And A Merry Christmas To You!

I was given a drawing of a man hanging from the ceiling in the center of his room. The room was empty other than an ax, with nothing for the man to have stepped on to hang himself. The door was firmly locked from the inside by a steel rod system. The big question? What happened? I was given 40 minutes to be creative.

On this bitterly cold Christmas morning, little did Mr. Jenkins know that he would never read the newspaper he had just gone out front to get. As he entered his lonely apartment through the steel door, he turned to close it, and bending to pick up one steel rod, felt a rough jute rope slip over his head. "Where's the money old man? We know you got it stuffed somewhere around this stinkin hole. We are gonna teach you a nice little lesson for messin' with us. We risk everything to get our merchandise from stupid fools like yourself and you made a big mistake taking our profits like you did."

Mr. Jenkins didn't even put up a fight. These circumstances, strangely enough, did not even surprise him. He had known that sooner or later his greed would catch up with him. How long could he hide out like this anyway? Six months he had been successful in keeping a low profile until this last week when his intuition had told him that eyes were following him. What he would do to have taken back that day when he had followed the burglars to their warehouse and watched them operate. What on earth possessed him to grab the money-packed suitcase and run? That one hoodlum's face staring at him in disbelief had been his living nightmare ever since. Here before him stood three completely outfitted Santa Claus', the most menacing one holding a sharp ax up to his eye-bulging face.

The rope from one of the Santa's sack bags was pulled tighter around his neck, and now Mr. Jenkins found it easier to drift into unconsciousness rather than answer any of the questions being mentally pounded out of him. That was the last picture in his mind just before the breath was cut off as the three men climbed the rearranged furniture to reach a steel post in the ceiling and hook the already dead Mr. Jenkins tightly to it. Cutting the rope off at the ceiling, the three Santa's began to rummage through the place.

"Wait! Hey Joe, I say we give our friend, Sergeant Riley down at the police headquarters something queer to unnerve him. That smart ass cop has been on to us lately. I say we really throw him off. What do ya say?" The ugliest of the three wasn't called "Brains" for nothing.

Trip after trip to the truck in the alley, the three worked quickly cleaning out the apartment. When that was done they all thought out a sure way to baffle and make a fool of Riley. One cleaned the fingerprints off the ax and placed it directly under the dead man while the other two thugs got the remaining rope and pulled the other two ropes out of their sack bags. Noosing and tying each rope individually around each rod and threading it through the appropriate holes on the door, they lastly drew each rope through the broken peephole in the door and exited the apartment, closing the door behind them. One at a time each steel rod which were locking devices, were pulled into place. The ropes were pulled off the ends of the bars and out through the peephole and their job was done. The three knew an excitement having accomplished such a fete. The three gathered up their ropes and sacks and off they went with a "Ho Ho Ho".

Starving To Be Loved

At the young age of twelve, Anorexia Nervosa unknowingly became a cunning friend to me. My father rarely noticed me. My mother, the cause of my lack of self-esteem, to my young mind had left me without a word or a second thought. My step-mother, who despised me for looking like my father's first wife, was a fearful tyrant screaming and swinging at me every chance she had. She laughed at me for weighing more than her petite form. I learned to hate the thought of being "fat". Then after a near-death illness, I lost eighteen pounds, bringing my weight to 98 pounds on a 5 foot 6 inch frame. I never got so much attention. The fact that I nearly died never registered. My emotional mind saw this weight loss as a number one success at being loved. I even weighted less than my step-mother. It was great! Over the next 25 years I starved on and off again, took thyroid medication, diuretics, amphetamines and laxatives, over-exercised until I literally fainted, and even disgustingly purged myself when the guilt of eating became too much for me. Not until the tragic death of Karen Carpenter did I start to realize the damaging affects of this way of living. Even knowing death was a possibility, I merely stopped the excessive behavior habits such as laxatives and purging, which in itself was a major accomplishment. Husband, friends, and parents were worried sick, but I just could not see myself realistically. It took a heart condition for me to face up to the importance of a healthy existence through good nutrition. However, even knowing what is right is not enough to guarantee that tomorrow's diet won't become my latest obsession. You see, just the mere loss of two pounds sets me on a self-destructive path, every ounce becoming the most important aspect of my day. Anorexia is a disease that must be kept in check from day to day.

