The sadness of anniversary dates...

Josh with brothers Jacob & Isaac 1996 (photo by Pat Jarrell Shortt)

By the calendar, tomorrow, September 13th, marks two years since Steve and I were told that our son, Josh, was murdered. By the days of the week, I think of the second Friday of September and remember sitting in our family room after hearing on the news that Matt Johnson - one of the last known people to have seen Josh - had been kidnapped. There were anxious calls with sisters Sue and Marty, as well as friend Lynn, speculating if Josh had also been kidnapped as we searched for answers about his disappearance. I remember sitting here, working up the courage to call Tim Horne at the Orange County Sheriff's Department to see if there was any connection between Matt's kidnapping and Josh and then when I did make the call, was unable to reach him. All of us were on pins and needles trying to get to the bottom of a connection, feeling very emotional and maybe even on a psychic level, knew there had to be a connection but were getting no answers. It had been nearly two months since we last saw Josh. We were consumed with worry. By the time I actually did get Tim on the phone late in the day, he was upset with me for interrupting his interrogations and since he had never met or spoken to me, only to Steve, he insisted on speaking with Steve, which added insult to injury to me. He explained that he was not going to jeopardize an ongoing investigation by giving out unauthorized information to someone he didn't know and promised he would call if and when he had any information for us pertaining to Josh.  Later that evening he called back to apologize for his abruptness. He said he had been up for several days with little to no sleep trying to get a break in the case and he was very sorry for taking out his frustration on us and wanted to assure us he was intensely searching for Josh and felt he'd have some answers for us very soon.

The next morning, Steve and Isaac hit the road for Smith Mountain Lake to go work on the sailboat. I had plans to go to my friend Cely's house to work on making pottery along with a few members of my parent group from work, Georgia, Amy and Rob. I knew it would be a good distraction for me. Just as I was heading out the door around 9:00 a.m., Tim Horne called. He said he wanted to come by because he had a few more questions to ask about Josh. I asked if Steve needed to be here and he said it would be helpful if he were but if he was out of town, Tim still needed to come talk to at least me. He said he'd be over within the next 15 or 20 minutes. I called Steve and told him Tim was on his way over because he had more questions. Steve was near Danville, VA and decided to turn around and come home.

I called Cely to let her know I would be late, put on a pot of coffee, let the dogs out and decided to go sweep the front porch while waiting for Tim. I began sweeping and knocking down cobwebs and had my back to the road when I caught a glimpse of someone's car pulling into the driveway. A minute later, Tim approached the front porch, introducing himself and apologizing, again, for his abruptness the day before. As I reached out to shake his hand, I noticed someone following 20 feet behind him and before glancing up I instantly thought it was a fellow officer. When I actually turned my eyes to see his companion, my smile dropped as my mouth opened. He had brought our pastor, Ray Warren, along with him. My knees buckled as Tim and Ray helped me and I kept saying, "No...no...no...no..." I knew if Ray was with him it was the worst of all imaginable news.

They helped me into the house and Tim began to tell me what he knew. He had been up all night, but it wasn't until much later that we learned why.  Tim said that his investigation took him to a grave near Jordan Lake but the body was too decomposed to make a positive ID. He came to me to get the name of Josh's dentist because they were going to have to confirm identification by dental records. I held onto hope that it was all a mistake and this wasn't Josh they found as I gave him the contact info for Dr. Lenise Clifton. He called her from our house and then left to meet her at the dental office while Ray stayed with me. 

Things tend to get a bit fuzzy for me from this point on. I know I tried to reach Sue, Sherry, Marty and Lynn and nobody answered their phones. I left messages and kept trying. I felt a bit peeved at Marty for not having a cell phone when I desperately needed to reach her. I had no idea how long it would take Steve to get home and I wanted to scream, faint, crawl into a hole or get drunk - any of it - all of it - the whole time hoping for good news but my gut was telling me, "This is very bad."  I vaguely remember finally reaching Sue on her cell and just telling her to get everybody over here as soon as possible.

