Farewell To My Mother

When I finally got to St. Croix, I told my brother I needed to go straight to the hospital. I needed to see my mother. I had practiced what my sisters and I thought would help her come back to us. I had rehearsed it in the plane, all the way from Chicago to Puerto Rico. I had so many things to tell her. I wanted my mother to hear how much we still needed her in our lives and we were not ready to let her go.

I wanted her to understand that we had truly forgiven her and accepted her apology for all the years of abuse; that through it all we understood that she loved us and we needed her love to keep us strong. I wanted my mother. I knew that I didn’t have control over the outcome but I was willing to do everything I could to bring her back to us.

We picked up my youngest brother and went to the hospital. As I walked into her room I was in shock. My insides was torn apart and I felt my heart cry but there were no tears, no sobs. Not one sound came from me.

Walking into that intensive care unit room and seeing my mother was the most horrific thing. The worst punishment you can give a human being. I would like to take you into that room with me.

Imagine yourself walking down the isle. The smell undeniable alerts you that this is a hospital. As you get closer to the room, you can hear the constant rhythmic beeping of the machines getting louder. Finally, you are standing right by the door. The first thing you see is all these machines and hoses which you follow as they lead you to the body of your loved one. Then you look at the person; your mother, who has been a special part of you. In fact, you were conceived in her womb and the walls of her insides kept you warm. You developed and got to know that in her, you were safe and loved.

You look at your mother but can hardly recognize the woman lying on that hospital bed. You knew every wrinkle on her face. You knew where every mole was located, especially the one on her ear which everybody thought was and earring. You knew what it looked like when she smile or how it felt when she looked at you but none of this was there.

Instead of the beauty she always was to you, this is what you see: Her eyes, they are rolled up, and the color? Off white, beige looking and some wet substance that looked liked mucous filled what was once a pair of beautiful big, dark, brown eyes. Her eyes were always filled with expression were now filled with an unfamiliar liquid.

Then you look at the rest of her face looking for something familiar that might reconnect you to this being and you noticed that her mouth was open. Her tongue was swollen, extremely dry, looking like a piece of old dried out beef, hanging out of her mouth. A tube pushed inside her mouth and her lips swollen beyond recognition.

Continue to look down, her chest is also swollen and bruised. Her skin was discolored with black and purple spots all over as though the blood was clogged up, not flowing through her veins. Her hands were motionless and stiff. Can you see her? Can you understand why I was in shock?

I touched my mother and I felt like my heart split in half. I held her left hand and it was cold, lifeless. I wanted her to hold my hand. But she didn't move. I wanted to feel her warmth but it was no more. I wanted my mother but she was gone. At that horrendous moment I wanted to die. I realized my mother was dead. I didn't care that some machine was beeping or that she was still plugged to all these tubes and hoses. She was dead.

Everything I wanted to say to her vanished. The moment I laid eyes on my mother, my thoughts went up in smoke together with any hope of seeing her alive again. I kept asking myself, "Who is this woman and where is my mother?" Where is the woman I knew who was filled with such fire, energy and strength? How can this possible be her?

I couldn’t cry for this woman. There was nothing in me to connect me to the person laying on this bed. Maybe I was in the wrong room; someone had to be mistaken because this was not the person I expected to see. It took me a while to get over how distorted she looked. I had to find something familiar that would create a bond to what was left of my mother; an empty shell that spoke nothing to me.

I remembered that the last thing we cried about together was her hip surgery so I lifted the sheets and examined the wound. It was so dry it looked like it had been done months ago and yet it had only been days. It was enough though. I remembered our last conversation and the prayer I prayed over her as she listened
on the phone.

This did not cause me a mayor reaction it helped me bring together my spirit to the essence of her life and to the reality of her condition. This was my mother, the way she was now. My sisters arrived and all together we decided to honor my mother's wishes not to be hooked up to machines. As it was, we had already allowed it to go on for too long according to her request. The doctor asked us to leave her room while the process took place so we waited outside in the corridor.

When she was ready, we went back into her room. Everything had been removed except the machine that monitored her vitals. Her chest raised and lowered as she breathe but it was more like there was a pump inside of her, pulling in air and blowing it out forcefully. This caused a wheezing sound to come out of her.

Little by little, the swelling began going down and she looked like she had lost more than fifty pounds compare to when I last saw her alive. Her pressure kept going down but very slowly. Her tongue went back to normal but it kept sticking out with each exhale, like when children mock each other. It was one of those things that happen and cause you to question how or why such things take place. Pay attention to the following story.

One day while still in Washington, she got upset with one of my sisters. She told her that if anything ever happened to her, she did not want my sister to show up; not at the hospital or the funeral. My sister then asked her, “if you are sick in bed or dead, who will stop me from coming there? They ended up laughing about it. Then my mother made a face –stuck her tongue out and crossed her eyes- and said, “If you show up this is how I will greet you.

Well, when we saw the how her breathing made her tongue stick out, it reminded us about what she told my sister she would do. . It was weird but it caused us to laugh because my mother was a very stubborn woman and often had to have the last word.

With this happening, my youngest sister and I looked at our sister and just laughed. I asked her, “Do you remember how she said she would greet you?” She jumped off her chair and let out a screech and laughing she said, “She is terrible, even in death she has to have the last word. Funny how some things just line up unexpectedly, huh? This was a popular topic among us for a while and a source of joy to see that even though she was clinically dead, something in her created and occasion to remind us who she was in life.

I had been there from the time I got to the island, about a day and a half and needed to go home to rest. So, we asked family members and friends to stay in case there were any new developments and left that night wondering if we would get a call saying it was over. People stayed but they were out in the waiting room.

I couldn’t really sleep but I lost track of time because I was on the phone talking to people that were off island; calling to find out the status of her condition. I called the hospital that morning around six a.m. and they said the numbers (her vitals) had just began going down real fast. I woke my sisters and we drove to the hospital.

By the time we got there, her body was already still. Her chest was no longer swollen and her tongue was back in her mouth. My sisters touched her and caressed her head. I don’t know what they were thinking but I couldn’t take not getting a response to my touch. I watched my sisters as they cleansed her body with such care and I couldn’t even talk. I just contemplated them.

It is customary for family to show up at the hospital to the person dead. Humans are so funny, when you really need them, you could never find them. When you're no longer living, then they all show up as though it makes any difference to you. Anyway, my sisters combed her hair and fixed her up real pretty. Now that her body was not swollen, she almost looked like herself again. So, we called everyone to let them know that it was over. My mother was no more in the land of the living.

The doctor came in and pronounced her dead. He looked at us and said, "You do know that she is dead, right?" I guess he was surprised to see that no one was crying. We didn't even seem in pain for her death. We knew she was dead but we were not ready to face that reality. Not fully, not yet. If anything, to us she had died days ago while we were too far to run to her side.

The family came and saw the body. Some cried and wanted to see us cry but we were like stones; no expression in our faces but that of anger. This is not something we planned but we were all mad at something or at someone for my mother’s death. Even though we did not talk about it, I could see that my sisters and brothers were hurting and each one of us grieved quietly and separately in our own way. It was almost like it would not be real if we didn’t say it.

I cannot speak for my brothers and sisters and how they each felt at the time but I tried my best to be strong for them. I hugged them and comforted them without making a big issue of it. I allowed them their space and time to grief.

I dealt with it by writing my thoughts, expressing my anger and pain silently on paper because I felt betrayed by my mother. Of course, it was the easiest way I found to deal with the loss. It was too great to face it head on. We were supposed to die together like we had always wished for. No one was to leave the other behind to suffer. Yet, she betrayed our pact by leaving me behind to endure her absence. All my life, we spoke about death and how we didn't think we would ever be able to cope without the other.

For two long years, this became my reality. I knew not how to cope. I drowned deeper and deeper in the pain becoming severely depressed. I was lost but I couldn't find myself. There was no me, not without her. How could I function without what I thought was the best part of me? My very essence was missing; I was just like a shell, still alive but only carried by grief.

Every night I prayed and cried to God that I would dream my mother's face but not even the simplest request was happening for me. I needed her to comfort me if only in my dreams. I needed something to hold on to.
For an entire year, all I did was lay on a couch. Sometimes I ate, sometimes I didn't; sometimes I showered, sometimes I didn't. Sometimes I wanted to die and then other times, I must have been dead because I had no wants, no will. I didn't care for anything or anyone. I just wanted my mother back or I wanted to go be
with her. There were times when I remember curling up as if I was in the womb and crying myself to sleep; like a baby, I cried for my mommy. My only prayer was for God to allow me to see my mother at least one more time and I didn't care how or where. I begged for a chance to at least dream her.

My life did not make sense anymore because I felt so empty without her. I was clueless as to what my life would be like without my mother. I knew that she was in a better place, resting and free from sickness and disease. Free from strife, from anxiety and from the cares of the world. Still, this offered me no consolation.

I even tried thinking of my mother’s death as though she had gone on a long trip but that only complicated things because when something exciting or scary happened in the family, I would run to the phone to call her. Then I would realize that I didn’t have her new number and would fall deep and hard, regressing back to where I started.

It took me a while to get over the anger and the feeling of being betrayed. Once again, it all stems from wanting hat I perceived for myself and fighting against what was. I guarantee you, that is not the way to living a life filled with peace. I allowed myself to continue that rebellious path only to find my own demise.

I thank God for His mercies and for His patience. He stood by, waiting until I called on Him for help. He didn’t force Himself on me, he didn’t judge me and certainly, He didn’t condemn me. Unlike man, God sees beyond the pain and is willing to allow us the time and space to work through our issues while letting us know that He
will be there when we need Him.