In this obsessive illness that affects mostly women, many experts attribute the main cause to be society's strong emphasis on beauty and thinness. With the slender body seen as sexually appealing and prized by men, media, and even fashion designers, isn't it a small wonder that over one million young women at one time were in the grip of Anorexia Nervosa? Cherry Boone O'Neill, an anorexic, called it a "sophisticated form of suicide".1 The reasons for such odd behavior vary with each individual, from neurotic overreaction to a weight loss, such as in my case, to full scale schizophrenic delusions causing a person to be nauseated at the mere thought and sight of food. This can cause extreme body emaciation, or worse yet, death.2 "Fat" people believe that being thin is the answer to all of their problems and will end their strife in life. I call it thin fever.

Like alcoholism, this illness has many causes and pattern habits that are hard to break. If the temptation of returning to the old habit can not be fought on one's own, then professional help is badly needed. Primary Anorexia, which is merely a hiccough in the individual's progression to feeling secure and loved, is sometimes easier to help. This may only require out-patient treatment. Secondary is extreme emaciation and near death symptoms requiring in-patient hospitalization treatment that not only deals with the patient's debility but also with the psychological conflicts and difficulties which have contributed to the problem in the first place.5 Once the patient wants help or finds herself too ill to do otherwise, the following are the symptoms the therapist will look for:

. loss of 20% body weight

. loss of menstrual period in female

. thinning hair

. dry, flaking skin

. constipation

. lowered blood pressure; 80/50 not uncommon

. lowered body temperature 97-95

. lowered chloride levels

. lowered potassium levels

. lowered pulse rate 60-39

. dehydration

. abnormalties in electrolytes

. insomnia

Once the patient is diagnosed and appropriate treatment is advised, the first procedure is to get the body in better condition. Good luck! This patient will probably be unconsciously manipulative and conniving, wanting nothing more than to be free of everyone hounding her so she can once again be in control of her own body.

The number one most important treatment is to give a meaningful explanation as to why better nutrition is essential so that she can come to terms with her physiological problems. She needs reassurance that a good diet will be served in amounts that won't make her "fat". Physiological principles are simple:

1. Increase food intake to get body weight up and to replenish those stripped vitamins and minerals.

2. Decrease the activity of the driven patient.

3. Persuade, trick, bribe or force a negative patient into doing what she is determined not

to do.

4. Achieve this without doing anymore psychological damage.4

Each individual is treated according to her own special circumstances, duration of illness, emotional condition, age, and severity of symptoms. These are in conjunction with the quality of experience of the respective hospital.

Once the weight is up to 85% of normal body weight it is advised that the secondary patients receive psychiatric help. With it the condition will no doubt get worse. The "cause" must be dealt with so that the patient will understand herself. One on one therapy can be beneficial if the therapist is excellent in this field. It appears that group therapy has been shown to be a successful procedure because like-patients have a tendency to share their problems and give each other support and help in getting more honesty into their dealings. Patients can even view other rehabilitated patients on film and see how much better they look and act. If left without therapeutic help, many will become depressed and preoccupied with shame and guilt if their weight increases. Therapy must help the patient uncover the error of her convictions and let her recognize her value and self-worth so that she does not need Anorexia as her device for artifical ultra perfection.4

For me, Anorexia Nervosa is pathetically hard to shake. Much like drug addiction and alcoholism, it is like having a monkey on my back, always tempting, tempting to be more than I am; especially when the scale starts tipping into the "fat" zone. For the rest of my life I will have to fight back the urge to lose all of my excess with immediately, today, this instant. Thank God, instilled in my brain is the knowledge that lack of sensible nutrition not only will hurt me but all of those who love me.

