Im back...

And you can't get rid of me... Its Sybil time.. and she's ready to rawk and roll

Ruuuude

I can't believe you actually called me today! (can you see me roll my eyes?) Even after several phone calls and faxes!

(Menacing smile).

You see I’m anal to the point I drive people crazy over how I keep record of EVERYTHING I do.  My faxes, my emails, and my calls logged for just this purpose.

  I have records upon records to prove I’ve called you and spoken to your assistants, and receptionists. I grew tired of “waiting” for you to show some respect and either contact me back, or fax me back.

I made an executive decision and called your personal cell, AFTER HOURS.  

(smiles)

When I heard your voice, I froze, surely my ears where playing tricks.

You couldn’t be…….

Under the influence of drugs and or alcohol? You are after all, a professional drug counselor. Are you not?

First of all, I saw through you (insert HER name here). I saw through your hatred and realized we had an issue when you verbally attacked a family member.

I saw through your scheming, troublesome, mean spirited ways when you address your co-workers.

You had the “IM LARGE an IN CHARGE AND YOUR NOTHING attitude. Didn’t you all go through this program? Where is it written that you’re holier than thou?

You were literally shrieking the other day about YOU BEING IN CHARGE… I heard your co-workers voice (not daring to turn in fear Id be caught in your web of bull*%&$)  

Your tongue is like glass, smooth at first …then razor sharp when your need to show dominance over others.

You’re a controlling and unstable person. I pity women like you.

I can't help but wonder how you’ve retained a job in this field with your condescending ways, your inability to communicate, and your lack of friendliness, affection, warmth,  or tenderness. You’re not cut out for a position of this magnitude.

I was SHOCKED to say the least when my cell phone rang and I saw your business name. You’re “smooth operator” voice speaking sweet, with no indication of your “drunken self from last night” were you worried I would call and report your behavior?

I admit I was tempted. But figure it this way.

God see’s all. I don’t have too.

That age old expression comes to mind.

Give them nuff rope and they’ll hang themselves…

**Beware**

the KARMA bus comes by often.

HONNNNK

HONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNK

The 3 C's

''You didn't cause it, you can't control it, and you can't cure it”.

I constantly have to remind myself of this tidbit of information. I unconsciously stumble in life thinking I can solve everyone’s problems, while I myself suffer.

Is it suffering? Nah, not so much. I choose to feel sorry for myself and my situations. WAAAAA.

Life can sometimes suck the happy right out of you. It’s those troubling times when you have to pick yourself up, dust yourself off and pour hydrogen peroxide over your scrapes. Nobody said life was going to be easy. Let’s face it.  It ISN’T.

I never thought I’d be where I am.  I never thought I’d have to watch my boy committed to a mental hospital at 23. I NEVER thought I’d have to observe my son shuffle with shackles across a room, hands cuffed to his waist and the sound of chains jingling. Every step he took he struggled and as a mother I wanted to run to him and fix his leg chains and demand they be removed. HOW DARE they do that to my son.

Months have passed and still I hurt. A LOT. This turned my life upside down. I came to rely more on GOD. More on my family. ( a select few )

THEY know who they are.

The others?

Not so much.

I reflect back to a conversation my aunt had with my mom about her son. (He’s gay) and family members (a select few) were uncivilized about it.

(Like they have been with my son)

I remember how hurt she was. Sitting over tea with my mom at her kitchen table, tears in her eyes, talking in riddles.

 “It’s the sisters’ code of conduct.

I tried to follow along, but realized as the riddles got harder and the topic constantly changing.(for MY nosy ears) Their eyes darting around the room, and their sentences trialing off.. I was an intruder. Better left to my own devices… and it WASN’T theirs.

Thinking back, it was like the forbidden sibling room you entered as a kid, the huge red sign hanging on the bedroom door,

(KEEP OUT OR ELSE)

You don’t fit in this conversation and you’re NOT invited, so please stay out.

Awww, the beauty of a sister.

I won’t forget that hurt on my aunties face. The ridicule she must have felt and heard.  (How I wish I had known then) How I’d comfort her and hug her, lean on me I would have said. CRY with me. We’ll get through. Let me say… she DIDN’T cry because her son was gay. She cried for the hurt the others bestowed on her son.

I personally know now just how my aunt felt when her son was criticized over his sexual preference.

