When 30 mins early is still too late

Yeah, you know what I'm talking about...Pue Possession!

I always arrive at church 30 minutes early, and there appears to be rows and rows of empty seats. However, when attempting to sit down, I find that someone has reserved them by placing their scriptures or hymn book there. It brings me to the question...what time do I have to be at church to get a seat?

After many years of going to church, I have accepted that saving seats at church is kind of like the Germans placing their towels on the deck chairs the night before, while on vacation. My British friends will understand that explanation. My point is that church seat saving has become a fact of life that we live with, because telling someone to turn up and sit down, like you did, seems to label you as un-christian.

This week really bothered me though. After arriving 30 minutes early, finding the building virtually people free, but every cushioned seat reserved, I took my usual spot on the hard metal chairs at the back. Then 10 minutes after the start of church, people walked in and sat down on three rows of seats that had been saved for them. Call me a religious fanatic, but church is a privilege and a blessing to me. Part of the reverence we should be showing should include being punctual and seated.

Seat saving is selfish, and I don't apologize for saying so.

There have been occasions when I have sat in a seat at church and been asked to move because this is 'Their seat!' REALLY??? When the prophet burns your name into the wood of a pue, then I will respect it as being yours. Until then, come to church, sit in your chair or allow those who actually show up on time to have the privilege of a comfortable seat.

You wouldn't go to the post office, and jump the line with the excuse that you had a book or magazine saving your place. Three rows of people wouldn't jump the line at disneyland with the excuse that their neighbor had held all those places. Not without some kind of a death wish. There is no other place a person would dare to do this, so why have the disrespect to do it in a church building to your fellowmen?

I'm not saying that I'm right...but this is how I feel. However, I am really interested in anyones thoughts and feelings on this subject...so comments please.

Oh remember when we knew it all...

Do you remember when you knew it all? There was a time when no-one could tell me anything (Don't act all shocked), and as a mother there have been plenty of times that I have said, "Sorry, I forgot you know everything!"

Of course I do what so many of us do, and look back on my life with rose colored glasses, remembering myself as a perfect child. But deep inside, OK, my mother reminds me, that I knew it all once too.

I have been right very few times in my adult life...but I sure as heck was right as a kid. That's why "those were the days."

The best father in law EVER!

I have been blessed to have a wonderful father in law. You can't know him and not totally love him.

I had been on one date with Arlan when he asked me to call him Dad! LOL No pressure or anything. But Dad is what his name became, and a Dad is very much what he has been. I just love him.

My favorite memory of Dad is when Arlan and I were going on a date. He sat with us both, but spoke to Arlan. It was the sweetest thing I have ever seen, to see a father tell his son that he raised him the right way and to treat me with complete respect and honor my virtue or answer to him!

Even though we were grown up, and we have both been married before, there were no giggles or feeling silly. Arlan admires his dad completely and often says he is still only a small chip off a large block. He loves who his dad is and what he stands for.

As for me, I was taken back a little at first, but in no way felt like we were being treated like children. I felt respected. And judging by the amazing husband I have in my life, I don't think it would be a bad thing for more Dads to sit down with their sons and tell them how to treat women.

Dad is an author of A gathering of wolves, and The blind ladys sword.

My Missionaries

Miracles

If there is only one thing that people remember of me, I hope it is that I believe in Miracles. I don't mean that as any kind of joke. I honestly believe in miracles with all of my heart. I just think that we have forgotten how to see them, and think that miracles have to go completely our way.

I remember in the movie Bruce Almighty, there is a scene where Bruce has been able to play God for a while, and things are going desperately wrong for the world. When Bruce is talking to God he explains that when he answered peoples prayers, he had given them everything they had wanted. And Bruce was asking God how giving people what they wanted most could go so wrong. God, (in this case, Morgan Freeman) says, "when did mankind really know what they wanted." That one line has stuck with me ever since. Although it was said in a movie, I have to admit that the statement is true. Look around honestly and you can see it yourself. People want to be pop stars, and then they complain about lack of privacy and not being loved for who they really are. People want to win the lottery and then say it ruin their lives. People want to be thin, but they are never thin enough. People want plastic surgery to look better, and then have more because they don't look better enough. Don't get me wrong, I'm not judging what people want out of life, or what they do with their life, I am merely explaining that what we want today isn't what we want tomorrow, and the easy person to blame for everything is God.