1. Starving for Attention by Cherry Boone O'Neill

2. The New Encyclopedia Brittcanica

3. Treating and Overcoming Anorexia Nervosa, Levenkron

4. The Golden Cage Bruch

5. Obesity and Anorexia Nervosia Dally

Foxy Roxy

Steve and I were "over the top" thrilled to be sending our youngest son Bryan off to visit with his aunt and uncle in Alaska. It was to give us some much needed time together with NO STRESS... Bryan being the firecracker that caused 500% of our stress in those days. We had trouble from the very beginning trying to convince Bryan to even go up there. Evidently, his friends were his WORLD, his parents his worst NIGHTMARE. He wasn't about to go when he finally understood that the comeback day on his return tickets was thirty days later. Without having to hog tie him to the plane seat, we finally convinced him he had the OPTION of changing that comeback date. By this time there wasn't much left of my manicure.

That Bryan-free month was HEAVEN for us. Not so for Bryan's aunt Tracey. We went to Cancun before the hurricanes, Palm Springs and even spent a weekend in San Diego--agreeing that even mentioning Bryan was off limits. Steve even said "There will be life after Bryan!" My sister Tracey up in Alaska was feeling like she was any place but in heaven...because Bryan was a wild kid, out of control, and pressing every button. She was anxious to get him back on a plane headed south. Matter of fact....that was the LAST time Tracey ever laid eyes on her precious nephew.

The morning that Bryan was set to leave on the flight out of Anchorage, Alaska, we got a call at 6:45 a.m. from Bryan. Evidently because of the Paris bombings, the government was not allowing anyone to fly without a picture I.D. Well, Bryan being 17 did not have one. Tracey had dropped Bryan at the airport at l:30 in the morning so that he would not miss the flight at 6:15. The plane was about to leave within 30 minutes and the airlines refused to let him board...so I had to work fast. Bryan hung up and was supposed to stay put and wait. In the meantime, I called Tracey and got the answering machine. She was sleeping. I was near hysteria. At this point I decided to try and contact the airlines directly. I called a 800 number for United and they in turn worked with Anchorage, but the clerk did come back to me and say "sorry-- the government has their new rules." Before things could get worked out Bryan had managed to disappear. My stomach was a ball of nerves because being the mother of this "special" boy, I knew ANYTHING possible was GOING to happen. And sure enough--the inevitable would happen. Security had an unpleasant encounter with Bryan over his agitation, hot temper, raised voice, and extremely choice words--- and they told him to GET OUT OF THE AIRPORT or they would call the police. An angel of a supervisor worked the situation through and I was willing to fax his birth certificate so he could be put on a later flight out. But at this point-- NO BRYAN.

We were worried sick since we did not know where Bryan was at this time. Honestly, both Steve and I had this "worried sick" feeling down real well after seventeen years. It was a long morning--and what felt like twelve hours was only four--but that phone rang and it was Bryan with a voice as cheerful and light as if only he existed. He told us how he had hitched a ride with a thirty year old woman named Foxy Roxy and a license plate that read "Looney." When he got to his Aunt Tracey's home he greeted his worried aunt with a huge cocky smile on his face and a happy-go-lucky attitude. He told his aunt and very interested cousins, Travis and George, how he had hitched a ride with this kinky gal. He not only got a much needed ride, but he got something so wild and crazy you would think he had just flown to the moon and back. The boys doubted his story until he showed them the nude photos on his camera. The camera had been to capture the beauty of Alaska on this "vacation"....but there were few of those photos to be seen. . When he was telling his cousins they could not believe it! They said that they have lived all their lives in Alaska and that sort of crazy thing NEVER happened to them. But, leave it to Bryan to find as much adventure in his Alaska trip as possible. His Aunt Tracey laughed a good one at him and told him his "thing" would rot and fall off... but, Bryan was one up on everyone and reached into his wallet and pulled out his "just in case" condoms.

When Bryan got off that plane the thought of "murder" was crawling through my brain. But, once again, just knowing he was home safe was all that really mattered.

Secrets

Let's face it---I have always been crazy about my father. My feelings were unusually protective even at a very young age. Most likely this motherly behavior on my part was because any memories of my mother had pretty much faded due to her absence and my heart clung to my father. His love was needed badly since my emotional state was drenched in abandonment issues.

My father was not only handsome with his clear blue eyes and curly black hair, but charming, flirty, and funny as all get out.He was an only child and pretty much spoiled. Being very naive, it never occurred to me just how talented he was at lying and not a day went by that my father did not frequent the bars on his way to and from work. He would have had to be deathly ill to sustain from drinking even a beer. He loved to drink and socialize. He was addicted to alcohol and people.

