Posts Tagged ‘mother’


“Global Warming: It is a hoax. It is bad science. It is high-jacking public policy. It is the greatest scam in history.”~ John Coleman

So here’s this young single mother. She’s unable to care for her own child. Between school, work, her life, there’s just no room for her child. And she gets on to Facebook and cries to the world of morons who will listen to her that she’s having to give up her child and surrender him to foster care.

Why?? Because she’s a dumb bitch and thinks she can’t take care of him any more.

You know…. the more and more that I hear about these kind of stories, the less and less that I believe in and trust in humanity as a whole.

The only part about this story that is its saving grace is that IT IS A HOAX!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yes, Teresaa Perez is NOT giving up her child to foster care.

Personally once I found out that this was all a hoax, a few things had to happen.

#1- I had to remove the link from my own Facebook page. #2- I had left a comment to the person where I got the link from, and told THEM that it was a HOAX. #3-  Roll my eyes because this person is the SAME person that just constantly puts up anything on their Facebook page without regards to researching to see if whether or not it is true.

Here on Dambreaker, I do my best to research something before I post it. And yet since I am human, I do make a few mistakes here and there. But there’s that quality of personality which drives me through the roof when a person makes a simple mistake like this, but then continues to do so with reckless disregard of what’s going on.

I’ve lost a few people on Facebook because of it. And I suppose that this is no exception that I will lose this one as well.

It does not make any sense to me for anyone NOT to look these things up for themselves and then make their own decisions on what is best. I just don’t get it.

As for this single mother, I no longer know whether she even exits or if that’s her real name or whatever.

But its fooling everyone…. including me!

Good one, Facebook. Good one.


Twenty-Five Years

Posted: July 26, 2012 in Uncategorized
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I never would have thought that this day would come. 

I didn’t ever think that it would. But it has. And I definitely never would have been able to tell you so many years ago what I thought it would be like.

Twenty-five years ago on this day, I lost my mother to cancer. In my mind it is rather difficult to believe that it has been that long.

Sad to say that some of my memories of my mother when she was with us are starting to turn into shades of grey and white. But not all of them. I will sometimes remember certain times growing up when she was not sick.

Nevertheless, this was “the day”.

Each of member of my family remembers it in their own special way. Perhaps they don’t remember all of the finer details of that day, but we all do remember.

I wrote about it in my blog one year ago. If you care to read it, you can find it here:

I can still hear the voice of my mother yelling at me until it cracked. Usually that meant that I was in big trouble. And ironically it is that yelling voice in my head that comforts me to a point. Although the mental image in my head of what my mother looked like is almost gone. I personally do not own any photographs of her when she was still with us. Other members of my family however do have some photographs.

Last night, I remember feeling very cold. And there honestly wasn’t any reason for me to be that cold. That was a bit strange. But I guess that one could argue that the cold feeling that surrounded me was my mother wrapping me in her arms. Others probably wouldn’t see it that way at all.

Then I had a particular memory of seeing a photograph of my mother standing by the sliding glass door. There were no lights on and she was in her night gown. Her hair slowly starting to come back after all of the chemotherapy and radiation treatments. Half of her body was in a bright light from the natural light that  came through the glass, and the other half of her body was as dark as the rest of the house. The family dog laying at her feet, staring out through the glass door as my mother was. It was taken a few years before she would pass away. When I remembered that photograph, I cried.

Everyone handles death and grieving differently. Some cry, some weep. I tend to be the one that talks about it, over and over again.

And yet through all of the sadness and tears, I must always remember that my mother was someone who loved her children. That includes me.

There are some children in this world who have parents that don’t bother to care. I’m fortunate enough to have had a mother who did love her children very much. Even though among my two brothers and sister, we always seem to have stories or memories of our mother beating our asses when we did something wrong. Of course that is grossly an exaggeration. She did love us enough to let us have it and discipline us when we did something wrong. And now when it is talked about, we laugh… even though back then, I’m sure we all cried our eyes out when we got punished.

Today is no difference in the matters of difficulty than any other year that has passed. But I think that what I CAN remember is something that I can hold on to and nobody can take it away. I still miss my mother and I love her. It just feels strange to say that she has been gone for so long.





“All I want to do is speed, speed.”~ Miki Gorman 

This evening, the rest of the hustle and bustle of people coming home in rush hour traffic provided nearly an hour and a half of unusual entertainment.

This all came about because apparently over the weekend, I had missed a lot of criminal activity going on across the street and in the alley across the road.

Now I live in a gated community and that is  security for the people that live here…. if you want to call it that.

But in this alley has been reports by my neighbors of prostitutes having sex, drug deals happening, and plenty of intoxicated people trying to stay off the streets and not get caught in public.