And the reason I mention any of this is because of the story I want to share. I have been laughed at for believing in miracles, and yet I can't deny I have seen them any more then I can deny the sky is blue. Just because something doesn't go exactly as we hope it will, it doesn't dismiss the miracle. Let me explain...

I gave birth to an amazing little girl, called Amy Elizabeth on the 7th March 1988. She was born nine weeks early, and as a result of this, had many health complications. Amy was born with a missing chamber to her heart, a hole in the heart, facial paralysis, bleeds around the brain, no cartilage in her bronchial tubes, which meant her tubes would collapse and cut off the air supply. There were other conditions that reared their ugly head during Amy's life, and some that were discovered after her death.

This was a time in my life when I didn't believe in God, and was very anti religion. And at this point in my life, admitting there was a God meant that he had done this to my child, which didn't win me over in any way. I can't explain the helplessness I felt as I sat by an incubator, watching my little girl fight for her life, knowing there was absolutely nothing I could do. I have never in my life felt so utterly useless.

Of course I played the blame game, and the blame was all on me. What could I have done differently? Should I have rested more? Had I not gone out that one day, I wouldn't have slipped in the snow and this would never have happened. But worse then that, what if I was just a horrible person and I was being punished. I would sit for hours staring through the incubator just blaming myself, and feeling wretched.

Every time the doctors would come to me it was more bad news. There was another condition she had, another infection, another surgery, another drug. At the age of 19 I was making life altering choices for another person, and I was scared to pieces.

One day I was called to meet with several doctors, and they told me that the bleeds around Amy's brain were getting worse. They needed my permission to discontinue a blood thining drug to prevent her from bleeding to death. Giving permission wasn't as simple as you would think, because she had a blood condition that required the drug, or, she would die. So basically, my choice was...how should I let her go? I asked which was the least painful, and the response was that they would keep her comfortable no matter what. They left me alone to give it some thought, and said that they would talk to me the following day.

I didn't know whether to cry, scream, curl up in a ball or what, but I felt as alone as I could have. I sat next to Amy, wanting to ask her forgiveness for being such a useless mother, and feeling so selfish for wanting to hold her in my arms. You see, it had been weeks and I had never been able to hold Amy.

Well I decided to call a friend for some advice. Don't ask me why, because I didn't plan on taking it. If the doctors couldn't tell me what to do, surely another teenager would be as clueless as I was.

When I explained everything to my friend, they asked if their dad and brother could give Amy a sick blessing. I would have laughed if I wasn't so sick with worry. I was at the point where I was willing to pour special water over her or have a voodoo doctor or anything. I was desperate for her to be better. I couldn't stand to see my daughter cry as they poked and prodded, re-ventilated and all the other things they had to do. To see her cry, and no sound come away from her because the tubes were in the way, rubbing against her vocal cords. And to see only parts of her face move because of the paralysis.

I agreed to the blessing, with no faith, just with the hope that I knew I tried anything and everything.

Well that evening she was given a blessing. I kept my eyes open wondering if I would see something dramatic. I was too stupid to realize that God doesn't have to be all dramatic like we humans can be. I didn't see pixie dust, no angels, no angelic voices, zip, zero, nothing.

As my friends family were leaving, Amy opened both her eyes for the first time. Her face moved, but I was still too blind to see the miracle, and gave it the name of 'Coincidence.' The following day dealt me some humble pie though.

I met with the doctors by Amys bed. They had a machine there to scan her brain and check the progression of the bleeds. I sat there feeling sick, still not knowing what choice to make. The professor watched Amy as she stared at him, as he rubbed the scanning machine over her tiny head. "Did she do that before?' he asked. I didn't care to answer. I was too sick with what was to come to answer questions on what had already happened. He looked at the computer monitor, looked at Amy's name tag on her wrist, looked at his notes, and kept repeating the cycle. All I could think was "what else is wrong?" He continued his pattern, appearing more and more concerned.