Mine too will be judged, just not for his sexuality but for his mental state.

Disappointment plays a major roll. Not in a son who became lost in another world, but in a family as a whole.

I’m not going to sit here and call names. I’m not going to sit here and demand an apology. I will tell you, how much I hurt over your inability to comprehend my feelings, my hurt, and my aguish. My question is.. WHERE WERE YOU?  Where were you when I couldn’t function? When my life came to a fiery crash? Where?

I keep reflecting back to how my aunt held it together that day when I was part of a conversation I knew nothing about.

Now that I’m older, I realize what they were talking about.  I know now, how my mom came to pick up the pieces for her baby sister.

Like what my sister is doing for me.

She’s picked up the pieces. 1 at an a agonizing time. As I bent to pick one up another 2 fell. She grabbed those and glued my heart back together.

I sat at my sisters dining room table and I cried like a baby. When the holidays came and went I shuffled through not wanting to rejoice in any holiday activities. I cooked in a fog, and she brought me through it. One day at a time. I cried as I took a bite of my mashed potatoes.

Hearing my sons voice in my head… (when he was 9) Where’s da gwavvvvy? I smiled and cried…

His lil boy voice echoing in my head.  

I never thought I’d have to experience what I have in a year’s time.  Emergency rooms, hospital stays, a mental ward, jail, and finally a half way house.

Each day I reflect back to:
''You didn't cause it, you can't control it, and you can't cure it”.

I don’t know WHY my son chose to take the drugs he did.  When I asked him to stop, I was told I didn’t know what I was talking about.

I can’t fix him. He has to fix himself.

I’m not responsible for his actions. Yet, as a mother I blame myself.
E- V- E- -R- Y single D- A- Y.

Where did I go wrong?

And my sisters words come into play… PRAY SISTER. Be that mighty prayer warrior you were destined to be. LEAN ON ME. I’ll be your rock.

THANK YOU SISTER!! For getting me through the most difficult time of my life.

I LOVE YOU.

Healed

I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get to write this, not fully sure how much I should say.

A year ago I was a broken woman. Literally falling apart over the health of my older son.

An illness like no other had claimed his mind. Leaving little of the boy/man we all knew.

He was born to a single teenage girl. A little boy who stole her heart at 17. 

A healthy 11lb 7oz, baby boy with sparkling blue eyes and white blonde hair.

He won me over the moment I saw his chubby reddened face. 
It was…

 LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT.

He grew to become a successful man, his goals high, and a plan to be a self made millionaire.

(We wonder if this had anything to do with him turning to drugs).

He anxiously wanted to take care of his dad and myself.

He’d call me with ideas and dreams.

Mom, you will NEVER have to work again. For every dollar you gave me as a child I will gladly give you a 1000!

 I’d laugh; I don’t want your money honey!

I know you don’t, But I want to take care of you and dad.

He became obsessed.

He looked at himself as a failure when we all looked at him as a major success.

Was it mental illness that claimed his mind? Or was it the drugs he took to escape the failure HE thought he was?

Lost in another dimension(s), a world(s) we know nothing about, yet, we knew everything because of his desire to share with you what he saw.

I lost my heart that day. On father’s day. I knew before this break, he wasn’t in reality.

I knew he lived somewhere else. I just denied it…for months. He showed signs, that I chose to ignore, NOT MY SON. This happened to other families, CERTAINLY NOT MINE!

His hands shook, and his personality changed, he was no longer that loving, understanding, caring kid.

He was…dark. Not evil…but DARK. He laughed differently. He didn’t eat the same way he had for 22 years, he wasn’t focused on anything but…drugs, and making money.

He snapped that day… reality was gone and in its place was a man I knew little about.

He spoke of Angels and Demons. Of other places where people lived that we knew little or nothing about.

He spoke to dead people.  I watched the son who was an A student, who had his life together at such an early age, fall victim to Mental Illness.

Or was it?

I honestly didn’t foresee any cure, I admit, I had little FAITH on his healing.

His behavior was bizarre, to say the least, outlandish, insensitive, and at times aggressive,  he’d stare at you, and speak to beings who nobody else could see but himself. Not just a nodding of his head to acknowledge that “those beings” spoke back, but had full on conversations with them.