There were many times when Dad would take me with him to "run an errand." Inevitably he would stop at one of his favorite bars during this time away from his irritable wife and crying babies. You could say I was his "cover" because he seemed to think she wouldn't suspect his carousing with me tagging along. For me, well, not only was I happy to be out from under the "irritable" wife's unpredictable anger, but I was just so excited that my father wanted little ole me to share some one on one with him. It was so thrilling my heart would race and pound. When Dad would stop for a drink or three I would have to sit alone in the car for what would feel like my next birthday had passed me by. Sometimes he would come out and check on me, rambling off a dirty joke he just heard and telling me he would be through in just a few more minutes, returning to his bar friends. What he called minutes felt like an eternity.

When Dad would finally return to the car he would tell me that this little "stop" was our secret. Not one word of this was to be mentioned to the "irritable" wife. I can remember feeling such a terrible guilt about having to keep any kind of "secret". Being an honest person, secrets were not very easy for me to deal with. If questioned it would be impossible to lie. But, because I adored my father, this little secret was also a feeling of comradeship--and for heaven's sake I was starving for my father's love.

It was years later when my sister Tracey told me about HER little trips with Dad. My heart about stopped dead. It was so shocking to hear her reminisce about the "secrets" she had to keep. I never had a clue that he did the same thing with her. Tracey was such a stinker as a kid it seemed far-fetched that he would trust Tracey to keep secrets. So, I told Tracey how odd that seemed to me and she started laughing real hard. She told me that dad had to bribe her with lots and lots of candy, ice cream, and treats while she was waiting in the car. She would almost beg him to take her with him when he would leave the house just because she knew she could make a killing on junk food. If that didn't beat all----my loyalty got me zilch..nada....however, Tracey did have lots of dental problems in the years after so maybe I should be grateful that Dad knew he could trust me straight out.

And I am sure you are wondering how my bad boy father fared with the "irritable" wife? It was not long before she caught on to his rotten behavior. One day daddy's two secret-keepers found themselves locked out of the house, sitting on the front steps in the midst of all dad's clothing strewn about the lawn. The "irritable" wife yelled "You two girls can just wait for your bleeped y bleep bleep father to come and get you!" as her eyes were about to bulge out of her eye sockets while even the neighbors across the street most likely could see the steam rising out of her ears....she was pissed! Well, it was a bit of a time later when daddy drove up looking rather embarrassed to see all his clothes and his two girls sitting out front. He just looked at us as he gathered up his things and told us to get in the car. He said "Guess we aren't welcomed here any longer!" Ya think?

What The Heck Were We Thinking?

"You and Sandy get your butts into that garage and get hopping on that load of ironing. Do not even think of going anywhere until that bag is empty! YOU HEAR ME?" Sandy's mom was in rare form this afternoon. Work was not new to us. Loving, bathing, feeding, changing, and watching over the three younger siblings on a daily basis was just part of our duties. Not to mention the Saturday ritual of scrubbing and waxing the kitchen floor on our hands and knees. The temperature on this extremely hot and muggy afternoon was well over 100 degrees and the garage temperature was no improvement.

Sandy and I just gawked at each other knowing that one of us would be extra special and really have to do this hard work--after all, there was only the one hated iron. So, we alternated the starching, wetting, ironing, and hanging up of the dreaded garments. We were not thrilled with this turn of events knowing that we still had our own cloths to iron later. With a household of ten, that bag looked like a mountain called "hopeless."

It had already been a long, hot, boring summer for both of us. It seemed that our only fun was summer school, Sunday church, and walking to the store. "I just want to go to the beach, Gail. I am sick of being mother's slave." Sandy was losing her cool under the dripping sweat. "Let's just run away from this miserable place! What do you say?"

"I say 'HELL NO' Sandy! We can not do that! Just the thought of making your mother mad scares the living daylights out of me. I do not need that kind of trouble." I truly was scared and with good reason. Dolly had a temper that could scorch the shirt Sandy was ironing. It was always difficult to "please" her. I tried desperately to do anything and everything I could do to be liked by that whole family, and God knows how impossible that was. Dad was a GOOD GUY, but, let's face it--Dolly had him by the you know whats--smack dab in the palm of her hands...literally.