"This is your daughter?" he asked. What a stupid question to ask. I had sat by her incubator day and night. I think I know my own child. And I was angry he said that because if he was doubting who she was, then how could he treat her. But he went on to explain that he was lost for words. He said that there was no trace that there had ever been a bleed around Amy's brain, and yet as he pointed to the previous print outs of her scans, it was obvious that her bleeds had been massive. He said that there was no explanation for this, and as much as he knew who his patient was, he didn't know how to explain what he needed to tell me. He said, "I don't believe in God, but I can only explain this as a miracle."

Well I burst into tears, and all the hair on my arms stood on end, and I knew I had seen a miracle too. I ranted on with tears in my eyes, about the sick blessing and the lack of angels, and seeing her eyes and the bleeds stopping and everything else. The doctor looked at my sympathetically as though I had finally flipped. Everything had finally gotten to me, and now I was a looney. But I knew. I knew right then that there was a God, and although I didn't understand so many things, I knew he was aware of my little family. The doctors could look at me in a million different weird ways, but I knew that no matter what, I wasn't alone.

From that point Amy got well enough to hold. She was 6 weeks when I got my first cuddle. She was covered in tubes still and it was scary, but it was incredible too. She was so tiny, and so beautiful, and I was overwhelmed with all the love I felt for my little girl.

By 9 weeks she was allowed to go home, which had seemed impossible at one point.

It was just one week before her first relapse, and something that became a regular thing. The doctors gave me an apnae alarm that would sound when her breathing stopped, but often you could see it happening. The hospital taught me how to do mouth to mouth on an infant, as well as how to do a tracheostomy if her tubes collapsed, as you couldn't get air to the lungs any other way. She had a stomach reflux that would flick her food into her lungs even when it had drugs mixed with it to weight it down. For that, I had to carry equipment with me and I would have to put tubes down her nose and into her lungs and suck the milk or food out to prevent her from drowning.

I remember one time, pushing my daughter in her stroller as we walked to the local shops. She topped breathing and her alarm sounded. I started to breath for her, as a group of people gathered. In between breaths I asked people to call for help. But people are nosy and strange. I was breathing forever for her, and the crowed grew larger. By now I was crying because I knew that help wasn't coming. I had to think of where the nearest telephone was, breath, carry my daughter, stop, breath some more and run with her in my arms, stop and breath some more, and keep doing that till I got to the telephone. Then I had to unhook the phone and let it dangle as I breathed and then spoke and then breathed and then spoke to the ambulance department. No-one helped. I hated everyone stranger in that group. The paramedics took over, and rushed us to hospital.

Amy was taken to intensive care and put on life support. Clergy was sent to talk to me, asking what my last wishes were for her. The doctors told me that she wasn't going to make it, and I felt hollow inside, knowing that my efforts hadn't been enough. I had failed my child.

I prayed for the first time ever. Not one of those lovely prayers you would expect to hear, but a desperate, angry, heartfelt and pleading prayer with a threatening, bargining undertone. I didn't know how to speak to God, and I didn't have time to perfect how pretty it was, but He heard me. This isn't the ramblings of a crazy woman that was desperate, but I stand by everything to this day. God heard me.

By noon, Amy was sitting up in bed and wanting to play. She had become so noisy that she was transferred from intensive care, and moved to a regular ward, which she was later discharged from.

Everything seems like it was doom and gloom, but it wasn't. Amy's little personality changed my life. She would make me laugh, make me cry, and worked hard to do all the things a baby could. We had fun, and she changed my life, and made it a million times better then had ever been. She made me realize that the world didn't revolve around me, and thank goodness, because that sure is a selfish center of the universe.

She looked like she would explode with joy when I entered a room. Her smile made a noise that I can still hear. Her smile was a little crooked. She had big blue eyes. And because of her conditions she sounded a little like darth vader when she breathed.