I’d fall apart then. I would see a small glimpse of his “normal” self at times.  My hope would soar, and in a fraction of a second I’d come crashing back down, sick.  I’d fall to my knees within the shower, crying, sobbing to the point where the water would run cold and I’d still be laying in a fetal position in the bathtub. BEGGING for my son back.

I’d stroke his face in pictures, walk into his room when he’d be out trying to “catch” his angels. I’d lay my face against his clothing breathing in his scent. My child who I knew for 22 years was dead and another person lived in his body. How could a mother plan a funeral for a child who wasn’t dead? Yet, he wasn’t alive?  “It” was a mysterious stranger who possessed MY SONS body.

I was powerless to prevent this being from possession of my son.

I’d take his hand and whisper how much I loved him. At night I’d lock myself in my room afraid he’d try to harm me.

I’m ashamed to admit that. (I hang my head even now a year later) I held out hope when people would tell me “It’s the drugs, you’ll see”. But as the months went by, and I visited him in jail for a crime (he’s horrified to admit he committed) I didn’t see much change.

A worker from the jail called me, (this is another part of the story I’ll later tell) for now, I’ll leave it at; her worry for him was supreme.

He, in his sane moments could win over complete army of enemies.

.

I visited him faithfully 2 weeks after he was jailed. Aug 8^th ~ Dec 15 2011 he sat in jail in a mental ward in total isolation.
Dec 15^th 2011 my son was released to a half way house.

As the months passed, I saw change, November was an amazing month, I saw full glimpses of my son.

December was even better, but depression set in and I was afraid he’d relapse.

The trips to court shackled like an animal. He doesn’t know how blessed he is/was to be in isolation for those many months. How many lock downs we went through due to deaths on other floors by inmates. I’d sit there in the lobby heart in throat praying someone wouldn’t act out and ruin my half hour visit.

I was lucky on some visits they’d forget we were there. The 7^th floor is the “sick” ward.

We paid a high power attorney, a friend of my husbands who knew our boys and knew that our son had to be ill in order to commit this crime. He was lucky not being sentenced to prison time.

I visit him monthly when the half way house allows. I don’t get many phone calls. He reserves those for the woman who silently stood by his side during this/HIS whole ordeal.

I have mad respect for her. I admit to you and even GOD, I don’t know if I could have stood by my husband in a situation like this. I once said…

Why? Why, did you stay?

Her answers were simple… I love him.. and our private vow to each other was/is..

In sickness and in health. I cried then. My shallow thoughts consumed me.

WHAT A WOMAN! And how BLESSED my son is for meeting her. I don’t know if I could have stayed.

She’s taught me a lot, this woman. And I thank God daily for her.

I pray I’m able to visit my son this weekend. It depends on the behavior of the “house” patrons if they are allowed family time or not.

Within this year, I came to rely on my sister, and GOD. I made some friends along the way and lost a few as well.

I think those friends and I, were seeking something neither one of us could give.

I have my FAITH once again, and have become what my grandmother so desperately wanted from her granddaughters. PRAYER warriors.

I never gave up on prayer; I had just given up on my faith.

He’s better by the way… He no longer “sees” into those dimensions. He no longer speaks with his angels.

I was granted a gift once again like I was at 17. Except now I’m 42.

I feel like Im 17 again and holding my baby in my arms. Except he’s a man now

And God granted him another chance.

He’s given me ANOTHER miracle.

I aptly named my son:

Jeremiah 30:17

“I will give you back your health and heal your wounds” says the LORD
AMEN.

Let the Healing Begin

I worry.
Because there were just three options:
rehab, jail, or death."

I often reflect back on how my son turned to drugs, and how he lost touch with reality. I see the statement above (taken from an article I read in GQ on Charlie Sheen)

That was my son, months ago, it’s a part of me I wish I didn’t have to remember.

Him sitting in jail in a mental ward in isolation, blocked from reality and the comforts of home.

I see him faithfully every Saturday. I wait the day away at
LA County Jail Twin Towers in Downtown Los Angeles.

I watch the madness within the Medical Tower,

moms, wives, sisters, aunts, dads, brothers, uncles, grandfathers, grandmothers, cousins, & last but not least friends.

Ive come to know a few of them.

We wave across the vast waiting room, smile at one another and sit talking until our prisoners name is called. Ive met some pretty nice parents, lost like myself in our own worlds. Ive met others who I wish I hadn’t.

It’s our inability to comprehend mental illness.
To understand WHY this is happening to our beloved children, and our families.

