know how I’ve managed to keep it together when I want to come unglued. I’ve had to force myself out of bed when all I want to do is pull the covers over me and disappear. I’ve had to force a smile when I want to just fall to the floor and cry. I’ve had to be attentive to the needs of others when sometimes I can’t even eat because my stomach is all upset with nerves on edge.

It still feels like a nightmare I can’t wake up from. I can’t completely freak out like I deserve to. I have to be polite and proper toward people who are the absolute scum of the earth. And I hate it. As if they deserve any consideration. They should all be put away in a place where they can’t buy and sell babies.

I didn’t ever think things like this could happen, but they do. They happen more often than one would like to think. You just don’t think about people being capable of doing such things. The more you try to understand it, the more you realize you can’t wrap your brain around it. You just close your eyes and try to get away from it.

This has not only changed my life, it has taken it. There’s no such thing as a “normal” anymore. It’s all about trying to survive and maintain until I’m able to set the record straight. I have to stay strong and trust in God that this evil will one day be turned into something good. One day the clouds will clear and the brightness of the light will be heavenly….