The professor and many doctors became very interested in Amy, some doctors flew in from other countries to meet her and cover her case. I was told that there was only 3 cases of a child having all the different things that Amy did, (that was back in 88, I don't know what the figures are now) but Amy had been the only one to draw breath. That seemed exciting to them, and I had the new problem of being asked if they could test her for this and for that so they could understand her conditions better. My child was no test dummy. I understood that medicine advances because of tests and experiments, but my little girl was going through enough, and unless they could prove they were helping her, she was nobody's pin cushion.

Well you may already feel that I'm crazy at this point, but our story doesn't end there. I decided to take the discussions from two missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. It wasn't easy to ask them to teach me because I had been so darn rude and ignorant to other missionaries in the past. Anyone talking to me about God before would have gotten a response you would expect from a drunken sailor, and here I was approaching the missionaries myself. It was ungrateful of me to know there was a God, to know he loved me, and not want to understand anything I could know about Him in return. Let me put it this way...if I were drowning and YOU pulled me to safety...I can promise you that you would need a restraining order to keep me from being your new best friend. I was warned by people that the missionaries would take advantage of my situation, but as I look back I can certainly laugh at that. These missionaries have been my life long friends, and they are like brothers to me now. I didn't know back then, the blessing that they would be in my life, but I will be forever grateful for the things they shared, for their patience with my resistance and stubborness, for their friendship, concern, and understanding. If everyone had friends like Mike Summers and Leonardo Diciolla, the world would be a far better place.

I decided to be baptized on the 18th December 1988. That was the first sensible decision I had ever made! Those who know me are permitted to laugh cause they now it's true!

Now this is the part I was trying to explain at the begining of rambling. Miracles happen, and we can't deny them just because everything doesn't go our way. And things didn't go my way that night. Amy passed away 6 hours after my baptism.

Now I don't want to dwell on the hurt that followed, because that isn't the point of what I wanted to share, and its not a place you would want me to take you to.

The doctors told me that Amy should never have lived. I say that they were wrong. I say that because she did live. She was here. She made a difference.

I'm no pioneer, and I hate trials, trouble, heartache and problems. Every mole hill is a mountain to me, and I don't handle my lot in life very well most days. But I can't deny the miracles I have seen, nor the knowledge I have that there is a God, and that my daughter is with him. I have every hope that I will see her again, and that has filled me with joy.

I didn't want to be without Amy for one second. I have learned that you don't get over the loss of a child, you only learn to live with the ache of missing them. I have had people tell me that there was no miracle because Amy passed away anyway. I say that is as ridiculous as saying you never had a Christmas as a child because you no longer have the childhood gifts to prove it. I don't claim to understand all things, I can barely understand my 13 year olds math homework! I can only say what I have seen, and what I believe and what I know. When so many leave hospitals with empty arms, I would be an ungrateful wretch if I kept the things I have seen to myself. Am I going to give credit to 'LUCK' for every smile I saw on Amy's face? Or was it 'FATE' that opened her eyes that first time and stopped the bleeds? Why would that be easier to accept? I saw miracles, and I held a miracle, and I will hold her again.

I trust God with my life. Why? because I don't always know what I want for breakfast thats why! I don't like everything that happens in life, but come what may, I'm not alone.

Without saying a word, Amy's life helped me to gain faith, to see past what my eyes could see, to find hope, and to enjoy what I had no matter how short a time I had it. I love you Amy.

A constant ripple in my heart - AMY

7th March 1988 - 19th December 1988

Missed so much every day of my life xxx

The man behind the current - Arlan

There was a time when I thought that life had worn me down. When I felt so broken, that I didn't know if I had anything left to offer. I prayed to be invisible, and I meant it. I just wanted to raise my children and do right by them. I had lost the zest for my personal life. I know it's sad that I would let anything in life get to me that way, but sadly, I had.