You constantly ask WHY, why did you hand me this in life.. and all you can do is stand at the edge of his/her grave mourning a child who isn’t dead.

Yet his/her mind is.

How can life hand you such a pile of shit? I’ve often asked myself and even begged GOD to turn the tables giving me the short end of the stick so to speak

Im still waiting. I grasp the whole everyone has their destiny, yada, yada, yada.
 BUT DAMMMMN IT.

My son was/is BRILLIANT!!

How can he be dealt such a shitty hand?!

It’s been a long 120 days. I yearn to hold my baby boy in my arms.

To hold him tight, holding his hand as I do so.

I stare at my son trying to read him, I watch his every move. I scan his face hoping against hope that he’s not going to start talking about the voices again.

To ask me if I see them? The demons, The angels. As he reaches to touch them, my heart would drop.

I’d die a little more each time he spoke about them.

(I hesitantly ask, are you..Are you still hearing the voices? Seeing the angels? Fighting the demons)

He smiles and says NO. It’s ME MOM. I SWEAR.

I stare him in the eyes. It’s not uncommon me staring at him. Ive been known to stare people down, not intentionally mind you, it’s just my inner, inner, ah, well, hell, this is going to sound weird, my ability to read ones actions, (no not minds!!)

I’m a reader.

A person’s body language, expressions, eyes, movements, their voices when they speak, I can usually tell what your next move is...

It’s hard to explain and difficult for me to try to express it.

I go with my “gut” feeling. But its more than that, It’s the feeling itself.

I know by words, what you’re doing, how you subtly ask questions and what you want from that question.

I once asked my grandmother, how come I’m not a genius like you gram?!

We’re given gifts before your born, You know when something isn’t right.

As a teenager, I refused to listen to my own body and its ability to know things.

The feelings. I wish I had the right words for you, I cant for the life of me explain to you how it works.

My sister and brother are also blessed with the gift.

I read my kids, and they HATE it.

J, has become immune to it now, I scan his face several times, I listen to his voice, the velvet sound, and know he’s healing, but it’s the unknown. 

I wish I was able to understand his mental state, his determination to heal, or if he’ll be one of the unfortunate ones who head back to jail because he couldn’t keep himself clean.

Having Schizophrenia, is like being a professional liar. They manipulate you to make you think they really are on track. Trying to stay afloat in the vast sea of “Mental Illness” after all,  Its “US” that are ill, NOT them.

I remember when my son was severely delusional, I hugged him, and held his hand, talked to him, kissed is cheek often, he’d stop staring at the wall, look at me and say..
STOP BEING WEIRD MOM.

Your. Freakin. weird,

Off he went staring at his angels. I was always at a loss for words, how could I deny him the angels? I’ve had my experiences with them, so how did I know they weren’t there protecting him from..from. the “unknown” ?

The demons played havoc with his mind, they spoke evil and mean things, often times he repeated what they said. The names hurt, Id flinch like being hit by a fist. Words, by a mentally ill man hurt all the more.

My Precious son, 1 of 3 I had birth into an unknown world.

1 of my 3 children suffered a mental break so sever hes still in jail. THAT kills me.

I crave his hugs, the kisses to the forehead, the maaaaaaaaaaaaaa Im home what do you have to eat?!

Ma, Im taking this steak home ok? Ma, you have 20.00 I need gas,

Ma, I hear him.. and my heart aches.,

When I saw him on Saturday I spoke in code, my mind desperately trying to remember how the words sounded, yet I failed, miserably!!   

(The boys tried for years to get me to learn “Dragon”) a made up language between friends.

The kids in the group did it so their parents wouldn’t know what they were saying...

Yet, my boys tried desperately to teach me. I never grasped it. Never quite got the hang of it.

I focused in on his eyes, and said, you need to trust me, your gunna be okay.

He worries he’ll be there for another 120 days. In isolation and fearing another beating.

I stared hard into his eyes, and I said I wish I spoke DRAGON.

He smiled and said, yeah ME TOO MOM.

Yet, as I spoke in my “own” code he grasped what I was saying..and my heart beat a little faster and my brain screamed HE’S HEALING.

I kissed the glass, and put my hand to it picturing touching his face...I said it over and over...

I LOVE YOU J, and the day I found out I was pregnant at 17 was the HAPPIEST DAY OF MY LIFE.