Somewhere in between, Georgia, Amy and Rob showed up at the house with Cely to check-in on me. Apparently, someone from the church had let them know I had received heartbreaking news. They came to keep me company until family arrived. I can't remember who arrived first, my sisters or Lynn, but I remember everyone being present. I don't remember if Lynn got there with Devin or came alone. Like I said, much of this is blurry to me but they are details that aren't really important.  I think Steve arrived either just before or just after Tim Horne returned and delivered the news that confirmed Josh's dental records. I can't remember.

What I do remember is my family, friends and church rallying to love and support us that day, as well as the following weeks and months that followed. They still do. I have little memory of the week that followed or of Josh's memorial service. I remember Pastor Ray calling friends for us. I remember calling my friend Pearl and not being able to finish the conversation, but she showed up at my door all the way from Florida the next evening with her son, Rick and his wife, Jen. I remember Andy, Carla, Philip and Marla being with us everyday for a long time, holding us up, making sure we had nourishment. I remember Gail and Samantha showing up on Sunday morning with food and hugs, stepping in to take Isaac and provide him entertaining distractions while we laid in bed, exhausted and in tears. I remember wishing my mother was able to be with me and hating the cancer that consumed her body and prevented her from making the trip from Florida to be where I knew she wanted to be and glad that she exerted her influence to send my dad in her place. I appreciated the presence of all our siblings being present, along with several cousins - Debby, Patty and Debbie, as well as aunts Carol and Judy and uncle Ben. Our friends the Fortners, Susan and Andrew Schrank, Carole and Charles Ensign, came from parts around the southeast to be here for the memorial service but I remember very little about spending time with them. And there were my co-worker, Linda, and boss Mark, who checked on us every day, as well as Cindy, Rob, my FAN-PAC, and tons of other friends both far and near, too many to mention here, but whose presence and kindness brought us great comfort. Through all of the sadness the one thing that has been demonstrated to us repeatedly is that we have a network of people who love us and for that, we feel truly blessed. We know you can't heal our pain, but you have done a good job of sharing it with me and Steve. Maybe it's this distribution of the pain to all of you that lifts enough weight from us so we are able to get up each morning and carry on with our lives and taking care of Isaac and Jacob.

Today, on this second anniversary of the date we received the horrifying news, I want to thank each of you for hanging in there with us. We might not be good at always letting you know this, but we love you very much and thank God each day for having you in our lives. You have been our strength and encouragement on days when we felt our weakest and as though we couldn't go on. Thank you for being there. Thank you for not letting Josh's memory die with him. Thank you for feeling that despite his personal demons and struggles, he had goodness and potential. Thank you for feeling as indignant as we feel when idiots in the media focus on the negatives in his life. Thank you for helping us remember that Josh was a likable, fun-loving person who could make us laugh and enjoyed simple things in life, like country music, fishing, riding a bicycle, playing board games, taking walks, sharing time with family, helping neighbors, or eating a bowl of pinto beans with cornbread. Mostly, thank you in advance for standing beside us as we wait for the slow process of justice for Josh. Two years seems like an eternity when you are waiting for trials to begin. Let's hope they begin and end, soon.

Love to all...julie

Memories from a vacation gone right and wrong...

And old high school friend of mine, Al, recently sent me the story about Kulula Airlines, a South African low-fare airline that seems to have a keenly developed sense of humor. On a recent flight, passengers reported hearing the pilot on the PA system say, "Kulula Airlines is pleased to announce that we have some of the best flight attendants in the industry. Unfortunately, none of them are on this flight." The airline doesn't just knockout one-liners over the PA system. They also have painted their aircraft in a lime green color with directional indicators all over the outside of the plane, much like what you might see on a blueprint. I especially like the arrows pointing to "the big cheese (captain, my captain!)" and "black box (which is actually orange)." Of course, the giant imprinted "flying 101" could cause passengers to lose a little confidence.
The airline story caused me to remember an incident Steve and I experienced in 1986 when we made a trip to Cozumel. It was our tenth anniversary and we were in the midst of building our first home together. I worked for an advertising agency and found a really sweet deal through the Hotel and Travel Index (HTI) for under $400 each that included roundtrip airfare, four nights/five days stay in a suite at an oceanfront resort, three meals a day, and two diving trips. Awesome! A few years earlier we both were certified as SCUBA divers and loved the sport, so thought it would make a great diving trip.