I remember being asked out on dates, and the thought of dating seemed ridiculous. I saw no reason to involve any other person in my life, and continued to pray for some invisibility. I don't know if anyone else has felt that way, but I had just walked away from a period in my life when I felt like I was living in a goldfish bowl, and living there with a not so nice a fish. And now I was in a stream, and I wanted to keep myself to myself. Funny how God has other ideas.

For a long time I had been made to feel worthless, and sadly I had started to believe it, till one day...

I was out with the kids, and I was driving along this one road, when a song came on the radio. A song by Darren Hayes called, are you where you want to be? And I thought about that for a moment. And for the first time I realized that I was free. The only person putting me down now, was myself. As I drove, I took in a deep breath, and as I exhaled, the breath left me in shudders, as I thought, "I'm alright. I'm not the most amazing person to walk the planet, and I don't have a catwalk figure, but that's okay. I'm a good person. I mean well. I'm doing my best. I LIKE ME." And that moment was amazing. I liked me again and I was going to be okay. I felt like I could suddenly breath deeper, that my lungs were bigger.

I'm so grateful for that experience, because before I knew it, Arlan came into my life. I didn't want to be some project to fix, I wanted to be someone that had something to offer, and someone who liked herself and was open to be loved.

Arlan is the kindest man I know, with the best laugh you will ever hear. I have never had my hand kissed before, and I remember him taking me out on a date, telling me I looked beautiful, as he took my hand in his and kissed it. He always gets the door for me, as well as my chair. Feminists everywhere may think what they want, but he is a complete gentleman, and is very respectful of me. He is the kind of man that parents hope their children will marry, and sometimes I wonder if my mum likes him more then she likes me!

On our first date, Arlan drove me up a mountain, and we sat at a look out point, enjoying the view of the lights below. Down in the valley the temperatures were nice and warm, but I hadn't accounted for how cold it would be up there. I was having such a wonderful time talking with Arlan and enjoying the view (Still talking about the lights) that I didn't want to admit I was cold. I didn't want the night to end. At one point he saw me shiver, and he looked horrified. He apologized forever, but he didn't need to.

When he proposed to me, he was so nervous that he had the ring box upside down, and all I could see was the inside of the lid. How cute is that? He didn't find it so cute, but I thought it was adorable.

He's my best friend, my soul mate, my cheering squad, and my shoulder to cry on, and holding his hand through this life, with the hope of holding it in the next, is my very favorite thought.

What you see and what you get

I think people are a lot like Icebergs, myself included. Not because we can give the cold shoulder, or give icy comments, or any other pun you can think of.

As I saw this picture of an Iceberg today, I just kept thinking that the tip of the Iceberg is the part of us that we show to the world. In itself, the tip is magnificent and bright, but we all know that the tip is not nearly as strong, deep, powerful or amazing as the part that is hidden beneath the waves.

So often in my life I have done things that have been misinterpreted, or I have felt misunderstood and judged, a good intention wasn't received as well as I had hoped, and I seem to have both feet in my mouth most days. I know I can't be the only person on the planet to feel that way, and the Iceberg got me thinking...how much time to I take to look beneath the waves at the Icebergs around me?

Icebergs are an appropriate object to use, because they can be cutting and even deadly, and sometimes relationships can be a little that way too. I know I have been thrashed against a few in my time. It's all too easy for me to play the blame game and hold the Iceberg responsible for everything, but really, I have to take blame too. I want people to understand me, make allowances, forgive, and love me. Not just the tip, but the whole of me. I want people to put their head in the water and understand every inch of me.

So it's time for me to buy a pair of goggles and dive down deep so I can be a better wife, mother, daughter, friend and neighbor to those around me.

So I guess the moral of all this is that what I see isn't the whole picture, and I can't judge an Iceberg by the little part I see.

My third splash - Gabriella

Being the youngest addition to our family, Gabriella is very much our Princess. She is a pure delight and blessing to us, and an example in every way.

She was born in 40 minutes and weighed a whopping 9lb 3oz, just like her big brother, Ethan. She was an angel as a baby, sleeping through the night and being the most content person I know. As a 10 year old she hasn't changed a bit. Always a smile on her face, a best friend to everyone she meets, and a sharp sense of humor that will have you in fits of laughter.