Losing my mother was a great loss and a devastating blow; difficult to recover from but not impossible. After surviving this, I know that I can conquer all else. Not alone, but with God’s help because He is my only source.

Poem: “Without A Farewell”

I saw your lifeless body, tortured like.

What a confusion my soul felt when I saw you in such condition.

I thought my presence would awake you.

I tried talking but you didn't hear me,I called your name but you didn't answer.

I thought just maybe you were still there,

when I touched you and your body trembled.

How mistaken I was; it was but a muscle reflex.

My heart was shredded to pieces;
I felt the pain but couldn't cry.

Tears rushed to the corners of my eyes
But none ran down my cheeks.

A profound cry invaded me;
But with a tremor my heart was silenced.
I was afraid you would hear my cry.
I didn't want to break your heart.

I wanted to shout, I wanted to yell…
“Don’t leave me, come back, look into my eyes.

Wait for me, remember our promises.”

I wanted to feel your warmth;
The warmth of your lips and arms.

Your beautiful hands were cold and they didn't move;

They didn't interlace with mine

Your beautiful eyes no longer shined
They no longer expressed your emotions;

Love, sadness, tenderness in your eyes, were no more

All I wanted was to find the love in your eyes, one last time

But you were already long gone,
Without saying good-bye.

You closed your blessed eyes
Without giving me your blessing.

You left me without a good-bye,
Without a farewell
You left me desiring, that I too would die.

How Can I Forgive?

Matthew 18:21-22
Then Peter came to Him and said, “Lord, how often shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? Up to seven times? Jesus said to him, “I do not say to you, up to seven times, but up to seventy times seven.

How can I forgive? This question haunted me for quite a time because I couldn’t understand why I should forgive people who hurt me deliberately and repeatedly and for such a long time. They made me miserable to the point of sickness and desiring death more than life but I was expected to just forgive.

Well, as a Christian, I wanted to obey God because I love God and I wanted to follow His laws. So, I went on my knees and confessed to God that I was forgiving my stepfather and I felt that it was over.

Now, his brother, that was another story. He didn’t deserve my forgiveness and I opted to totally ignore him and not even acknowledge him and I was satisfied and proud with my so called act of forgiveness.

Then the flashbacks came like floods bringing with it all the emotions and awful memories of the past and I would find myself back where I started, bitter and hurt.

I struggled with a duality in my character. One day I thought I had forgiven them all, then they would hurt me or if something went wrong and I would feel the same old hate/anger again. It’s obvious I didn’t understand the meaning of forgiveness.

To forgive is:
to stop being angry about or resenting somebody or somebody's behavior;
to excuse somebody for a mistake, wrongdoing, or inappropriate behavior;
to cancel an obligation such as a debt; to release, to let go.

Well, if that is forgiveness, I couldn’t forgive, not for real. I wanted to but I couldn’t find how to do it. Every time I tried, I was defeated by what kept pouring out of my heart. If I wanted to let go so bad, why was I holding on so strong?

I realized that I first needed to forgive myself in order to forgive another. My problem was that I was too comfortable being a victim. It was easier for me to seek to forgive those that hurt me than forgiving myself. The Bible explains that you have to love your neighbor, which includes those who hurt you, as you love yourself. Well, what happens when you don’t really love yourself? How can you love another? When you cannot forgive yourself, how can you forgive another?

I often hear people say that it is easier to forgive others than yourself. Although I understand what they mean by it, I don’t necessarily agree with them . In my opinion it is not easier to forgive another than forgiving yourself. Instead, it is acceptable in our minds, identifying what someone else has done to us and accuse them, to then forgive them rather than it is accepting and accusing ourselves. Therefore, we justify by thinking that forgiveness of others is easier.

I believe that is just the excuse we use to hold on to whatever it is that kept us connected to that hurt or person. That is the link that keeps us attached to that which became engraved in us and we refuse to let go of. Not because we don’t want to let go but because we have ownership and control over that thing and we feel the need to remain its master.

As humans, we don’t always rationalize things intelligently, especially when we are emotionally unstable. When our lives are involved in chaos, we don’t always feel capable of being in control of situations. So, we hold on to the thing we have mastered and often it is that which binds us to our past hurts because that has been our safety net for a long time.

We identify and relate well with our victimization because whether we want to accept it or not, it gives us some level of control. Have you ever been seriously hurt by someone and forgiven them only to feel righteous because you forgave them? Of course yes! Why? Because it gives you some kind of control over the situation and even over the person.

“I am the victim and even though you hurt me so badly, I forgive you.”
Can you read in between the lines of this sentence? Try breaking it down in your own words. So, what did you come up with? I tell you my version.

I am the victim: You should feel bad for picking on me. I deserve better treatment from you; you were unfair in your actions towards me. You don’t care about me and you don’t feel sorry for what I have been through. Can you not see the scars of my wounds, I am seriously hurt.

Even though your hurt me: You are a bad person. You are so guilty and deserve to be punished. You hurt me and did me wrong, really wrong… Because I am a better person than you, I am willing… You don’t deserve my forgiveness, You are not worthy of…

I forgave you: I am righteous enough to be good to you. I don’t have to but because I am a nice person… You should be thankful that… You must appreciate what I am doing because I don’t have to.

Wow! How is that true forgiveness? I call that a sense of pride powered by the ownership of our sufferings and our privileges under the victim’s rights law in our minds.

Can you imagine if that was God’s attitude towards our continual sinful behavior? I don’t think we would stand a chance.

I know that we don’t really stop to think about our actions and the true trigger of them but if we did, we would see that many of the things we do are not done as God intended them to be. We act and react based on our perception of what should be and not by what God specifies it should be. Then we find all kinds of reasons to justify and excuse the outcome or consequences of our actions.

Listen to this story. I shared it in another chapter but since then I’ve learned something new. My stepfather was on his death bed. I felt in my heart that it was a matter of hours before he died and I was doing the night watch so I had private access to him. I made up my mind to do something about the pain and the weight I was carrying around because of him.

That night I waited until everyone left and I gave him time to settle down. I could see that he felt his life coming to a close and he was scared. It was the perfect time to help him be at peace. I held his hand gently and with as much love as I could feel for him; I did love him very much. He was looking at me and when I began to speak, he closed his eyes. I said to him, “Daddy, I love you and I forgive you for everything you did to me.” He didn’t say a word but he squeezed my hand and a tear rolled down his cheek. He fell asleep and the night was quiet and peaceful. The next day, he died.

At the moment, I was doing this in all honesty and with all the sincerity I had in my heart but this sacred moment got contaminated when I allowed myself to revisit it with expectations of what I had previously perceived that moment would be like.

When I thought of forgiving him, I imagined him turning to me, opening his mouth and either asking me to forgive him or at least accept the forgiveness verbally. I was expecting him to say the words. It wasn’t enough for me to know that he had lived with the guilt of what he did, or that he had accepted the Lord and wanted to do right. No, I had a need. I needed him to validate what he did so that I could authenticate and seal my victim status through his confession.

I am sure that if he had spoken words of repentance, I would have been having the greatest pity party ever. Telling my mother and my siblings how sorry he was for what he had done to me and at the same time establishing the veracity of the accounts of my life.

This hunger was rooted on the fact that when I told my sisters about the abuse, I didn’t get the response I expected. In my expectations I didn’t stop to think about what they would feel when I accused their father of unspeakable things. I thank God that although they couldn’t fully relate to me, they didn’t refuse me nor did they deny that something happened to me and their father was responsible for it.

You see, when I offered him forgiveness, I did it with good intentions; I wanted him to die in peace and I wanted him to understand that I loved him and I no longer held evil against him but because I didn’t understand true forgiveness, I couldn’t hold on to the sacredness of the moment. I often found myself falling on my knees to renew the forgiveness I had offered him before he died. Some how, I had managed to turn my forgiving him into another pillar that sustained my sufferings. Instead of letting go, I had risen to a higher level of victimization, all on my own.

Well, I grew weary of the struggle and began searching for a way to forgive those who trespassed against me and I stumbled upon a very popular verse which I have read countless times without being moved. The difference was that this day was not the same as the other days. This time I was ready and open to welcoming a change and therefore, the verse shed new light in me and spoke depth into my spirit. I was enlightened because I was ready and positioned to learn and receive.

Matthew 6:12 And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.

Forgiveness has to first begin with ourselves. If our heart is not right, how can we make a right decision? If we have not tasted from the cup of forgiveness, how will we ever know what it is we should offer another? If we have not been forgiven, why would our heart want to forgive those who have wronged us? If we don’t understand forgiveness for ourselves, then how can we truly forgive?

After reading this verse, these questions bombarded my mind and what I thought I had knowledge of, was no more. My old foundation of forgiveness was demolished. I realized that what I thought was forgiveness had no true value and consequently did not offer permanent closure to the matter at hand.

I repented in my heart before God for rebelling against His gift of forgiveness. I desperately accepted the forgiveness God offered me and because He forgave me I too forgave myself. I simply let go of everything that gave me the right to feel violated and victimized. I released the ownership I had over my suffering of the past and I heard the shackles begin to fall. Then I was able to start the process of forgiving others.

I forgave my mother. I forgave my stepfather and his brother. I forgave my father for not being in my life the way I thought I needed him to be. I forgave people in my past who participated in causing me grief and suffering. I forgave every man who were ever part of my self-destruction behavior and so I continued forgiving down the list until I had no more forgiving to do.

With each forgiveness, tons of weight fell off my shoulders and by the time I was done, the burden was lifted and I drank of a freedom which produced in me a peace I never knew existed.