Culture shock set-in shortly after we touched down in Cozumel. Of course, it was preceded by extreme fear as the airplane's landing gear touched the tar mac with brakes on. We felt like we were in a mile long skid when we made a rapid, sharp turn at the end of the runway to avoid hitting the thicket of palm scrub. All passengers were thrown into a deep lean to the right as the plane made what felt like a 90-degree turn. There were plenty of cheers when the plane finally came to a halt, safely at the terminal.

Collecting our baggage and moving through Customs was a breeze, but an uneasy feeling began to set-in when we noticed all of the airport security. It was something out of a Hollywood movie set. There were short, native men standing around everywhere, dressed in what appeared to be a navy blue version of our orange prison jump suits, holding automatic weapons while eyeballing the perimeter of  a 10-foot tall barbed wire fence that surrounded the airport. Steve and I gave questioning glances at each other, wondering what we had gotten ourselves into.

Our Cozumel vacation package included what was advertised as "limousine shuttle to and from the airport." We saw our driver waiting near baggage claims holding a sign indicating he was from our resort. We had to wait while other passengers collected their luggage and we all walked to our "limousine" together. It was only us and two college girls from Miami. When we walked out of the terminal with our chauffeur, we passed a stretch limo and walked over to a 20 year-old VW van where he began loading our luggage. The four of us stared questioningly to one another, unable to speak. Our driver escorted us to the open van door and motioned for us to "have a seat." All of the seats inside the van had been removed and replaced with pieces of plywood nailed on top of milk crates secured to the floorboard. Steve helped me in and said, "Well, I guess you get what you pay for."

It was a bumpy ride, in more ways than one. We chatted with the college students who were staying at a resort different from ours. Their package also include "limousine shuttle to and from the airport." The four of us tried to laugh about our predicament and enjoy the scenery along our drive. There was some road construction, which was interesting because there was no heavy equipment being utilized. Workers were clearing the road with pick axes, shovels and rakes. Other construction workers were sawing trees by the roadside and we found it interesting that they were using donkeys to haul away the fallen trees. It was a site to behold and gave us great appreciation for the modern conveniences we have at home and also gave us a visual for what life was probably like in the early days for our own country's settlers.

Our driver took the two students to their resort first. He made a turn off of the narrow pavement onto a dirt road through the palm scrubs and we drove for about a half mile, wondering the entire time if we were being driven to the middle of nowhere to be robbed and abandoned. Stupid us. Anybody could have held a sign with our resort names written on it. We didn't even ask for any I.D. from the guy! All of a sudden the scrub opened up and we were in front of what appeared to be a bombed out building. The front looked more like ruins than a resort. The girls were really scared and we were frightened for them. When we pulled up, another man ran to greet the girls and help with their luggage. We quickly exchanged names and contact info for each resort as a safety measure, just in case the girls found themselves stranded. Then we were off through the scrub down the lonesome road again, heading for our resort - at last. It wasn't very far down the road from the girls' resort, but again we turned down another dirt road through the scrub brush. This time, we came to a guarded gate resembling a border patrol. The attendant was armed with an automatic weapon which he used to wave us through the gate. It was an unsettling feeling as we approached our destination.

Our resort didn't look as shelled as the previous one but it was clearly in serious disrepair. This time, an American met us out front to help with our baggage and check us into the resort. Once we walked through the ruins of the porticoes, the other side of the building was like heaven! The flooring changed to terra cotta tiles and a beautiful garden landscape that opened up to the crystal clear ocean. The beautiful white sandy beach was painted with colorful cabanas and sailboards that we could see across the two swimming pools. Our room was facing a garden and was like an oasis retreat. The service and food were amazing. There was even a domesticated Tucan who begged food from the guests as they dined on the lanai.