I told the neighbor that when these things were going on, to call me. I wanted to see this for myself. Honestly, sometimes its hard to believe. It seems as if the police are constantly being called by someone, my neighbors in particular, for all kinds of things that happen during the night and especially during the weekend.

I figured that if I saw it for myself, then I could be someone else that would be constantly calling for help to make the presence of police grow in order to keep ourselves safe from these people who are doing drugs, having sex, and other activities and causing concern for the neighbors and their safety.

After doing some research, it was shown that my neighborhood alone had over 143 crimes committed. From property damage, break ins, assaults, and everything in between. All of that happening in ONE month. And a large part of those crimes happening directly across the street.

I’ve not been involved in any of these assaults, or been a victim of one in a long time. Thankfully. And I hope to never be in one ever again.

So then around 6:00 PM, I received a telephone call from one of the neighbors. They were telling me about how they had purchased this movie on DVD called “Nuns & Guns”. From the verbal description I was getting, it sounded like a T&A flick.  But then the neighbor abruptly hung up on me because they had seen the police trying to stop a city bus and get it turned around.

Then another neighbor called and said something was going on and that the police were everywhere. So I went down to the other side of the property and I was being told that a vehicle had hit a woman and her two small children. The police was busy diverting traffic through a grocery store parking lot to get to around the intersection in which this unfortunate accident had happened.

It was apparently bad enough that they had a policeman in the middle of the street, trying to get cars away from the scene. Myself and the neighbors would find it amusing that some of these drivers were trying to take things into their own hands and get around a parked city bus on their own terms, while ignoring the direction of the police. These people were stopped and given citations. And multiple ones at that!!

After a while, we would yell at people walking along the sidewalk to see if they knew anything from our side of the gate. We had been told that there was a mother that was hit by a vehicle and she had two small children with her. We also had been told that there was fatalities, saying that the mother and her two children were killed.

We all stood there, hoping and praying for the best. We couldn’t see the crime scene from being on property. But none of us was stupid enough to interfere with a crime scene… just to see what had happened.

We continued to watch and shake our heads at people getting pulled over and getting citations for their being impatient, as well as their stupidity.

Meanwhile, I sat there in silence thinking about my own experiences with traffic accidents that I was personally involved with.

In the 90’s, I was sitting in the passenger seat and this guy was noticing that he was going too fast, so he hit the brake hard enough that his vehicle thought that it was coming to a stop and the passenger side airbag decided that it wanted to make out with me. So I got punched in the face by it.

Then around December of 2007, I was again in the passenger seat of my (then) girlfriend’s car at a red light. We were having a fight about whether or not to see a display of Christmas lights on display in a local park. A inebriated man in a truck came up from behind and hit us. It did several thousands of dollars of damage to her car that was only two years old. We sat there and waited for the police and we did go to the hospital to check to make sure that we were okay. Both of us ended up on a butt load of pain killers and she missed a day of work. And needless to say, when Christmas rolled around we were still kind of banged up.

But this traffic accident that happened earlier today mostly reminded me of when I was a child and I was walking home in my neighborhood to make sure that I was in the front yard before the street lights came on. I was tired and sat down on the curb only four houses away from home and this driver came barreling around the corner and narrowly missed me and a mailbox. It was the first time that I would EVER give a report to the police because “I almost got hit by a car”. 

I remember getting up and started to cry. By the time I got home. The entire neighborhood, complete with kids and their parents were all in my family’s driveway, and a policeman was surrounded by everyone. They had heard about this kid that almost got ran over, and I announced that it was me.

So then the policeman asked me questions like what color was the car? Could I remember the license plate? What did the driver look like? And so on.

It was very scary for me to have gone through that because I started to freak out about the fact that I was going to have to go to court and “tell on this guy” in court, and I would miss school and everything.

My father instead, went to court. And to this day I don’t understand how or why that happened instead of me going.

But then again, I was only six years old when this had happened.

I watched the late night news tonight. As predicted, they had covered the accident. I was relieved to hear the reports that the mother and two children were sent to the hospital, and they did NOT have serious injuries. So the information that we received about them being killed was incorrect. I was happy to hear it, and hope that the mother and her two children will recover from this real soon.

But it does raise questions with my other neighbors about just how this had happened. A LOT of people around here jaywalk. They ignore crosswalk signals and what not. But one commented that the crosswalk, even if someone hit the button to activate it, the signal doesn’t last very long at all.

So the mother either was jaywalking with her children, or just didn’t have enough time to get to the other side of the street before this happened. Of course, we who live here will never really know the truth. None of us was an eyewitness to the actual accident when it happened. We just noticed the flurry of police officers and police vehicles in the area. Meanwhile, trying to get three city buses turned around and still direct traffic and divert them to go another route and away from the crime scene itself. And of course, a lot of people got in trouble for doing their own thing.