Certainly, forgiveness is always thought to be about the one who did the hurting, the transgressor, the debtor. The truth is that when we forgive, truly forgive, we let go of what kept us wrongfully attached to that person. More beautiful yet is that forgiveness is about healing yourself by releasing hate, contempt, desire for revenge and negative thoughts which only serve to poison your body, your mind and your spirit.

Forgiveness marks the beginning of a new life. It is a state of being reborn.

I forgave those who I once despised. They felt good about it but not as good as I felt, once I simply let go.

Caution! This can change your life!

Some of you approached me, requesting more stories. So, here is more. Don't forget to comment!

Living With Depression
Let me make one thing clear right off the bat. Depression is not one of my roommate’s name. Lighten up, that was suppose to be funny! Didn’t get it? Read it again and this time laugh!

Although depression wasn’t one of my roommates name, it took more time and space in my life than anything or any person ever did. Depression is actually a very serious condition which could lead to serious issues in one’s life and even causes death.

I don’t exactly know where it started, when it started but by now I am sure you’ve figured out, part of why it started in me. I began experiencing depression from very young; to the tune of being prescribed valiums and sleeping pills from the time I was nine years old. I didn’t know what depression meant and to be honest, I don’t think that anyone on earth understands the depth of depression or the full extent of the consequences of such plague.

In my life it was constant turmoil, sicknesses which doctors couldn’t find a reason for, suicide attempts, loneliness, frequent crying, nail biting, hands shaking, confusion, spilt personalities, a life filled with hardship cause by my inability to make the right choices.

My family and friends had no idea of the danger they were living with. They never saw the intense level of threat that hang over their lives. There were times I wanted to die but there were also times when I wanted them to die.

I lived in a constant battle, fighting against thoughts of death and battling the images in my mind. I was always scared of snapping at any moment. The frailty of my sanity was continuously threatened and I was tortured by what could happen next.

About seven years ago, I was at my worst stage mentally. My life was but a fog. I frequently got lost while going to places that were common to me like milk is to coffee. My mind would go blank and I wouldn't remember what I was saying or doing before it happened.

I know this sounds very common to people who do drugs, drink alcohol, or are under some kind of medication but my reality is that I don't smoke, I don't do drugs -never have, I don't drink any kind of alcoholic beverage –never have, nor was I at the time taking any medication that would cause this kind of side effects.

I went from doctor to doctor and all they did was put me on anti-depressant medication which wasn't really helping me. Doctors just kept increasing the dosage and adding new medications to what I already had but I was not getting any better. In fact, I was actually getting worst because all I did was sleep and/or stay in bed all day.

The simplicities of daily living were too much for me to handle. Taking a shower was one of the toughest things I had to deal with every day and there were days I literally had to force myself to shower and to do anything related with me taking good care of myself.

I got so tired of going to different doctors and not getting positive results that I just stopped going to the doctors (I am not recommending for anyone to do so; this is just my experience). Because I was struggling with the fact that the medication was not helping me, I also stopped taking all depression medication (again, not advisable without doctor’s consent). I went through a period of withdrawal where I had hallucinations and extreme fatigue.

I couldn't function socially and mentally my brain was like scramble eggs. I was lost within my own mind and I didn't know how I would ever be found.

The thing is that all the while all this was happening to me, I was serving Christ, I considered myself, living under God's favor and protection. The truth is that somehow along the way, I took a wrong turn and the enemy had taken hold of my mind and was playing all kinds of tricks on me. I was living in fear, terrorized by nightmares, by my own thoughts and hopelessness. Death was the only thing I thought could help me but I didn't want suicide to stop me from Heaven.

One day, out of desperation and wanting it all to end, I called out to God and He answered me. He turned on the light in my life; I began to recognize what the devil was doing and how he was doing it.

God made me realize that all the giants and tormentors were within my mind; I had granted permission to satan to torture me. I believed the lies being told to me by demons and the time had come to make a choice; do I continue listening to the lies which were taking me further into hell or would I believe God and His promises for me?

I cried out to God, the Almighty One, for His Mercy, His Grace and His everlasting Love. I reached out my hand to Heaven and He grabbed me. He kept me from falling into the endless abyss that my life was becoming.

Soon, my memory was getting stronger and my body was following. I got a whole lot better but there was a lot more work to do. I had a long way to go before I could even get to where I could function in my daily routines.

I went to several churches seeking help. I knew that if I could find a church who could help me find my way to the right path, that I would be restored and renewed but the churches I found myself in, had no real depth and a very superficial sense of what I truly needed. It was more of a religious routine instead of a deep and real relationship with God.

I needed more than the usual 3-5 worship songs and a scripted message, which offered no substance to the need of my soul. I needed God in high degrees; not Christianity 101.

When I had given up hope of finding what I need to make it, I was determine to go back to Tacoma, WA in search of a church that would offer me emergency intensive deliverance but God had His own plan. By ways of a church I was attending, I got in touch with a Prophet, and it was exactly what I needed; someone who could teach and lead me to the revelation of the truths in the Word of God. Someone to point the way to FREEDOM from bondage.

In reading the following, I strongly recommend you remember that this is based solely on my experiences and my opinion. You do not have to agree with me but as with everything else I am exposing to you about my life, I will not withheld the truth about my experience with depression.

My confessions are not intended to impose my believes nor my experiences on anyone but to offer hope, help and support to anyone looking to experience change in their lives. God did it for me, He can also do it for you.

Once I went into what was supposed to be a Christian chat room (internet) and got kicked out because I testified that God had freed me from anti-depressants.
The people were offended because those pills were the best thing in their lives. Hey, if it works for you, fine but I wanted something more. I wanted better for myself. I was tired of staying the same or going backwards. It was time for me to step up and go forth and that is what I did with the help of God who promises a sound mind to those who seek after Him.

I consider living with depression to be living under the control of evil forces which are constantly pushing, forcing, obligating, inducing and persuading a person into destructive behavior against those they love and themselves.

Depression is a demonic possession of your will and emotions and a sin against God because it denies the power of who He is. It causes one submit to this evil which has killed many.

Depression is such a force that not even medicine has been able to find a cure for it. Why do you think that is? Demonic possession or demonic activity cannot be cured with a pill because it is rooted in the spirit and not in the flesh. You either cast it out or allow it to take over which means that you die with it because you are no longer in the driver’s seat.

I don’t understand how we as Christians accept depression as just another illness when all it produces, is against God. God produces in us all which is good – health, prosperity, love, wholesomeness, sound minds, confidence, understanding, wisdom, victory, hope and a PEACE which surpasses all understanding. How does depression fit into that picture? IT DOESN’T!

Depression is exactly the opposite of everything I just mentioned. I lived filled with many fears which 1) stole my peace, 2) caused me to be always sick, 3) lacking in all aspects of life, 4) feeling unloved, especially by my own self, 5) segmented with different personalities-all of them as sick and tormented as the other, 6) confused and tormented, 7) walking from failure to failure.

How could one in such state dare say they are God’s representative on earth? What God is this we represent? Not the God of Abraham, of Jacob or Joseph. Not the God of Job, David or the people of Israel. Certainly, not the God of Peter, Paul and John. Definitely, not the God of the New Testament, the Father of Jesus.

God is Power and Authority! He is Peace and Freedom! He is Health and Providence! He is Creator and Protector! God is Breath and LIFE!

Today, depression is no longer an issue and my life has color back in it. Of course, it isn’t as easy as it sounds. It took bleeding my heart out by accepting the revelation of the truths of God. I’ve also have to discipline myself to stay in faith to be able to hold on to my miracle.

I also found my purpose in life and I have come to understand what God has called me for. Knowing who you are and understanding why you are here can definitely bring you back to life.

Finding a church is not the answer but finding where the truth of God is being revealed is. It is the difference between struggling and stumbling through life and actually living as a true child of the Almighty God. Learning, BELIEVING, and applying the truths of God’s word, is the only cure to depression.

I am working on a new book in which I will share in depth the details of the process I had to go through to be freed from the stronghold of depression.

From a world of darkness into a life shines by the light of God and filled with all kinds of good and positive attributes. I have a new perception of who I am, a new prospective for my life and I have become a new person.

My Reality

Hey, I didn't make the rules. Don't think that I don't feel responsible for being abused as an adult. I do. I believed that if I wasn't such a weak and needy person, I might have told on them. At the same time, I also dealt with guilt issues because I know that there were times when I allowed them to do whatever they wanted with me because I was addicted to being abused. I confess that there were times when I wanted them to show up and do me something. I was feeding on that thing for a long time and I developed a hunger for it.

I will not be hypocritical about how I felt about being abuse.
I hated when it was done to me but at the same time it brought some kind of relief. I felt degraded and violated for a long time but the time came when I needed it like an alcoholic need his booze and then, I only felt shame for my feelings.

Part of me wanted the abuse and the other part wanted to kill me. Indeed, I am responsible for allowing the abuse to go on for so long but I was still a child. I was very alone and afraid of being without a mother. If I told, my mother would leave me. She couldn't deal with the truth and found it easier to put all the blame on me and I had no defense against it.

It is not an easy thing expressing myself the way I have in this book. At times, I just have to stop writing because the truth hits me hard in the face and I can't hide from it. I could keep things from you but I am committed to giving you the truth and that means that the mask is off and I will not hide behind my innocence or the fact that I was a victim.

True, I was a victim but not only of my parents and others who hurt me throughout my life; mostly, I was a victim of myself. I abused myself more than anyone else did because long after I grew up, I allowed people to come into my life to continue the abuse.