Sandy just would not give up with this fantasy of hers. She was working us both into a well-devised plan. We would walk 26 miles to Huntington Beach. No word of night time seemed to enter her mind...it was all about laying on the sands and getting some sun. Okay--who was planning past that? I was a naive 14 years while Sandy was an angry 13 and at that age no one thinks ahead. Sandy conceived a plan where she would enter her mother's bedroom...and oh my goodness, my father was there fast asleep since he didn't go to work until late shift. She took some loose change and an orange transistor radio that was my fathers. She just had to have THAT radio. I can remember the feeling in the pit of my stomach as we walked away from the house. I was terrified! We got about 1/4 of a mile down Santa Gertrudes Road when I said "Sandy, this is CRAZY! I just cannot do this!" Sandy got so mad at me that she started walking backwards away from me, screaming "You are nothing but a yellow chicken shit and a coward. I have made up my mind. I am NEVER going back to that house. I hate it there! I hate my mean mother! So I am gone...out of here, never to return again. Go on! Go home to daddy! I should have known I could not count on you!"

"Come on back with me Sandy...no one will know we left, and we will still be safe from anyone knowing we have been gone." Sandy was having no part of this and her body language was proof of that. "You cannot change my mind, Gail" "All right, all right! You win! There is no way I can let you get into trouble on your own. I am no chicken shit, Sandra Lee. So, don't call me that again, you hear me?"

Twenty-six miles is a long way for two young girls that rarely get out of the house. It was an interminably long and blistering hot walk. I thought we would never stop walking. We wore only cutoff shorts and little crop tops. The thongs we wore would barely hold up for this long journey. Who was thinking of the weather conditions at night, and who needed a hairbrush or toothpaste? Certainly not for two little teenagers. We were beyond understanding what laid ahead of us. There were several situations that were extremely frightening to me. Each time something bad could have happened, it involved boys. Two big guys passed us on the sidewalk just beyond Knott's Berry Farm. They bumped and groped us laughing at their boldness. Both Sandy and I were shocked beyond comprehension. What the heck! I had never been touched between my legs before. And, Sandy's butt ached from the pinching she got. Then as we got into the town of Huntington Beach, several boys in an old car stopped and asked us if we wanted a ride. I said "NO thank you!" but Sandy was already one leg into the backseat of the car when I pulled her out yelling at her. She was going to leave me there on the street while she went off with these guys. Who was this girl? She scared me worse than the boys did.

We could not believe our eyes when we saw the ocean through the trees as the sun was setting. It was a beautiful sight, but now we were more frightened than ever. What now? We walked to Huntington Beach pier and decided to find a place to spend the night. Again, Sandy made talk with two guys who wanted us to go to a party. I begged Sandy not to put our safety in jeopardy again. The car incident earlier was still on my mind. I wanted so much to be home. We found a woman's restroom and checked it out. It was wet and sandy with ants to be found everywhere. It smelled none too sweet. I can tell you that! There was one long bench and we each curled up at the opposite ends and tried to sleep. It was cold! Then the sweeper started working up and down the beach....ALL FRIGGIN NIGHT! We had a terrible night in that dark place.

The sun had not even made its way up yet and we were out on the beach. We found a spot near the water and tried to sleep. We didn't have anything to lie on...just the sand. The beating sun took its toll on me. Within hours I was burnt to a crisp. We went swimming to cool off. I asked Sandy to call home and tell our parent's where we were and she said, "What, are you out of your mind?" I was so hungry because we hadn't eaten in well over 24 hours. A police car caught my eye and I got up and walked over to the policeman. I asked him if he would call home for me and Sandy, as I pointed toward her on the beach. He knew immediately that we were runaways. If I could have seen myself in the mirror I would have been shocked...I looked like a dirty drowned rat. Sandy didn't even look like Sandy. But as I was looking at her disheveled appearance I saw that steely look of angry cross her face as she bolted down the beach to put some distance between the policeman and herself. I could not believe my eyes when the policeman ordered me to stay put and began to chase Sandy down. Good grief!...are we in trouble now! A funny thing--Sandy had money in her pocket and yet I had to ask a policeman to call home for me. Subconsciously, I think I knew what I was doing.