The diving trips were phenomenal! When we set out on the converted shrimp boat for our first dive trip we passed the resort where we left the girls. It was even more stunningly beautiful than where we were staying. We never heard from the two girls and imagine they had an incredible vacation, too. Of course, the converted shrimp boat ran extremely slow, which was frustrating for a boat filled with anxious divers. Once we anchored, our dive master grouped us by four's and instructed us to meet him at the anchor. He dove into the crystal blue water and we could see him swim all the way to the anchor. We all began jumping in, one after another. But when I hit the water, I surfaced to locate Steve and that was a mistake. I could see that the deck of the boat was a good 15 feet above the water line and I began to panic that I would never get my fat rear-end back on board. One of my other dive buddies who had already made two dives offered me word of comfort. He said, "Don't worry about it! See that crane and line? They throw that overboard for everybody. You toss your fins and mask into the bucket and they lasso your tanks and hoist you up to the ladder."  Oh, yeah. The ladder that was 10-feet above the water line. Easy. HA! So, I let the air out of my BC vest and began my descent into heaven underwater. I had a few minor problems on the dive with my BC vest. My air tank kept leaking into the vest forcing it to inflate slowly, which caused me to start rising towards the surface, so my entire dive, I had to keep squeezing my arms together to push the air out of the vest. It was quite an adventure.

I've gone a long way around in sharing our vacation adventure to tell you about the airplane. The most frightening and yet, funny experience happened while we were waiting in the airport to depart. Our plane was delayed because the plane scheduled before us was delayed. We flew Mexicana Airlines and were waiting for the AeroMexico plane to leave. The technicians working at the airport kept running out to the plane checking something at the door hatch. This went on for over an hour. Finally, they allowed the departing passengers to board the plane. As they closed the door, two of the technicians took rolls of duct tape out of their back pockets and sealed the door shut. No kidding. When they finished, they walked down the rolling stairwell, pushing it aside so our plane could move up the tar mac for us to board. The technicians were shaking their heads and wiping the sweat off their foreheads and necks, laughing and talking in Spanish, saying what I can only imagine to be words of congratulation about having come up with such an ingenious idea. All of us passengers waiting to board the next plane laughed in disbelief - and fear. I told Steve if our door didn't shut as soon as the last person boarded, we were taking a boat home. Fortunately, that didn't happen.

Sadly, about a month later, AeroMexico flight 498 crashed in its descent to Los Angeles when a second, smaller aircraft collided with it mid-air. There were no survivors. Steve and I couldn't help but think of that AeroMexico plane on the tar mac at Cozumel as we watched a ground crew tape shut the hatch with duct tape. We were glad that it, at least, had made it safely to its destination.

Remembering Colleen and other 4-legged friends

Colleen

Yesterday, my sister Marty had to euthanize her dog, Colleen, who had become increasingly ill over the last six months. Colleen was about 14 years-old, a border collie who Marty rescued from a flea market puppy mill several years back. I remember when Marty first brought her home and what sad shape the dog was in. Colleen had nursed so many puppies in her short lifespan her teats nearly dragged the floor. She looked miserably uncomfortable and was extremely skittish.

Colleen didn't seem to like other people very much in the early days. She cowered at the slightest movement of people around her and noises made her shiver. She snipped at my kids when they couldn't heed Marty's warnings about, "Let her come to you rather than you approaching her because she's not used to people and she might bite you." Marty worked hard to teach her socialization skills and it worked wonders. Colleen grew into the sweetest dog and was a comforting companion for my sister. She eventually learned to tolerate my boys and allowed them to pet and hug on her in a short time. Marty loved the good nature of the breed and eventually adopted another border collie, Frodo. I imagine that Frodo is missing his beloved Colleen today just as much as Marty misses her. It's a sad passing. I hurt for my sister and the grief I know she's experiencing.