I have been my worst enemy. I accepted the abuse as a normal thing in my life and I kept it as part of my existence. I have lived my entire life positioning myself for abuse, the perfect victim. I was always willing to be victimized. I needed to be otherwise, I would feel like a foreigner, like a fish out
of water and so out of place.

All my life I lived with the feeling that some day I would be raped. I constantly waited to be raped. Can you imagine that? The thing is that I have actually been raped but I accepted it as part of a relationship.

I was raped many times and never recognized it as rape. To me, it was just the norm. It was just another person who wanted to be my friend and was aggressive in order to prove how much they loved me. “Yep, they must really like me a lot because they wanted to have sex with me and they would force me if necessary.” That was the type of reasoning that justified, in my mind, that it was okay for a man to force me to be with him.

I realized I had a serious problem when I was working for a guy who was abusive to his employees. He yelled obscenities and would even physically push them around at times. I remember him giving an order, which involved about four of us to get it done. I did my part but the rest of them did not know how soon he would be back. They were taking their time and making jokes.
When he got back the work was not done. Only my part was completed but was no good without their task. He asked all of us to follow him. Then he sent me back to my desk. I could hear him yelling at them and the way he treated them, you would think he was dealing with a dog or some animal. He kept going and going, getting louder by the second.

I was overwhelmed and wanted to start screaming. I had to restrain myself because I wanted to throw myself in front of him for punishment. Right then, I understood that my thinking was sick and that I was stuck to being abused. I got scared and confused because I couldn't believe that a twenty-six year old woman could feel this way.

I realized that although the years had gone by, my mind was living as though I was still a child and holding on to the abuse like it was the only thing that was true and valid in my life. I decided to quit that day, the job and my behavior. I was beyond scared, I was petrified for myself. I think a part of my brain was asleep and had just woken up for the first time in years.

I began thinking back at how I was living my life and by the time I was done, I was physically ill. Thinking was the scariest of all things to me because the things I was reliving in my mind were not normal and I couldn’t understand how or why I was allowing myself to live like I was not worth a dime. Things were so bad for me that I was literally in pain and had to stay in bed for several days. That was truly a rude awakening for me and although I wish I could go back to sleeping the way I was before, I wanted more for myself.
I wanted my life to be real but I was in trouble.

Adjusting to a more positive thinking is hard and takes a lot of patience, which sometimes I ran out of. Reconditioning my mind to feel safe and deserving and being treated good or right by others and myself has been a continuous battle,
I face it daily.

God had to step in to take away the self-loathing and abandonment I had for my self. God had compassion for me and poured of His love into my heart. He showered me with attention and cared for my wounds. He washed away the unworthiness and every unholy spirit. God set me free from bondage and broke me out from the prisons of abuse and sexual addictions. My awesome Lord renewed my mind and made me a new creature, one that can love and be loved in the purest of ways.

After so many years of hating and feeling disgust for myself to the point of wanting to take my own life, I have learned to love and appreciate myself. The feelings of unworthiness were always more overwhelming than any other emotion except that of fear. I never felt that I was worthy of being loved or having someone to love. Life had no meaning or purpose for me.
Don’t think that I am saying that I have arrived. Every day our mind is renewed by the Word of God and if we open our minds and submit to God, He brings more light into our lives and we become more and more enlightened.

And do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, that you may prove what is good and acceptable and perfect will of God. Romans 12:2

Therefore we do not lose heart. Even though our outward man is perishing, yet the inward man is being renewed day by day. 2Corinthians 4:16




“To Abusers”

You might not know it,
You might not even care

You might have forgotten it,
But I have something to share.

You did not look into my eyes,
You never heard me cry.
Reality is what you can't deny,
No matter how hard you try.

You came into my life as a friend,
Or a family member I can trust

With me you never cared to pretend,
You gave ample freedom to your lust.

It didn't matter that I was a child,
My feelings, my innocence, didn't matter at all.
You took what you wanted, leaving me defiled,
Wanting to break me, such a fall.Instead;

Compassion grew from suffering;
Pain thought me humility,

Forgiveness brought me healing;
Today, I am and I regained my dignity

.God picked up the pieces of my shattered dreams,

He mended the wounds of my broken heart,

And my life now shines with a beautiful gleam,

Designed by my maker like a piece of art.

Getting Published

3 words describe most of the events in my life; intriguing, interesting, and incredible. Some of my stories will keep you guessing, others will amaze and encourage you and many will make you wonder if such things can even happen to anyone.

It took me 7 years to complete this book. Having to face the reality of who I was caused me to go from depression to depression but the healing I’ve experienced has brought me great peace and now I can truly be of service to those who now need to face their truths.

As a victim of abuse, unworthiness and despair made me hide behind split personalities. As an abuser, guilt caused me to hide behind the pain of my own tragedy, and as a Christian, the guilt of my sins pushed me to hide behind my position in the church and my sermons. Then God called me to write this book and now, I hide no more.

The miraculous hand of God saved me from misery, insanity, condemnation and from a life of sin which was leading me to hell. God took me and loved me just the way I was. He cleansed me, washed my wounds, and renewed my shattered heart. God opened my eyes to a new reality; my past does not dictate my future, I make the choice of living under constant torture or living in the fullness of who He is. I chose to live for God.

My story is a declaration of truths about pain and healing, about falling and rising and about the process that led me to victory. It is about not hiding behind excuses and bad situation to continue down the road of perdition. It is about accepting who you are, surrendering to God and allowing Him to transform you into who He created you to be.

I finished my story but I was told by other writers and some professionals in the publishing world, that autobiographies are extremely hard to sell unless you are a famous person. They suggested for me to do some promotional work of the book by setting up a blog with some of the stories in my book and have people read and comment on them.

So I’ve set up this blog. If you find the stories to be of interest and helpful to others, leave your comments. If you would like to read more, then mention that you would like the book.

I also would appreciate your kindness in forwarding this email to as many people as you can.

A Gift of Love

My sister gave me a gift that I will never understand nor will I ever be able to repay the goodness she showed me through it. While my sister was pregnant with her last child, a boy, I left the island to go meet with my husband to be in Washington, my second husband that is.

Because of the poor care offered in the island, she decided to travel to Miami until she gave birth. When the baby was almost due, I received a call from her; she wanted me to be there with her. I knew that she was a little scared but now that I think about it, I wonder if she had planned things to work out the way they did.

I didn’t hesitate. I got on a plane the next day and was very happy to see my girl who was all grown up getting ready to bring forth another child. When I hugged her she said, “I have been in pain for two days but I refuse to have this baby without you. I have been waiting for you to go to the hospital.

Early the next morning, it was time and she was more than ready. I didn’t know that this day would be one of the most beautiful and fullest days of my life. After the doctor examined her, she informed him that she wanted me in the delivery room with her.

My jaw fell open. Not even remotely, had I imagine that I would witness the birth of a child. She knew my heart’s desire, she knew how much I loved children and how much I wanted children of my own. I guess she felt that this was as close as a woman could come to giving birth if she couldn’t experience it for herself.

I didn’t know what to say and I certainly didn’t know how to react to this. I guess I was in shock because I felt numb. There is no other gift besides the grace of God and the sacrifice of Christ on the cross for my sins, that has meant more to me than being present in the same room where the birth of my sister’s son took place.

I was holding her hand while she was pushing and when the doctor said she was crowning, she let go of my hand and asked me to go see what birthing was all about. There was blood everywhere, it was a mess but at the same time it was the most precious thing to see the head of the baby push through such a small pathway.

The doctor asked her to stop pushing and I went back to hold her hand but she told me the baby was coming so I went back to see the completion of this painful but wonderful process.

The doctor was not ready yet, but the baby was and out came the baby. I grabbed it to keep him from falling to the floor. At that moment, I was reborn into a newness of what life is all about and into a deeper understanding of the love between mother and child. It felt so good, it hurt. My sister then said, there is your son.

It will never be the same as when a woman experiences the conception and the formation of life within the walls of her insides or like the feeling a woman has when the fetus moves in her womb. Yet, this was something that no amount of happiness, or money, or health, or men, or even love could ever be compared to.

That moment was a sacred moment in which I felt whole and complete in every aspect of the word. I looked at my sister and although she was still in pain, she glowed with happiness, peace and a love for me that transcended far beyond any sorrow or hurt I had ever experienced. Nothing could have tainted that moment and it wasn’t because of the actions of my sister but because of the sincerity and the depth of love by which she did what she did.

Funny Love

I can share with you many stories about how loved and wanted he made me feel. He was funny and caring and he played his guitar for me all the time. I had no choice but to fall in love with him. At least, I think I did. He had made me go beyond cloud nine. It was almost heaven for me.

There are many things about him I will remember forever because he made me feel things I didn't know I was capable of feeling and he made me laugh like no one ever cared to. I would like to share one of the most embarrassing, funny, romantic stories I experienced with him. This happened while we were still dating.We had a date and because it was a full moon, we decided it to make it different, more romantic. We made plans to give each other something special. I wrote a poem for him and he found a song to sing for me. Well, the song never made it into the picture.

We were parked in a dark and isolated area. The only light we had was that of the full moon. We sat in the car kissing and undressing each other. Guilt began creeping up on me. We were not married and I knew this was not good and I was hoping that I could control the situation. I didn't have to though, God had plans of His own.In order to take some heat off, I came up with a brilliant idea. Let's get out of the car and allow the romance brought to the night by the inspiration of the full moon to shower our naked bodies. Let's moon bathe.