I call Gabriella 'self esteem on legs,' as she always has the right thing to say to make you feel good about yourself. You will never find a kinder soul.

One of my favorite memories was when Gabby and I took a road trip to Utah together. She was the best company, and such an angel on such a long drive. We pulled over wherever we felt like and enjoyed the views, we sang at the top of our voices, and giggled at each others jokes. At one point we were caught in really bad fog, and I pulled over at a hotel to spend the night. Better safe then sorry. As we unloaded the car to check in, Gabby started telling me ghost stories. I laughed them off when we were outside, but I felt a little spooked when I got to the room! Who knew a 9 year old could give her mum the creeps! LOL Well I was laying in bed, and a voice spoke from the dark. "Hey mum, are you scared?" I admitted to being a little creeped out. The next thing I knew, she jumped into my bed and offered to keep me safe. I was laughing for so long over that. She is such a character, and really brightens my day

My second splash - Ethan

From the moment I found out I was pregnant, I was desperate for Ethan's arrival. He was a big 9lb 3oz baby, and I could hardly believe he fit in my belly.

His brains certainly don't come from my side of the family! I wish I could take credit for them, but he as sharp as a razor when it comes to education.

Ethan has always provided me with humor. Several years before he was getting ready to get baptized we were studying the part in the scriptures where Jesus was baptized, so that he could understand the example that Jesus had set for us. My very literal son paid great attention to detail as we read. One day he came and told me that he no longer wanted to be baptized. When he sat down and told me the reason, it took all my strength not to giggle. He had remembered that the person that baptized Jesus, (John the Baptist) was beheaded, and somehow got it stuck in his head that whoever performed his baptism would have to be beheaded also. LOL. I thought it was so sweet that he was looking out for someone, and even he saw the funny side when I explained it all to him.

Ethan has alway been a monkey, but he is also very sweet.

My favorite memory with Ethan was a time that I was going shopping. There was snow on the ground, and I had very little money. There were a couple of sales, and the kids needed new clothes, so I was hoping to get some bargins and make my money go further. Ethan must have be 4 years old at the time. As we walked past this one doorway, Ethan stopped because he noticed two men asleep on the icy floor. He made me stop, and he asked if they were okay. The men were very nice and they told him that they were fine. Ethan continued to ask then why they were sleeping on the floor, and they said that they had nowhere to live and no money. Before I had time to say a word, Ethan asked them if they were hungry. Both men were very sweet when they lied and said that they were fine. But Ethan couldn't leave it there. He asked them if they wanted hot chocolate, and both men smiled. They looked frozen, and my heart really ached for them. They weren't faking their situation, they had really been sleeping on that snow covered floor. I can't even imagine. Ethan and I went to the nearest McDonalds, and I let Ethan choose their breakfast sandwiches and hot chocolate. When went back to the men, and their faces lit up. They made Ethan feel so special. At one point Ethan asked if they wanted me to be their mummy. He said if you had a mummy, you would never be in this situation. I think all of our hearts melted at his words.

I'm an incredibly lucky mum, and learn so much from my children.

My first Splash - Brendon

Brendon came into my life as he was hitting his teens, but he is every inch my son.

When I had given birth to my other children, there was that moment when you get to hold them for the first time, and you get that feeling. You know, the feeling of knowing they are yours. Well, I didn't expect to have that with Brendon since we were late off our starting block, but I couldn't have been more wrong.

It was the day of my wedding to Arlan. I was in the bedroom at Carma, and Rich's house, waiting till it was time for me to make an appearance. There was a knock at the door, and it was Brendon. He had come to tell me that everyone was ready. He came into the room, and he gave me one of those really sincere hugs that feels more like a squeeze, and I squeezed him back. With all the excitement of that day, and all the feelings already buzzing through me, I was surprised to feel even more during that hug. It was the very same feeling I got when I held my other children for the first time. It had nothing to do with birthing, or how tiny and dependent they were. It had nothing to do with the anticipation of their arrival, but it had everything to do with that knowing, that wonderful knowing that you are meant to be together. Brendon was mine, and I loved him with everything in me.