All of my siblings seem to have a genuine affection for animals today, but I'm not sure where that comes from since our parents were never keen on pets when we were growing up. Personally, I've always leaned more towards cats ever since childhood but being married to a dog person has helped me to cultivate a passion for canines, too. Some 30 years ago, Steve and I had to leave our long-haired cat, Sydney, with mom and dad for awhile. Dad wasn't very happy about the idea but one day he witnessed a neighbor's Irish Wolfhound preparing to take another dump in his yard and just as the dog was sniffing for a good spot, Sydney jumped out of the bushes and chased the Wolfhound down the road, tail between his legs. From that moment on, dad said that Sydney was always welcome in his house. Maybe that was a turning point for dad in regards to how he viewed family pets. Dog-hating Sydney passed away around age 8 from a brain tumor, but I will never forget him. We currently have two beagles, Judy and Beetle, and one cat, Otis. Past animals in our 34 years of married life have mostly died from old age related illnesses like sweet Colleen. Thunder was our English Springer Spaniel whom we adopted when he was four years-old and laid to rest when he was 17. Wickett was our miniature poodle-maltese mix who was given to us at age five weeks by Steve's sister Debbie. Wickett passed away a few years ago at the age of 18. Our girl kitty, Kiki, died from old age illness when she was 19 and Tipper was 13 when he had to be euthanized after being bit by a rabid bat a few years ago. I still feel grief over the loss of these furry friends whom we always considered to be members of the family.

Before Steve and I adopted our children I remember my mother kept encouraging us to "have children" because she felt we were spending too much money on our animals between vet bills, grooming, treats, obedience lessons, etc. She didn't see the logic in it and felt if we were going to spend this much money, love and attention on something, "...it should be kids!" A few years after we adopted our three children, mother commented, "It might have been cheaper if you had stuck with raising animals!"

I have witnessed a change in my parents attitude about pets over the years. Even though they never chose to adopt pets of their own, they welcomed each of our dogs or cats with warmth and care. They consoled us whenever one of our furry family members passed away. My youngest sister, Mary, lives in the same county as my parents and each time she visited she has carted both dogs with her, without hesitation and without resentment from my folks. When Mary's chocolate lab, Willow, passed away in recent years, both of my parents were sad for Mary's loss and often reflected on what a good dog Willow was and how they missed her. Now that my mom has passed away, Mary still takes Tucker over when she visits with dad a few times a week and perhaps the biggest surprise of all is when she leaves Tucker at his house. Dad says she leaves Tucker for him to "dog-sit," but when I've talked to him on the phone some of those times he is constantly tossing the ball for Tucker to fetch, laughing at what fun the two are having and telling me how smart Tucker is. I'm thinking that Mary leaves Tucker there to dad-sit rather than dad doing the dog-sitting. Either way, they seem to be great company for one another.

At the risk of sounding morbid, I have to share that we still have the cremains of Thunder, Wickett, Kiki and Tipper in our house. It was always our plan to have a family pet cemetery - somewhere. Last year we finally dedicated a Jarrell family cemetery on brother Mark's farm in West Virginia and one of these days I intend to bury my beloved animals right beside my son, Josh. They were his pets, too, and it will give me comfort to know they are all together, resting quietly beside my mother, June, and my brother, Stephen. I don't know if Marty will bring Colleen's cremains or if Mary will bring Willow's to the mountain, but I hope they do. There's something comforting about having these special family members with us forever.

For those of us who elevate our pets to family status, losing them is a crushing blow. After the death of a pet many of us eventually bring home a new furry companion which others mistakenly think is a futile effort to replace what we've lost. While I am one of those people who has brought home a new dog or cat a few months after the death of an old one, I never feel I am trying to replace anything because they are as irreplaceable as a child would be. When I finally bring home a new feline or canine addition to the family after one dies it's simply because I'm ready to open my heart again even though the feelings of grief and loss for the former pet never really leave. I still feel love over the laughter and good times I had with Thunder, Wickett, Kiki, Tipper and the others - and I know Marty will feel that way, too, if she ever chooses to bring home a new family member for herself and Frodo.

I'm sorry for your loss of Colleen, Marty. It makes me cry to think of her being gone and of the grief I know you are feeling. I wish I had a magic wand to make you feel better but all I can give you is hugs. Love you!