He was in for that, so we got out. We leaned on the car, holding hands and admiring the beauty in God's handy work. We spoke about our love and about our happiness and any other love topics I could come up with to avoid going back inside the car. I didn't want to hurt his feelings but the guilt and knowing how wrong it was to do this, was almost causing me to cry. Finally, I shut up and agreed that it was time to get back in the car. Like I said, God needs no help from us. He pulled my door and it was locked. He laughed and went around to his door, he pulled and it too was locked.

He looked at me and his faced told the story. I sure didn't have to worry about his excitement anymore. There was no longer a sexual sin threat over our heads. We had a bigger fish to fry.I remember him stammering while trying to tell me that we were locked out. I pulled my door and it was still locked. I walked to his door and on my way there I was pleading and asking God for a miracle. Yeah right, like I deserved any mercy. Guess what? Wrong. It was still locked. I remember trying to put my faith to use.

For a couple times I tried opening the door in the name of Jesus but Jesus was not messing with this one. How hypocritical we are sometimes. Knowing that we are wrong, we still continue to get in trouble and then expect God to rescue us.Well, he realized that no miracle was about to happen that night. Now he wanted to break my glass window and I was about to knock him out. How would I explain a broken window to my mom? I was thirty years old, married and divorced once but to my Mom it was like I was still her little virgin. I couldn't tell her about this.

We were not too far from where he lived so we searched the trunk of the car which we had left open and found an apron. He tied it around his waist and decided to run to his apartment. His butt was showing and he was ashamed of having to run home in such a fashion statement. He said he was praying all the way there that no one who knew him would see him. He had to pass by a bar and restaurant where people used to sit outside and hang out. A guy called out to him and he played like he was crazy answering in gibberish. He ran faster than before until he got home.

Meanwhile, I decided to hide in the bushes because other cars would sometimes come in the area and I was completely naked. I was stooping down in the bushes praying that no insect or centipede would bite me. Every time a piece of grass touched my skin, I jumped and squealed shaking myself off. It was a really funny picture if you can imagine it.

Finally, he showed up in his car where he kept a spare key to my car. I got dressed and went straight home. That was it for me. I learned my lesson on that one; no more moon bathing. Okay, the real lesson is not giving in to the flesh (sin), not even in the name of love or because of the people we love. Our faithfulness should always be first, to God.

An Adulterous Christian

The following did not happen during one of my block-outs. I was fully aware of my actions. I wish I could hide behind the emotional roller coaster that was my life but there is no excuse I can give you, that will make what I did, right or justifiable.

I could lie to you and say that I didn't know what I was doing or that some personality took over but the truth is that I was an adulterer and there is no going around it.

After I realized the huge mistake I had made, I became very depressed. I tried very hard to find ways to be happy in spite of what my situation was. Nothing worked. Of course, I didn't try prayer. I had no one I could go to because I had no trust in my pastor and I had no friends.

I kept hearing that my husband was having affairs. He sometimes spoke to his best friend's wife on the phone and even though I don't know what she was saying most of the time, I could tell that there was some interest on both of their parts.

She always called to complain about her husband, about how lonely she was and that her husband wouldn't even touch her. Come on now! I was much, much younger than my husband, twenty-three years younger but I was not stupid.

One time she called and we were in bed trying to be all romantic. He stopped whatever he was doing. He then rested my head on his chest while he was talking to her. All of a sudden, he began caressing my naked body while talking to her about her husband’s behavior.

His was telling her that he couldn’t understand why her husband wasn't turned on by her clean, soft and mocha skin. I got up, took a shower and went to the living room to watch television. He didn't even care. He continued talking on the phone.

About an hour later, he came to the living room pretending to be interested in continuing what we were doing before. I told him that I felt like I was being disrespected in my own home and in my own bed. He just laughed and said that he just felt sorry for the lady.

Whatever! The sexual expression on his face had nothing to do with compassion. The rumors continued about my husband’s infidelity and even my grandmother would tell me that she would see him several days a week go by her house with a lady in the passenger seat.

I was upset by the whole thing. I wasn’t in love with the man but I loved him. His behavior was unacceptable to me and I felt like I was being walked on because I was trying to be a good wife. I wanted to get back at him while justifying my choices by his actions. When the opportunity presented itself, I didn’t stop to think, I went for it.

An old boyfriend, who always kept in touch, saw me one day and asked me for a date. He knew I was married but so was he. So, he didn't care. Just five or six months after I got married, I accepted to go out with him and I saw him for about a month. We had been friends for more than five years, we were very close, and he knew me pretty well and was very kind to me and my family. He was always there when I needed a friend.

He was completely against me marrying my first husband. Sure, he also had selfish reasons for it but he also knew that I was not in love and that I was already suffering for my choices. Although, he was willing to be there for me, I realized that I was still empty inside and even sadder for myself.

I was very unhappy and I was lost; lost in sin and darkness. I knew it was wrong but I didn't know how to stop myself. I needed something and marriage was not the answer. Neither was cheating but it seemed to keep me from going crazy; that the lie I fed myself. He was a lot more caring and understanding than my own husband but after a month of that, I decided that God deserved better from me. I was ashamed of myself. Actually, guilt was killing me.

I went before God asking for forgiveness every day until I felt released and cleansed. I stopped being a cheater and became a totally devoted wife. I seemed to be kind of an extremist. I go all the way when I decide to do something.

Even though I was not happy, I committed myself to making my husband happy. I made sure his dinner was hot and ready, waiting for him on the table. I often massaged his tired feet and I prepared frequent bubble baths for him. I treated him as the king of the castle. He was happy with my services but we were still growing apart as each day passed because I wasn’t who he wanted me to be. He honestly thought that I was his dead wife reincarnated but he couldn’t accept that I wasn’t.

My circumstances were not the best as I was not in love with the man I married. Worst, he was not in love with me and he treated me like I was a possession somewhat like his car.

There were times when he would kiss me in the morning before leaving, all happy to start the day and then in the afternoon he would come back to the house as though no one else was there. He wouldn't talk nor acknowledge me.

Sometimes, this would last for days even when I would try talking to him. He would just ignore me. When things were better, I would ask him if I had done something to upset him and his answer was always, "You didn't do anything. Some times, I just don't want to talk and I need to be alone."

With all this said, I accept that there is no valid reason for me to break, violate or ignore my vows or the respect I held for my God, my husband and myself. I accept that I was wrong. I sinned and may God have mercy on me.

No one forced me to, no one convinced me and I was in my right mind so I can’t use insanity as an excuse. I knew better but I chose to do wrong on my free will. Sure at the time I was justifying my actions with every excuse possible but down deep I knew that God expected and demanded much more of me.

I had put myself in a prison from which I couldn’t escape because I had not sought God’s will. I put my life, my salvation and most importantly, my relationship with God in danger because I wanted to run away from my problems without having to face them.

I didn’t stop to think about the consequences of my actions. I had no sense of purpose and no sense of direction. I thought that by marrying this man or any man for that matter, all my problems would have been solved.

In my heart all I wanted was to leave home and I knew the only way to do so without having to confront my mother would be to get married. I didn’t consider what God’s plans were for me . I messed up big time and I felt helpless in the situation. Most of the time we are quick to act or react without putting in prospective God’s involvement in the situation and then we are left in a mess that only God can take us out of.

We want God to trust us with the live He has given us just like in the parable of “The Talents” Matthew 25:14- 30, but time after time , we fall short of His expectations for us. We continuously shortchange ourselves because we forget who the real Master is and mostly behave like we have no wisdom.

My Early Christian Days

At one point, my pastor was accused by a lady in the church. She said he made a pass at her and that he tried kissing her. He denied it all. He said she was being used by satan to bring him down and break up the church. I believed him because I couldn't accept that a man of God, a pastor, my pastor, my teacher, and my prayer leader could be capable of such behavior. I began doubting but fought every negative thought that crossed my mind. We all cried and prayed with him, asking God to resolve and bring this matter to light.

Our mother church, sent a representative to help out in the church and to act as counselor/advisor and I guess, to investigate what was really going on. He was keeping an eye on everything. The woman later confessed that it was all a lie and that satan used her against our Pastor. I was relieved because I wanted to keep everything the way it was and I had began trusting my Pastor to the fullest.

The representative decided to stay with our church and it was very convenient for him because the church was built on a portion of his land. The church accepted him and we were all very pleased because he was a musician but also because he was smart and extremely organized which was useful for the church. His wife was our church missionary.

We had lots of celebrations in their home and we became like family. I used to visit their home often because I was usually in the church doing something. I prayed and tried staying neutral when it came to judging any of the situations until something happened to kill my joy. This was the first thing that cracked and weakened my faith.

About two years later, I was almost seventeen, just before starting the service, my pastor called the lady I mentioned before, (the one who told me about the gay rumors), and me outside the church. We were standing right by the door steps. He began saying that he didn't know what it was about us two but he felt he was in love with us. We smiled and responded that we loved him too. He then explained that he loved all the women in the church but what he felt for us was different and special.

At that moment, I didn't think anything of it. I'd never thought he was trying to get fresh with me. He knew I was only a child when it came to matters of the heart. I was still sixteen. What can a man at his age (like sixty) and at his level ever want with me? In him was the father I longed for and until then he had been doing a great job at it.I don't know what my friend felt or thought at that time but I know my mind was not ready to accept reality.

I told myself he just didn't know how to express his feelings of gratitude and appreciation for standing by him in one of his darkest hours. She and I did all kinds of work and fundraisers to help the church. We were committed and were relentless when it came to keeping the church at the status it was expected.