We made it then.... and we’ll make it now...

You and me...

Me and you...

US.

LOVE,

MOM

Forgetaboutit

Im appalled …

I was gunna act like Caroline Manzo. Be a lady about the whole thing and say

Così è la vita (that’s life)

But I cannnnnt.. heh.

Ive become bitter over it.. bitter over a whole lotta crap.

Have you ever watched from afar the hurt parents can bestow on a child?

I have.

Have you ever fallen victim to it?

I have.

Have you ever realized no matter how hard you try its NOT going to get better?

I have.

Have you ever allowed your parents to convince you to do something you didn’t want to do in fear of “hurting” their feelings or having to deal with their disappointment?

I have.

Have you ever sat back and listened to one of them say (after being treated horribly by a sibling) I wont go if your sibling isn’t invited?

I have.

I LIVED it.

Yet….

My son was the FIRST born grandchild (boy). And was left out of a ……… “bonding” by the grandfather, uncle and cousins.

The grandfather “ALLOWED” it to happen.. never brining up the fact that THE FIRST BORN GRANDSON who carried HIS name was left out.

He allowed it.

If my child had asked him he’d have clearly made it known that his son and other grandchildren carry the name and would need to be invited.

I can hear my dad now.

Yeah that hurt…

More than you can ever fathom…

Since I was a little girl I have dealt with favoritism, 

(grandmother and said brother),

(Mother and son),

(Father and son)

My sister for years resented it, Id beg her to let it go, move on, forgive.

(Why can’t I take my own advice?!)

Why CANT I LET IT GOOOOOO?!  It NEVER bothered me previously. WHY NOW?!

But the minute my son, the first born grandson (who will pass on the family name) was so blatantly looked over because of one’s fear of his son “being mad at him” made me realize no matter how hard one tries, you can NEVER measure up.

Christmas 2010 My son was devastated by his uncle, aunt and cousins behavior. I told him to let it go. We were never really a part of that family anyways and what they said and did didn’t matter.

Be yourself. (This was 7 months before his mental break) He still took it hard and cried while talking to me.

I remember that night like yesterday.

LET IT GO J, …let it go.. 

*remembering his hurt over what was said, and his tears* breaks my heart… *shakes head*

We love one another, while they look at people for what they “have”

When I found out about the tattoo and my brothers callous remark to me that I was NO longer considered family by my “Maiden” name but only family by my married name.. I told him he was full of SHIT.

My father agreed with my brother.

Forget it. (said with a laugh)

With family like that who needs fooken enemies?

I’ve never favored my children.

I LOVE them all the same. (each one requires a different kind of love)

If I give one, I give them all.

NOT so in the house I grew up in.. and now later in life, its come between my kids and cousins.

 (Even my brother a grown man and a father I had held on a pedestal)

Pssssssh. How ridiculous,

*heart lurches*

How disappointed I am in all of them.

A father/grandfather, who so unsympathetically “forgot” his first born grandchild.

Didn’t even think to ask.. because It was all about his son.

Hey… MY SON MATTTTERS

 just NOT to you

A brother so consumed on being 1^st he’d fook over his own blood.

And 2 cousins who’d stab that knife in, just to be first.

Y’all make me wanna HURL.

Through my heartache of my sons sickness I found other family members who stood by.

Held my hand through the pain I’m going through.

Is here to pick up the pieces, while the others choose to be ashamed. (that’s how I’ve taken it)

For the brother I used to adore, I harbor no hatred toward you…I no longer hurt from your hateful remarks and your unfeeling ways

I only pity you for the hatred you hold within your heart for members of a family who love/loved you.

I love you, I just choose NOT to be around you.

And for my dad,.

Disappointed look on face, shoulders hunched,  hurt evident on face…

(you once said.. you set yourself up for disappointments Tamerina, you expect people to have  your integrity, your beliefs, your morals & finally your values)

You’re right dad… I thought I had gotten those from you…

I set myself up for disappointment..NOT everyone has my morals or values. I’ve had to find those on my own..

I pray your son and family members find theirs.

And a 23 year old boy looked on, swallowed the lump in his throat, and pretended it didn’t matter…

(ooh it mattered) Why NOT ask him?!