P.S. To all of you who have experienced the passing of a family pet, especially my cousin Debbie and friend Pearl who have each lost more than one this year, I offer my heartfelt condolences. I hope you will share some of your own pet stories in the comments section below.

Life in the FB era...

Okay. I am compelled to make a confession. I have a love-hate relationship with Facebook. I've been a member for over two years and there have been periods of time when I go several weeks without signing-in to read posts or play games. Likewise, there are times when I keep the page open in my tabs for days on end, checking and re-checking to see what comments were posted in the past hour.

I say "love-hate relationship" because there are things I really love about FB and things I really hate.

My hate list includes having to scroll through all of the postings from friends who are moving up levels in different games or requesting game assistance (sorry - I know I was once guilty of this myself and while I still play two online games via FB, I now manage to click 'skip' when the prompt suggests that I 'tell friends' about my lame achievement). Other things on FB I dislike include:

• all of the invitations to different causes (events aren't as objectionable but it's too difficult to keep up with everyone's different cause or affiliation)
• all of the automated friend suggestions that come from FB based on friends of my friends - most of whom I either don't know or don't remember
• the constant updates and changes that occur on FB, especially when it comes to privacy implementation
• fear about virus risk from applications that are options via FB but aren't directly affiliated with FB - this includes all of the kisses, hugs, angels, etc., which are nice/thoughtful but my geek gurus inform me that these endanger your hard drive of becoming virus infected (I now do not open them but do appreciate their intended sentiment)
• flaming comments posted by friends and relatives whose philosophies or political views oppose my own, or in some cases, nearly insight me to riot (that's probably top of my list but in recent months I have decided that it really is okay to delete or hide them so I don't have to get the hairs on the back of my neck ruffled. I think this action helps to save relationships.)

What I primarily love about FB is how it has helped me to reconnect with old friends whom I haven't heard from in decades. Some of you reading this might be of the opinion that if you haven't heard from someone in many years then why bother? What could you possibly be missing? That's actually a good case statement and for those who feel this way, I'm not going to argue with you. It's a personal choice, truly. For me, however, it has been a major blessing, even connecting with some old friends whom I might not have been close to in the good old days has been exhilarating for me because it has provided me insight into who I was in my youth and who I have become today. While each of us can claim uniqueness on many levels, we are still the product of many influences during our childhood.  I am a better person today because of the people I knew and friends I had in my past. Thankfully, like most of my old friends, I've matured beyond my high school and college years. Heck - I think it's safe to say that I've matured beyond the person I was even just last year. Maybe it's a natural evolutionary process, genetic encoding, something learned through trial and error or just plain luck. It doesn't really matter. Change is imminent. And, as the Borg say, "Resistance is futile." Sometimes (especially when it involves aging) it's much harder to stop the process than it is to just go with the flow. (Did I really just use the words "mature" and "Borg" in the same paragraph? Whatwhoa!)

Family connections...2007

Reconnecting with old friends and staying connected with family across distances makes putting up with all the other FB frustrations worth the effort. It's also a great way to get information out to a lot of folks all at the same time when you need to convey something quickly. Through reading posted comments I've also been able to witness personal growth among some close friends and family members that I find noteworthy. There is something personally empowering about being able to communicate as easily with others as we can on FB. I particularly like that if/when I post a comment and have second thoughts later, I can click the 'remove' button and all traces are instantly deleted as though they never happened.Wouldn't it be nice if our tongues had a delete button?

In the realm of "If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride," delete buttons for everyday faux pas sure would make that ride more comfortable.

So, how about you? What do you hate or love about FB? Have you ever deleted or hidden a 'friend' whose posts drove you nuts - or deleted something you posted after having second thoughts? Inquiring minds want to know.  :-)

The decision to blog...

I've thought about starting a blog for a few years but life kept getting in my way and distracting me from starting. I've been enjoying reading my dad's blogspot for the past couple of years, as well as one a friend of mine writes and their ability to devote time to pen thoughts has inspired me to finally sit down and begin writing my own blog. Until I actually started clicking on the setup menu bars I had no idea what was involved in creating a  blog. First thing they ask is for you to choose a name.