Unbelievable, my pastor tore my heart to pieces! The other lady smiled and went inside the church and I was following her when he grabbed my arm and asked me to wait a second. His lips began moving. "I don't know if it is how beautiful you are or if it's your body or the softness of your voice or just the way you are but you have made me fall in love with you." That is what came out of his mouth. I tried forcing a smile and I said, "Of course you love me, you are my pastor and I am like one of your kids."

This was his chance. I gave him an opportunity to back up and redeem his honor and status before me but he was not taking back his feelings, his words or intentions. He continued to say, " I know it is so wrong; I am a married man and a pastor but I am only a man; a man with feelings for you and there is nothing that can change what I feel."

His confession of love got worst by the seconds. He said, "Every night you come into my room, in my bed and I do things to you in my mind, that I've never done to my wife, who is lying next to me. I know it isn't you I see; it's a spirit but it comes because of what I feel for you. I want you real bad. I love you."My jaw almost hit the floor and he was there like expecting a response. I don't know what he expected me to do or say. Was he crazy?

Now, I couldn't even look at him. I felt dirty and guilty because of what he said I caused him to feel. I wanted to be invisible. He was about to touch me and I pulled away. I wanted to run home but what would people think? What could I tell my mother? She was a master at blaming me for everything and I didn't need to feel any guiltier than I already felt.I went numb for a while. I couldn't feel anything. If someone had cut me, I don't think that I would have bled.

I walked straight to the altar and fell to my knees but couldn't pray; I couldn't cry. I just stayed there trying to wake up from this nightmare, only I was already awake. I knew God was there and that He was waiting for me to ask for help and strength but I was too ashamed. I couldn't go to God after what I had done to His anointed. I was less than dirt. That is all I felt, shame and guilt, condemnation for causing the man of God to sin.

After a while of just being there, I walked back to my seat. For the first time in almost four years, I wasn't able to worship God. I began to weep. I felt pain in my chest. I had problems breathing because I wanted to scream but I couldn't. Shame was weighing me down. It was my entire fault. I was too nice, too loving, and too needy and men could not resist this. I blamed myself for my pastor's weakness. I caused this to happen by always being so available to everything they asked of me.

I found every excuse and used it against myself.I stopped crying and shut down. I didn't hear the message, I heard no singing, and I don't even know how I got home. After that night, it was never the same for me. I became paranoid of being anywhere my pastor was especially if no one else was close by. I just avoided him as much as possible and sometimes he would find ways to either pinch me or touch me while he was with his wife. To everyone else, he was being fatherly with me but I knew what really motivated his hands to find my body and I felt disgusted.

Maybe I could have told on him, to his wife I mean, but she was just so in love with him and she was such a good woman. She stood by him through all that came against him. She believed in him and fought to keep his ministry alive. She was devoted and took real good care of him.

Sometimes, I felt like she knew what he was feeling for me because several times when I was with my mother we would bump into them at the shopping center or a store and he would look at me as though I was his favorite dish. Then he would walk towards me and try to whisper things in my ears. He would say things like, "I love you" or "you are mine" and she would give him a dirty look and sometimes pull him to her side. As a good wife, I believe she knew his weaknesses and tried her best to save and protect him when possible but the cat was out of the bag and he had shown me his true colors.

For several months I ran from him every chance I had. So much that I ended up leaving his church and going to another. I hear people say that running from your problems is not the solution and I think they are right. Because I found myself in the same situation with one of the church officials and yes, he too was married.

Before leaving the church I went to our advisor and explained what happened. His response left me in limbo, just hanging. He said, "How dumb can he be? He shouldn't have told you in that manner." I was shocked. "He shouldn't have told me at all" I cried. He commented that I needed to understand that any man would have to be crazy if he didn't fall in love with me. He said I was a wonderful young woman and if he wasn't married he would make me his wife.
I left my church and went to the mother church where the representative had come from. About a month later, he followed, stating that it was time for him to come back to his church. I was already in position as the youth leader and would have to wait another eight months before I could leave.

What do you know? Like a magnet, he too began pursuing me. This went on for over a year. I was astonished at myself. All the time I looked up to him like a father; I had a crush on his youngest son; his oldest daughter was my Spanish teacher when I was in elementary school and his wife was like a mother to me.

I even helped to take care of her after a serious back surgery which left her paralyzed for a while. All this and yet, he was confessing his love to me? What was wrong with me? What was I doing to cause this type of reaction in men who were supposed to serve as leaders of the church? How could I make this man fall in love with me if I loved his entire family like my own? Of course, I refused having sex with him but the guilt and shame I felt made me responsible for him wanting me.

He started showing up at my house always bearing lots of expensive gifts. I was afraid to refuse his gifts because he gave them to me in front of my mother. I thought she might think it was because of helping with his wife but even after I sat down with her and told her all that had happened, she did nothing. She said I had to take the gifts because he just loved me a lot.

Once again, I felt alone and helpless. There was no one to neither stand with me nor fight for me. I was not allowed to make my own decisions but when it came to saving me, I was on my own.I didn't know how to tell him that all I felt for him was a love that was pure, that of a father-daughter relationship. It had nothing to do with sex, lust or destroying his family or his marriage. Don't get me wrong. He was quite an elegant man, much older (in his fifties) but handsome. He was a serious person and knew how to appreciate life. I admired and liked many things about him but in no way, shape or form did I think of him as anything more than a father figure.

He was a wonderful father to his daughter and he was more than a father to his sons, he was their friend. He was the perfect father and I wanted to be one of his children.Once I realized my mother was not going to help me out of this, I became an easy prey for the wolf again. I fell right back into my victim mode. That was an area of my life where I was the expert.

I wanted him to be the father to care for me like he cared for his own. Instead, I became his conquest. He was like a child with a new toy and I was just allowing him to do whatever he wanted as long as he didn't cross the line. No sex. This went on for about four years. He touched me and kissed me all the time and I felt ashamed but I just didn't know how to stop him. Actaully, I was hoping that he would get to really love me and in time understand my true needs. I wanted him to stop wanting me and making me feel dirty just long enough to see a daughter in me but it never happened. More and more he was determined to break me.

Thank God that this man was not willing to physically force me to have sex. He tried everything possible and at times I felt he might but he was careful not to rape me. He proposed that we elope to Mexico for a while but I refused and finally told him that I wasn't interested in him like that. He then asked me for one last request. "Let me have sex with you, just once and I'll leave you alone." What?! Was he for real? Talk about being persistent! My answer was “NO”.

For the first time, I was able to look him in the eyes and say, "I don't want anything to do with you again." His request was humiliating and it helped me to understand that there was no love, only lust. My first pastor had been removed and was now at the mother church. Now I had not one but two man after me at the same church and I didn’t know what to do.

I reluctantly spoke to the pastor of the church about the constant harassment I was experiencing from this man who was part of the church leadership and he gave me permission to leave the church. He also explained that I was not the only person he had done this to. There were at least two other ladies who had complained about his sexual advances and improper behavior.

This didn't make me happy but I sighed with relief because all along I was blaming myself for everything that was happening but he had been playing the field for a while.

This situation was really hurtful and disappointing because I thought that with him and his family I could become part of something that was better than the life I had. His lust for me knocked down the safety I thought I had found.
Every time our church went to visit the “mother church” I stayed home. I couldn’t handle seeing either of them. At the same time I loved my ex-pastor’s wife and the family of this other man as well and they loved me too but I had to stay away from them. It hurt so much because these people were offering me what I needed and sought all my life.

The church leader kept coming to my home, still showing up with gifts and expecting me to be nice to him. He insisted that if I gave him a chance, he could make me happy. When my mother was home, I would take his gifts (my sisters had a ball with everything he bought for me) but when my mother was not at home, he would leave with whatever he brought for me. At times I hid and made him think no one was home.

Long after this, he would ask me if I love him and would continue to confess his love for me. Time after time I explained to him that he was like a father to me and that was all I needed of him. I went as far as telling him about the abuse I had suffered, all of it, but he seemed to go absent when I spoke. He could only think of his selfish need to have me.

I am now forty four years old (it is 2007) and up to last year when I visited St. Croix, he was asking me to stay with him. He is now a pastor but I am sure that if I was to say yes, he would give it all up to be with me. It is like a sickness in his mind that has no cure.

I have preached to him, I have opened up my heart to him and I have even tried correcting him about his ways because I fear that his church is lacking because of his condition but I have not been successful in helping him turn away from his old ways.

The fact that I speak to him with authority and that there is anointing in my life makes him more determined to have me in his life. Before he used to love my weaknesses but now he loves my strength. It is like he forgot that two plus two equals four. I know he understands the Word of God and he is a very smart man. So then, how can he love the power of God in me and still want me for himself when he knows that is not the will of God?

The very thing he now says he admires and loves about me, the anointing of God over my life, is the thing that comes against his desires and ways of the flesh. It is the very thing that makes me look at him and feel nothing but pity for his soul mixed with dismay caused by his lack of reverence to his position as pastor and more so to God.

He is now a widower and thinks that because his wife is now dead everything has change to his advantage. What he doesn’t see is that God has other plans for my life that do not include him. He doesn’t understand that just the very fact that all I ever saw in him was a father would never change how I see him and how I feel about him, another father who lost his way.

I have forgiven him and as I mentioned before, I try to help him through the Word of God but I’ve come to terms with the fact that as much as I would like for him to change, it is up to him to want the change.

He has a congregation to feed and to guide into the truth which is God and I pray that despite his ways, God has mercy that his sheep don’t die spiritually but that they are open to allowing the Holy Spirit to lead them.