Hes MY hero… That 23 year old man/boy. Who had NOBODY but me, his aunt, brother and his cousins while growing up…

HE’S MY HERO… To me,  you ough’ah to PAY him to carry your name…

Healing

Never be ashamed of the scars life has left you with. A scar means the hurt is over, the wound is closed, you endured the pain... and GOD has healed you. ♥

The Mysterious Stranger.

I’m sitting here trying to pull my thoughts together. I have a lot to say… but never the right words to pull out of my head. It’s difficult to share this.

Difficult to show the world my weakness and release my emotional side.. (usually I do that privately)

I know, some of you have read my blog from earlier on. A few true friends have been following me since the beginning .

(When I fell apart over a tragedy) and ended up having to close my blog due to media, and their relentless harassment to get a story.

I refused to give them one. Nor did I want to stir the pot with anything I wrote.

I silently walked away.

The stage went black, and my 600 followers with it.

It isn’t so much the followers, as it is the friendships you make.

(HuGZ my girl friends) you know who you are.

V, T & G.

Its tough to talk about my son. I have a mountain of “grief”.

I grieve him like he’s dead… 

You say….

He’s NOT dead Sybil Why the grief?

You don’t get it… nobody understands until they are in the same situation.

My son has been replaced with a mysterious “man” . A man I DON’T know.

He went from J, my son who had the brightest personality, a loving demeanor, a wonderful relationship with family and friends.
Reflects back...

He had patience, he was understanding, and HE LOVED everyone..

To a man who is peculiar and weird..

I feel my son died.. and he’s a walking Zombie. Forget the skin falling off ‘movie zombie” Im talking about a man who slowly talks, but not like “Forrest Gump”

He no longer has his wonderful mind.

He’s no longer gentle, bright, amusing, or fun to be around.

He’s dark, and speaks of demons and angels.

He glances back and forth trying to get a glimpse of the demons that  run rampant through his mind.

He is easily annoyed, temperamental,  often times crying for no reason.. heart wrenching sobs rack his body…

Staring off into space…

Smiling at nobody yet, according to him everyone.

Don’t you see them…?!

He reaches and smiles.

*His angels*

I ask.. Why you crying J?

He glances at me..a far off look in his eyes…

And mutters…

I’m so happy…

do you see them?

And my heart breaks a little more..

Is it possible to have so many broken pieces and still continue to live?

I swallow the lump in my throat.

My everyday life has changed.

I walk on eggshells when he’s home.

I hide the knives as instructed by his physiatrist, locked in my room within a safe I had to purchase in case he decided he was going to give away the few precious pieces of jewelry I had left from my grandmother.

He gave away his possessions before his first break.. or perhaps during his break.

I could accept this if he had been born this way.

But to have a normal loving man taken from me at the sweet age of 23, kills me.

I’m friggen BITTER damn it. IM ANGRY… and I HURT…. A LOT.

By society standards, my son is a criminal. Literally a felon.

If J, was in his right mind, he’d be horrified by the things he’s done.

Sitting in a jail cell, in a psyche ward. He’s not allowed to be un-cuffed, he walks with shackles on. He’s dangerous according to police.

I want to shout, you don’t know him like I do!!

You don’t know
how wonderful he was,
how gentle he was,
how caring he was.

I want to bang my fists against the guards chest and cry and say…

If you knew him last year you’d like him.. you’d say J, what happened…

You wouldn’t feel threatened by his height, or his weight, or his strength.

You’d know he was an actual teddy bear.

You’d know he was a gentle giant.

YOU’D KNOW DAMN IT!!!!

Now he’s a shell of a man, a man I don’t even know.

I can’t tell you how hurt I am.. How my heart aches when I see him through the 5” glass at the jail.

I can’t tell you how I envy those families who have normalcy with the 4 walls they live in.

I’m not striving for perfect. I’m striving for NORMAL.

I’m striving to regain my sons health back.

I’m striving to make people aware of Schizophrenia, and the effect it has on people.  Not just the mentally ill family member..

BUT the family as a whole.

His brothers, his aunt, his cousins, his dad, and lastly myself.

I’ve taken it hard… id rather sit in a cell then walk through that jail seeing what he’s up against…

A mother’s love, Id gladly give my life for his.

I’d gladly exchange brains with him.. if it were possible Id seek out the professional who could do it..

Id think nothing of it.

I’ve lived.. 42 years.. 42 years of a good life..

I’d give my precious son my last remaining breath…

I love you Jace.

<3 Mom.