I love being his mother, and only wish I could have been there for more of his life. But I'm here now, and I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. I swear, there is no nicer name then Mother.

Letter to my Dad

Dear Dad,

With all that I know and believe, I hate that you have gone. I still remember the phone call when you gave me the news that you were dying. It took a while for it to sink in, and even then, I wanted for some miracle to make it go away.

It had been years since I had heard from you, and I didn't want that to be the call I got, but somehow, in my heart I knew that it would be. Strange how we seem to know things.

I remember you telling me that you didn't understand how I could forgive you for things that had happened, but Dad, we have all made mistakes. I'm extremely flawed and just threaded with imperfections.

I missed every day you weren't around. I wrote you a letter every Fathers day and have them in a folder because I didn't have an address, but you were never forgotten. You were always missed, wanted and needed.

I hope you knew how much I loved you before you passed.

I wanted to be there for you, and as much as you understood, I hate that there was so much distance with me living in another country. I do think that I got to tell you things on the phone that may not have been said if I was with you. And those conversations are my favorite memories. We talked in a way that we never have before, and I thank you with all my heart for being so open with me.

Even though you were dying, and there seemed little to be grateful for, I loved Fathers Day. I loved sending you a blanket that I made with your granddaughter, Gabby. She poured all the love in the world into that blanket, and I hope it warmed your heart as well as your body, because you were tucked into bed with love.

Thank you for everything Dad. I know it wasn't easy to adopt a mixed race kid back in those days, and I know you took a lot of crap from so many people. It wasn't like today where you have your Brad and Angelina making it all look cool and easy. There were a lot of judgments, and a lack of understanding, even from family and friends.

Thank you for finding me again, after all these years, and not leaving this life without saying goodbye to me. I don't think I could have handled that.

Thank you for telling me you loved me too. I never stopped being your little girl Dad, and I never got too big to hear those words.

Forgive me for all the mistakes I have made. I know they are many. There are things that I'm so ashamed of that I can hardly stand to even admit them, and if I could take them back I truly would.

Even though you were absent for many years, knowing that you were somewhere out there, made things feel okay somehow. I hate the pain you suffered, and the fear you felt, and I'm so proud of you for being so strong and brave. For the times when you talked to me on the phone when you barely had enough breath to breath. And even when I would offer to get off the phone so you wouldn't have to struggle, you would stay on the line and give me all the breath you could spare until it was too much.

I can't begin to tell you how many times I have broken down since your death. Although there was so much of my life without you around, I had no idea how deeply your life had impacted mine, and what a huge gaping hole you would leave me with. I know and believe I will see you again one day, but I'm an impatient pansy girl who wants her dad now.

The hardest thing I have done is pray for your suffering to be taken, because we both know what would have to happen for your suffering to leave. It was hard to do that when I just wanted to beg for your life to be made whole.

Your life is imprinted on my heart Dad. There is no doubt of that. I look forward to the day when I can see you again. My joy will be full when I get to wrap my arms around your neck and tell you I love you once more. Stay close to me Dad and know you are loved beyond measure.

The heartache I feel says a lot about you and the impact you have had on me. We must have done some things right!

By now you have figured out that there is a God. You can't go beyond the veil of this life and not realize a thing or two. I'm not right about many things, but I KNOW there is a God. And because I know this, I KNOW I will see you again. It doesn't make me miss you less. And grief is something we are suppose to experience, so knowing I will see you again may not make all the hurt go away. But it does give me hope Dad. I don't understand everything, but I do believe God has is aware of each and every one of us. He placed us together, and our love will continue forever.

Miss you till I see you again.

Lis x

In loving memory of my Dad

At the age of 61 years, my dad lost his battle with Lung Cancer. I made this video from some of the photos I have, to celebrate a life too short. I miss you desperately Dad. xxx

Me and my Mum