Sometimes we put our sight on men wanting them to be the example to follow but the truth is that men will always be men (when I say men I include women) and because the work of God is not yet perfected in us, we will err. It is wise that we keep our eyes set on God through Jesus who came as the perfect example that we may follow in His footsteps.

Details About My Weird Wedding

We got married in 1990. It was a huge wedding. Between the both of us, we spent over seventeen thousand dollars. The wedding party consisted of the bride, groom, my stepfather and my dad, the best man, matron of honor, ring bearer, the flower girl, the ribbon girl (who opened the ceremony by cutting the ribbons) and seven bride's maid, each with their companion. So the wedding party alone consisted of twenty-three people.

I don't know if this has ever been done before but I had both my stepfather and my daddy walk me down the isle. The church had three doors, one on each side and one to the front. My father came in through the right hand side alone and I walked in with my stepfather, my daddy, through the left door. We then met by the main entrance, the front door where both men were at my side. All three of us walked to the altar and then my father gave me back to my stepfather who then gave me to the groom in marriage.

I know, pretty complicated but I was pushed against the wall by my family, my emotions, my compromising ways and my pain. I was mad at my stepfather because even when he was so ill, he was still looking at me and making me feel dirty. The actual abuse was no longer going on but he was still the same person even after all those years. Just before the hurricane, I caught him trying to peep through the bathroom window while I showered.

I wanted my real father to be the one to walk me down the isle. I wanted my marriage to be good and blessed. Instead it was like a curse. It felt wrong and dirty. My brother was not aware of what I was hiding or of all I had gone through. So, when I mentioned that I wanted my father to be the one to walk me down the isle he got infuriated and he threatened to walk out on me and not take part in the wedding if I didn't allow his dad to walk me. He yelled and cursed at me right in the church during a rehearsal because he felt I was being ungrateful.

I understood what he meant and I would have agreed with him totally if it wasn't for what his dad had put me through. I cried and searched for a balance and having both of them take part was the best thing for me at the time and it would avoid a disaster with the family.

We hired caterers and decorators but I worked all night and until seven in the morning, the day of the wedding. The workers ran out on the lady who was taking care of decorating the reception hall. We worked hard but it paid off.

We had over two hundred and fifty people and they were all taken care of in the most elegant manner. The groom and I went table by table greeting, thanking and making sure that everyone got themselves a souvenir along with lots of food and good service from the help. They all seemed happy to be there.

Before and during the nuptial ceremony I remember people asking me if I was nervous. I wasn't, I don't think I truly realized that it was me getting married until later. It seemed to me like I was watching the whole thing from afar or like I was the coordinator. I was positioning the children and everyone to enter as rehearsed and even when I was walking down the isle, I kept directing. Now that I think of it, what in the world was I doing? Who gets married like that?

I don't remember much more but I had a very special moment which will always be with me. At the reception, I asked all the children that were present, to gather around me and I asked the photographer to take a picture of us. To me it is simply breathtaking seeing myself surrounded by the children which were about thirty of them. It made me happy.

It is so weird because I didn't have the blessing of having children of my own but even though there was a wedding going on, my wedding, I felt led to surround myself with loving angels, the children. Now, I see it as God's way of telling me that I would be loved by children even if they aren't mine. At that moment, surrounded by innocence, I felt blessed more than any other woman I know.

As life would have it, I also cried. Some of my husband’s friends fell in love with the centerpieces we made for the tables and began asking him if they could take some home. One of them had already taken several without asking and the groom went crazy. How embarrassing! All of a sudden, he began yelling at them and people were shocked to see his behavior. I just began crying and ran into the bathroom.

My mother had to come and get me out of there. After that scene, I was ready to leave. I gave my good-byes to those around me and got inside the limousine.
The truth is that this was a moment of opportunity for me to release the tears I was fighting so hard to hold back to keep from flowing. In the middle of my wedding, I woke up and realize what a horrible mistake I had just committed against myself but I was too unhappy to even care.

Everyone thought I was tired but the truth was that I had just agreed to marry a stranger; a man I never saw as anything else other than a good friend; a man who I felt didn't love me at all. Yet, some how, I had managed to convince myself that he did until it was too late to back out. Doomed, I tell you! This has been one of the worst things I did to myself. I had on an eleven hundred dollar dress but felt like I was dressed in rags. Everyone spoke of how beautiful I looked and all I could see before me was a broken life about to get worse.

I felt like I had just been sent to prison for life. I could see the bars and felt my face pressed against them. If there was a time I wished I could turn back the clock, the day of my wedding was it.

Truly, choosing a man to marry without God’s blessing is one of the greatest curses a person can enter themselves into. I found this out the hard way.

"Wow, it had been a long, long day for me. Finally, I was ready to go home and rest; but wait! This was my wedding night! What was I thinking about, rest? I must have lost it for a minute there! The last thing in the groom's mind was resting.

Well, I found out that we would be staying at a beautiful hotel for the night and I pretended like I was happy and excited about it. I don't know what it was, maybe, all the pressure I had just set myself for or just the fact that I felt like I was carrying the weight of the world on me but I was extremely exhausted; I felt drained and like I was beginning to fade away. I don’t remember the limousine ride from the reception to downtown which was about twenty five minutes of distance. We also had to take a five minute ferry to the hotel which I don’t remember either. Once we got to the hotel, I remember going in the bathroom and wanted to stay there all night. I wanted to hide and pretend that this day never happened.

Dream on though, the groom came knocking on the door, asking to come in. I asked him to wait while I undressed and got in the bath tub. He then came in and ask if we could shower together. This was not our first time but it felt that way to me. I didn't even answer him. He got undressed and into the tub while I was trying to hide myself.

He laughed at me, asking why I would hide from him. He made fun of me because I was embarrassed. I got lost after that.The truth is that after that moment, I have no recollection of the events that followed. I don't remember having sex that night but I think I must have because when I woke up the next morning, I was in bed, naked. My hands were touching my body and I could feel my own skin.

My heart began racing and without moving a muscle, I opened my eyes to take a peek and saw the walls and didn't recognize the color. The walls of my bedroom at home were a light green and I was staring at white walls.

Oh God! I was scared! No, the word is terrified or petrified because I didn't know where I was and I didn’t understand why I was naked. All that was crossing my mind was that I would never be able to explain to my mother why I didn't come home that night, where I was and who I was with. Oh yes, I was twenty seven years old but my mother would have beaten me severely. Her control over me was that extreme.

To make things worst, I didn't know who it was that I heard breathing next to me. I was hoping it wasn’t a man but maybe one of my family members like my sister or my niece or even my mom.

Had I spent the night out and with a man? I was dead for sure. The thoughts flooded my mind and I wanted to scream. I began to tremble and crying I whispered to myself, "I am scared." He heard me but didn't understand that I was confused, so he said, "You don't need to be scared. You are now a married woman."

It took me a moment to remember that I had gotten married the night before, and then a ton of relief sighed off me. The memories were vague and clouded; just bits and pieces. I felt some hesitation but I turned to my husband and hugged him. Never mind that I couldn't remember what happened that night. I didn't have to face my mother's wrath. I decided that it was a good time to act like I was married and made my husband happy.

Relief was good, very good. I would have done anything at that time as long as I was not in trouble with my mother. True, I was old enough and an adult, but I feared my mother even when I was thirty-three, until her death. As soon as we got ready, we went straight to visit my Mom. I had to make sure that this was true and not a dream. My mother was waiting for me by the door and she looked happy. This was a good sign. I hadn't done anything wrong and my Mom was not mad at me.

She took me to her room and asked me how it was. What? My Mom was actually asking me about sex? Well, it was simple. I said, "last night I don't remember a thing but this morning we did it and it was good. We giggled like two silly girls and then we joined the rest of the family.

This was the happiest day of my entire marriage. Seeing how my mother looked at me; for the first time in my life she seemed to be truly proud of my womanhood. I don't know why because it was all a lie but she couldn't tell and it was fine with me as long as she was happy with me.

Hurricane Hugo

Hurricane Hugo churned through the same section of the Caribbean as Donna, but had weakened from its peak intensity by the time it smashed the US Virgin Islands on Sept. 17/18, 1998 and then struck a glancing blow to Puerto Rico with winds gusting to 160 mph the next day.

Weakened temporarily by its Caribbean Island assault, Hugo intensified significantly prior to landfall as it crossed the Gulf Stream off the Southeast US coast. Hugo blew into Charleston, SC, on the evening of Sept. 21, the autumnal equinox, with winds of 138 mph and a 20 foot storm surge on top of astronomically high tides.

Hurricane Hugo's impressive intensity made it the strongest storm to strike the East Coast north of Florida since Hazel in Oct. 1954. Hugo devastated South Carolina's barrier islands and flattened the Francis Marion National Forest, to the north of Charleston. Its price tag hit $7 billion, earning Hugo the title of “one of the costliest hurricanes ever” in US according to the media.

Those are all facts given by people who study these phenomena’s But I will share with you from the prospective of a survivor. I was in St. Croix when it all happened.

It had been more than thirty five years since St. Croix had gotten hit directly by a hurricane. I was twenty six years old so I had no idea of it would be like. All people would comment was that it would bring lots of wind and rain.

My siblings and I were excited to see it come as were many of the younger people who had never experienced anything like it. We wanted to know what it was like to be hit by a hurricane.

We got as prepared as we thought would be “prepared” enough. We bought canned goods, water, flashlights, batteries and everything else recommended for the experience. We lived in a house made of cement blocks so we felt very secured and prepared.

The winds began to blow strong about midday of the 17th of September. My brother and I decided to drive around to see how the winds were blowing on the trees and to see how rough the waters were.