That was the excitement of the day. I guess “Nuns & Guns” will have to wait for another day.






Posted: July 25, 2011 in Uncategorized
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“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness.”~ St. Paul

The 26th of July is a date that is no more absolute in my mind and in my life than Christmas or my own birthday.

The words within the quote of this blog post are the ones written on the tombstone, of my mother.

My mother died of ovarian cancer over twenty years ago and each time when this date arrives, I am reminded of the sorrow, the loss, and the pain that my entire family and I went through on that day.

Some of you who have been keeping up with this blog already know. Some of you don’t. And for those who do not, I had promised that I would write my story of that horrible day so that you may know and understand. As difficult as it is to think about and experience through memory, here it goes.

She battled with it for about four years. I have memories of doing what I could to help make my mother feel more comfortable by massaging her feet because I have very strong hands. Most of the time, it worked. So the story really begins That Tuesday and Wednesday before, mainly Wednesday.

I was called away from the dinner table for the second evening in a row. Interrupted from eating, and called into the bedroom of my parents, to actually help give my mother a back massage. Everywhere I had massaged, my mother claimed that it hurt. She was weak and unable to breathe. My father called the local doctor and asked for him to have oxygen brought to her. The doctor replied that oxygen could be brought into the home, but it would be brought by the following day OR my mother could go into the hospital where she would receive oxygen almost immediately.

I think that for my father, it was a no brainer decision to take my mother into the hospital. I had a terrible feeling about it, but was glad that she was going to get oxygen so she could breathe. Also, I was inwardly happy that I would be able to finish eating that evening, unlike the night before on Tuesday by the time my arms were so exhausted from massaging my mother’s back, it was time for bed and food was gone.

I pleaded with my father to allow me to return to the dinner table to finish eating. He allowed it and I told my mother “I love you.” She replied, “I love you too, sweetie.” in the most shallow of breath I have ever heard anyone speak. A common whisper would have been louder by comparison in volume.

Wednesday night, my mother was admitted into the hospital. She would never return back home. My sister shouted out the same thing as my mother was being helped from her bed to the car to go to the hospital. Almost at the last possible second of being heard, she shouted out, “I LOVE YOU, MOM!”. That time though, I did not notice a response.

The following days my siblings and I tried to go on “life as usual”. We were used to my mother being in the hospital because of chemotherapy and doctor’s visits and tests and what not. Sunday, the 26th was a day that was out of the ordinary.

My father was not in the pulpit, my siblings and I were not a part of the congregation during Sunday morning. It was just “weird”. Instead, we had gone up to the hospital to see my mother. When we got there, all I could see and hear were the sounds of normal routine hospital life. Machines running and beeping. My mother’s pulse and heart rate was terribly slow, but it was there and that’s all that mattered to me at that point. If it was beeping… she was alive. I feared the long steady drone beep while we were there, I just didn’t want to hear it.

My mother lying in her hospital bed, her eyes closed. I gazed upon her chest to watch it move slowly up and down, up and down. All the indications that I needed as a child to be assured that everything was still okay.

My father called out to my mother using her first name. She jumped. Her eyes opened for about a second, then her eyes looked about the room to see all four of her children standing around her in the room. Her eyes shut again, and it was back to slow breathing and machines beeping.

Some of us started to cry. By “us”, I mean us four children. I started to as well. A nurse came in and saw that I was sobbing and she attempted to console me. She actually removed me from my mother’s hospital room and escorted me down the hall, turning the corner and placed me into an empty hospital room where I could be all by myself to cry as much as I wanted…. telling me it was okay to cry.

When I noticed my family had walked by the room in which I was sitting, I sprung up and chased after them to catch up. My father scolded me for running out, but I explained that I was brought there. He then soon apologized.

We had lunch as a family, then came home. My elder brother having to go to work at Wal-Mart that afternoon. The rest of us, who were too young to be by ourselves were kept company by a woman who had a knack for entertainment that we found dreadfully boring in our youth. The board game, “Rummikub” and the card game, “Phase 10”.

These two games whenever I see it, inwardly reminds me of that day when I lost my mother. Even though now, I do play Phase 10 from time to time with my neighbors.

By the evening of the 26th, my younger brother and I were in a fierce battle of Phase 10 with the woman who was there to watch over us. It was coming down to the wire and the game finally came to a conclusion. I thought deep in my mind, “Great! We’re done with this long boring game, and my brother is coming home and so I don’t have to play this stupid game no more!!”.

I was right. My brother came home from work and before he even had time to set down his keys, the telephone rang. By that time, I had got up from the table and refused to clean up the cards and was heading to the bathroom to use it.