Believe it or not, it's not easy to choose a title for a blog since I wasn't even sure what to write about. There are too many options and I worried about pigeon-holing myself into a set category. I had seen "Julie and Julia" and as much as I love cooking and reading recipes, I felt cooking blogs were probably overdone (no pun intended). My dad writes a great blog, Life As I Know It, in an op-ed style reflecting on his 89 years of life, his experiences having served in WWII, having retired from local politics, a former career as a journalist and his frustrations over current politics of the day (http://bfjarrell.blogspot.com/).  I've been impressed with his insight about many of today's issues and how he has succeeded in staying focused on the broader idea to get his points across. When I was a teenager I thought my dad was just an old-fashioned fuddy-duddy who knew very little about the world. It's amazing what four decades of living beyond my teenage years did to increase pop's IQ.

And that brings me back to my current dilemma: what to write about for my own blog and choosing a name that is relevant to what my blog series will reflect?

To make my decision I mentally reviewed my life experiences. As I establish my new blog, I have just celebrated my 57th birthday. I was born in West Virginia and my family moved to Florida when I was two years-old and that's where I was raised. I am one of seven children - third eldest, first daughter. I started work at age 13 at my dad's insistence and was an assistant swimming instructor for toddlers at the city Parks and Rec Department. When I was 15, he convinced the publisher of a weekly newspaper to hire me to set type and do ad layout. After high school graduation I was hired as a reporter and photographer in a bureau office for a double-daily newspaper. When I was 20, I decided to move to LA to become a famous writer. By the time I arrived the infamous writers strike of 1973 had just begun. I ended up working in a bank as a teller so I could have rent and food money. I lasted less than a year, frustrated at not being able to live up to my dream, so went home to Florida and returned to the newspaper I had left. That job didn't last too long because I began dating a co-worker and was fired for fraternization. Yes - those were the days when employers could terminate you for dating a fellow employee and it was always the female who lost their job because, after all, men had other people to support. This one had alimony and child support. I never saw him again and barely remember his name but will always remember that our relationship caused me to lose a job unfairly. I ended up moving to Tampa after being hired as a traveling photographer and this is where I met my husband, Steve, in 1976.

Since that time, most of my work has been in public relations of one type or another. I worked briefly at another two other newspapers, a medical center, an ad agency, a community theatre and when my husband and I decided to adopt a sibling group of three special needs brothers from foster care in 1996, I semi-retired to be a full time mom. In 2000, I was hired as a family advocate for our local Mental Health Association. I took a leave for about five years and returned in 2007 to provide support, education and advocacy assistance to other parents of children with special needs. I'm sure I'll cover more of this in future blogs.

So, what else do I know about that might be of help or interest to others?  I know a lot about heartbreak, definitely. In 1973 when I was 19 years old I had a child out of wedlock and relinquished her for adoption. It was a decision I felt coerced into making - lots of social and family pressure - and relinquishment in a closed records adoption system was still the trend of the day at that time. I'm glad it is not the trend of today. I searched for and found my daughter in 1996 and for a brief time we had a very good relationship. Meeting her gave me some closure about all of the secrecy that had surrounded her relinquishment. During my search years I became very involved in adoption reform issues and support for other members of the adoption triangle, which was an interesting life experience.  Going back further, however, in 1966 I lost my oldest brother, Stephen, when he was killed by a drunk driver. Steve and I also lost our oldest son, Joshua, in 2008, and my mom, June, passed in 2009. I've lost a lot of people I loved in my lifetime, so coping with grief might become a recurring theme in my blog.

As I reflect on my life there are so many things I wish I had done differently but as my mother often said, "If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride." In my youth, I never quite understood the meaning of this analogy, but as I matured, I realized she was telling me, however cryptically, that everybody can't always get what they want. Ergo, the blog title, "If Wishes Were Horses..."  There will always be things in life each of us wishes we had done differently and in my blogspot I hope to address some of those issues while also exploring alternate options. I hope you will follow me on this journey.