We got down to Fredericksted and there were police everywhere telling people to go home and stay off the roads. We avoided them by taking a turn away from the main street where they were.

We got right by the water front and we were amazed by how high and how hard the waves were hitting on the street. There were even some fish on the road.

The cops saw us and approached us. They warned us to go home before the situations got worst. My brother and I had gotten a little scared by what we had seen. The fury of the waters could be heard in the roar of every wave. We decided to head home.

A little scared but still very excited, we drove back to the house. The winds had gotten a lot stronger by the time we were half way home. All kind of debris was flying all over the place and we found ourselves praying that we didn’t get hit by something big enough to hurt us or our car. We saw what looked like a large piece of galvanize (aluminum roofing) and we were very concerned to see that roofs were being torn apart by the initial winds of the hurricane.

We got home and started to put the car cover on my brother’s car and the wind got under it as we were both holding an end and it lifted my brother off the ground. We were no longer smiling and the excitement of the hurricane had now turned into concern.

I listened to the radio because there was no electricity to watch the news on TV and I kept tracking the hurricane on the map. As soon as it hit the island of Grenada, I knew that it would hit us. I don’t know how I knew it but I was sure of it. The family wanted me not to speak it out because they were hoping for the hurricane to turn and hit somewhere else.

I was a little upset that my family thought of the hurricane hitting somewhere else to spare us. I knew that they were not willingly hoping for any of the other islands to be hit but it was inevitable that some of the islands were going to be hit by Hugo because of its size.

I told them that I thought it was time for people in St. Croix to see the power of God in action because every year we were spared and people just took God’s care and protection for granted.

Not that I wanted St. Croix to be hit but many of the other islands were hit every year and those people needed a break to recover. Although the experience of Hugo was a hard one, I am glad that some of the other islands were spared that year.

Well, about seven that night, the winds were howling. Debris was slamming into our windows and there was an unknown flapping going on. I looked and saw that a piece of our roofing was damaged and was about to fly off.

I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to alarm anyone especially my mother who was worried about our grandparents being alone in their home. She knew they would be scared and would need help and comforting. She wanted to go stay with them and leave us with my stepfather but it was too late. The winds were too strong and she might have lost her life.

After about two hours of the wind increasing and all kinds of sounds coming from the winds, my mother opened the door of my brother’s bedroom and there was no roof. She was paralyzed by what she was seeing. The sky was now the roof of that room.

She got anxious and started running, pushing my sister and her baby into the closet in their room. There was also my youngest brother and my brother’s girlfriend who she also pushed in that closet.

I was in the bathtub with my other sister’s baby. She was serving in the U.S. Army and was stationed in Germany. She had brought the child to stay with us for a year.

My mother was screaming and my little brother was crying because the situation had gotten scary. My mother felt out of control and didn’t know what to do. She kept yelling that the entire roof was going to blow away.

I called out to her and asked her to bring everybody inside the bathroom. I took the other baby while my sister, my brother, my mom and stepfather held a mattress over their head to protect themselves from incoming debris.

My mother couldn’t take it anymore, she started screaming and saying that she had to go to grandma to help them. She ran out of the bathroom and ran towards the back door because the winds would not allow the front door to be opened.

I yelled at my brother to go stop her because I knew that if she saw him going after her she would not go to avoid getting him hurt. By the time he got to her, the winds had slammed her into one of the walls of the house. He was able to bring her back.

This took about twenty five minutes and I thought that they were both gone. Meanwhile, I had the two babies on my lap. They both fell asleep like nothing was happening.

My stepfather’s cancer was very advanced and he had lost more than sixty pounds. He was still strong but the terrible disease had debilitated him tremendously. He was holding the mattress with my sister but his arms were trembling uncontrollably. He kept cursing at us to stop moving. He didn’t realize that the strong winds and the weakness in his arms were the cause for the shaking.

My mother and brother came back and took over for him. We were there all together but no one was speaking but the winds of “HUGO.” This hurricane had a male name but it sounded like a screaming woman who was in labor and having trouble with it. At the same time you could almost hear it talk. It seemed like she was yelling for blood while moaning all at once.

Because I could feel its power and its persistence to destroy, I felt that maybe if it got the blood of at least one person it would go away. It actually brought with it what I call a “spirit of insanity” and it was affecting me.

I felt like it was taunting me to run out and let it have my blood. I had to restrain myself and was able to overcome the feeling by praying and holding on to the babies in my arms.

Then it just stopped. There were no more winds, no more sounds and no more taunting. The storm seemed to have stopped just like that. We ran outside and the sight was gruesome. Trees, galvanize roofing, clothes, furniture, glass and household item all over the place.

My mother began rushing us out of the house and I didn’t understand why. My stepfather explained that this was the calm in the center of the eye and that usually the second part of the storm was worst than the first.

I surely couldn’t imagine anything worst than we had just survived. The only part of our house that was not completely destroyed was the bathroom where we shelter. The whole roof was gone and the house was flooded. Everything inside our house was wet.

We had no time to grab anything because soon the winds began blowing mildly and we decided that we had to get to the closest shelter before it started up again.

We got to a school close by and there were hundreds of people, maybe even more than a thousand it seemed like to me. The school was flooded and the men were using the school’s kitchen pots to get some of the water out. The water was knee high and most of us had to climb on the auditorium stage to avoid the high waters.

Unfortunately, the bathrooms were backed up and the water on the stage was contaminated but we found a dry spot because of my stepfather’s condition. Most people knew him and they knew he was very ill. They gave us a spot where he could be comfortable. He was very cold and shaking and we were not as prepared as we thought we were.

I was wearing a long skirt with a short pant underneath and a long T-shirt. I pulled up my skirt over my breast (I had a bra on) and I took off my T-shirt and put it on him. The warmth of my body on the shirt helped him get warm fast in addition to the body heat coming from my sister and me sitting next to him to keep him
warm.

My mother as usual was making herself useful helping other people that needed help. We didn’t see her for a while but we were not worried because people were not allowed to leave because the storm was once again in full force. We knew she was in her own element and doing what she did best.

For another four or five hour, the island was under the fullness of the wrath of “Hurricane Hugo.” Many were concern that if the hurricane lasted any longer, we would have to find a new shelter because things were not looking too good at this one.

The storm subsided and the first thing my mother announced was that we were to stay put while she went with one of my brothers to see about our grandparents.

I knew things were not safe out there but I also knew that this time she would not be stopped. She feared that they might be hurt or even killed by the storm and she was determined to go see how she could help them. When she got there, they told her they had hidden in a closet and she could see how scared and overwhelmed they were. One of them had gotten struck on the head by some debris.

I decided to venture out. I left my stepfather with my sister and her baby. I had the other baby with me and my youngest brother. I looked outside and it was difficult to walk around because of all the debris.

I looked up to the hills and noticed that one of the most beautiful houses in the area that was at the top of the hill, was no longer there. The land it was on looked like it had been swept clean.

I walked around bewildered by the destruction I saw. I thought that maybe hundreds of people might be dead. The devastation was immense and people were crying because of their loss and when they approached me talking about their loss, all I could think of was that it was a miracle that there were no dead people lying on the streets.

There were cars on top of each other, trees on the road and items everywhere. People had begun chopping the trees on the roads to make a way for the cars to be driven.

There were people with machetes all over the place and the tourists thought that they were in mortal danger. I remember being upset when we got the electricity back because the news was showing some of the tourists that were flown out by the Army saying that the island people had machetes to kill the tourists.

Not one death was reported by killing. In fact, the hurricane winds didn’t take any lives either; people died after the fact because of the destruction of the hospital.

Most of the island had no water and no part of the island had electricity. The water situation got resolved in about two weeks but we were without electricity for three months. It took some adjusting but once we accommodated ourselves we were fine.

The day after, we found and empty apartment and decided to claim It. Then it was time to think about food for the babies. My mom and I decided to go to the stores to shop for food not thinking that the devastation was island wide. We went to a store and it was all boarded up. An employee told us that there was a store open at the Sunny Isles Shopping Center, so, we headed there.

When we got there, there were lots of people running with boom boxes, TVs’, clothes, household items and such. We went to a store which had the doors open and an employee told us to go in and take whatever we wanted because most of the stuff in the store had gotten damaged. I couldn’t go in the store because when I left my house the day of the hurricane I had some slippers on and they broke in the process. I was actually barefoot.

My mom told me to stay by the door and she would give me the stuff to put in the car. My mother took everything possible to make the babies as comfortable as possible. They lacked nothing.

I was surrounded by lots of trash bags filled with everything the kids needed. Then my mother went to the pharmacy and got all kinds of medicine; from cold medicine, to ointments to first aid supplies. My mother did not waste time taking stuff we didn’t need. Because the stores were so full with people fighting and arguing over stuff, she would go in, take what she needed and get out.

People noticed that I was watching my mother’s bags so they began asking me to watch their stuff too and I wasn’t going anywhere so I was more than happy to help.

The Army and news helicopters were hovering around the shopping center, taking pictures of what was going on and I was waving at them with a great big smile not knowing that what was going on at the time had a name to it, “LOOTING” It was a miracle I didn’t get arrested along with the people who were arrested.

I believe that besides the fact that God was with me, they didn’t see any electronics or furniture around me. We were taking what we could find out of necessity and because we were being told by the employees that it was okay to do so.

Our apartment became like a social services office where people came for help. We shared everything we had with people who were in need. Once again, my mother found herself being the social worker we all knew her to be.

The hurricane destroyed our homes but also opened doors to new friendships and experiences which added to our appreciation for life and to our quality of life. We were better people for having lived and survived Hurricane Hugo.