For my older brother, it was like he didn’t miss a step. He walked in, kept walking and headed straight for the telephone. By that time, I was making my way down the hall to do what I had to do. But he hung up as quickly as he answered the telephone and shouted, “Everyone. Dad said ‘let’s go’.. so let’s go!”.

Then he looked at me and kind of snarled a bit for going in the other direction. I told him what I had to do, and he let out a sigh of frustration. So I went and did my business.

My older brother and I will talk about this from time to time and he honestly has no memory of coming down on me for having to use the bathroom, and profusely apologizes to this day.

After that, we got into the car and sped like crazy. My older brother ignoring most STOP signs and only pausing for one red light before reaching the hospital.

I remember staring at my sister while riding in the back seat of the car. Her face a completely blank slate. Her mind had to have been racing, just like mine was. But no emotion she showed. Just sitting there breathing softly to herself.

We flew up to the elevator and getting off, we passed the nurse station and was met up by my father who quickly pulled everyone of us four children into a conference room. We did not find this fair at all because my mother’s room was just two doors away from the corner.

My father stood there, ignoring random questions. “Where is Mom?”, “Is she okay?”, “Where have they taken her?”– and so on.

When everyone was sitting down in the room and the doctor walked in, my father announced that my mother had gone into Heaven.

Nothing but grief, pain, and tears could be felt or heard for several minutes.

I asked my father, “When?”. He told me several minutes had gone by when she had died. I looked down at my digital watch that was on my wrist and counted it off. She had died at 7:24 PM.

The doctor that was standing there suggested that we all go in to see her. Two at a time. But I was so scared. I had never seen anyone that I loved dead before. I didn’t know what to expect, so terrified of what I might see. But the doctor was encouraging and eventually I did go into her room. I went up to her side and touched the bed, accidentally I had touched my mother on the arm. I was expecting her to move. I wanted her to jump just like she had when my father called out her name that morning. But she did not.

Even a few days later when we would view the body at the funeral home, I kept hoping and believing that she would wake up.

When we came home, everyone was in tears. My younger brother and I went to bed, staggering to get ready. Filled with grief. He and I shared a bedroom and even slept in a bunk bed. I remember listening to the sounds of my younger brother on the top bunk crying his heart out, it was unnerving. I had never heard him cry like that before and haven’t since.

My mother’s battle with cancer was finished. She also was no longer with us. I had no idea that young, what it would be like without a mother. She was a stay at home mother because of the special needs of me having a disability. She did everything for me. And I mean, EVERYTHING. It took my older brother almost a year after that to teach me how to tie my own shoes.

For many years, I would always think that “If I only didn’t have to pee, things would have been different…”, however that would take a long hard lesson to know, that was not true.

Personally… I was utterly lost and alone. Everything would change. My father would pick up where my mother had left off, because he felt he needed to. My father would eventually re-marry and I would grow and learn as I would need to.

Still, with each 26th of July that passes, nothing in the world surpasses the moments where I will think about my mother. Even after so many years that this happened, it is like it happened just a few days ago.

I will listen to the song that my mother & I would sing together whenever we would hear it on the radio, and think of her fondly.

I’m still here, mother. I love you.

Today. The 16th of July 2011. Today would have been the 50th wedding anniversary of my parents.

Fifty years is a very long time. A marriage that lasts that long seems almost impossible in the 21st Century, with the divorce rate as it is today. It seems as if married couples cannot even make it to their fifth wedding anniversary, much less 50 years of marriage.

But today is especially difficult for me because my parents were only married 26 years & 10 days before my mother died of cancer. She left behind a husband and four children. And now it is very hard to fathom the possibility of what it would have been like if my parents to have been married for so long.

I have in my bedroom the wedding cake topper that was on their wedding cake so many years ago. And I am sure that my father still has the wedding photo album somewhere in his home.

This day has already become emotional for me. And it is approaching 3:00 AM. So I do not know what the rest of the day will be like. Probably full of tears and memories. My mind is totally full of wonder. Trying to imagine what it would be like for my parents to have been able to celebrate a milestone anniversary. I wonder how much different my own life would be today, if they had been able to celebrate. But it something that I will never know.

July is a roller coaster month for my family. At least it is for me. I would not really want to speak for the rest of my siblings nor my father. We are the same blood, the same family, yet so very different in how we have managed our own lives during these certain days.

My father just celebrated his birthday a few days ago. Then the rememberance of their wedding anniversary, and then a few days later after that towards the end of the month, would be the anniversary of my mother’s passing. It has always been extremely difficult for me. I will blog again when that anniversary comes and deal with the topic of the loss of my mother.

Today, I miss her. And I love her. And I am ever so happy, grateful, and appreciative to my mother for giving birth to me.

Each person deals with grief differently. I do my best with it. Dealing with death has never been, nor will it ever be something easy.

So as I retire for bed (at last), I will think of my mother and tell her that I love her still.