That was my first and only ride in the back of a police car. I felt like a caged criminal. The worst part was being closed in with Sandy. She was spitting mad at me. Matter of fact, she was madder at me than dad was. She didn't want to ever speak to me again as long as I lived. To this day it seems she says what she means because I haven't spoken to her in years. We sat in the reception area at the police station waiting what seemed like forever for our parents to arrive. The horrible expressions on their faces about killed me. I don't think they would have recognized us if they had passed us on the street---we looked that bad. They were angry to say the least. We evidently scared the hell out of them...but, the anger won out. We both got the belt when we got home. Sandy got it worse than I did. After explaining to them the what, when, and why of the situation we found ourselves in... I think poor Sandy got the main blame for it all.

There have been times in my life since when I am so upset about something in a relationship that I just want to RUN AWAY....but, I always relate running away with that horrible experience when I was a teenager...and it seems safer to work through things---problems no matter how serious will always work their way out. Patience is all it takes.

Wild In The Avocado Fields

There is something special about being a child-- carefree and wild, adventuresome and inquisitive, innocent and gullible, and yet able to run full speed into unpredictable situations with innocence and abandonment. Oh, man---I miss being a kid.

We lived in a development that had once been an avocado farm. Our home had nine very large avocado trees. They were majestic with great arms of strength where we girls could perch ourselves to view the world around us. They were our escape from whatever hurts were found on the inside of our home.

With all the aches and pains of aging, it amazes me to remember how agile I used to be at that age. I would think nothing of climbing 20 feet up a tree. If I wanted to hide away from the world--no problem....the huge piles of leaves were a joy to bury myself under. The pungent smell of unripened avocados became so familiar to me that I really missed it when we had to move away. There are many times the memories of my little sisters go through my mind. I see them running through the trees, tossing leaves at each other, giggling and laughing with joy. Those were happy times.

Nothing could stop freeway 605 from taking out our home and those lovely avocado trees. Progress must go on. Unfortunately, our family was never the same after we moved from our home. Our family fell apart a few years later. We were severed through a bad divorce that left five girls split apart. Being the oldest, and pretty much the peacemaker in the family, I did my best to keep two of my four sisters close to me. Unfortunately, it has always broken my heart that I was not able to stay in touch with my two youngest sisters. It is a long story of bitter and spiteful adults that have to control people by hurting them. It is unfair to the children because they are the ones that suffer. AND THAT STINKS! That is probably why I fondly remember those wild and carefree days underneath and in between those avocado trees.

It's Too Late Now

There was a particularly painful time in my life when I was a young girl that forced me to choose to leave my father's home and stay with my sweet, adorable Irish grandmother. She was a selfless, loving parent who never thought twice about doing for me. Somehow I feel she felt young again having me there with her every day to worry over. She had a joy about her with the ability to laugh easily. And did we ever laugh....hysterically at times.

Then one day there was an unexpected knock at the door. My father and step-mother Dolly came to visit, but we found that they had a purpose. They immediately wanted to take me aside from my grandmother into the outside room to talk directly to me. I thought for sure all hell was going to break loose and that there must have been some horrific wrong that I had done and that I was about to get slammed to the wall. Grandma was not included in the conversation and in stead was left to her own ends on the other side of the door. Little did I know that she was pacing the floor, drinking a hi-ball or two. On my side of the door, my parents were urging me to return back home with them within the week, and because of my loneliness for my father and my sister, I readily agreed---and promised to put an end to the distance between us.

After they left, my grandmother flew into a rage, screaming and yelling horrible names--things the like I had never before heard from her lips....and worst yet, they were all directed at me, her "sweet pumpkin." I knew a grief I had never felt before. How could I reverse the damage already done when she was "dis-owning me", throwing her best crystal at the walls and literally falling apart before my eyes? I had entered the "do not return" zone. And my insides were bleeding in agony.

I returned home and the communication with grandma was never quite the same. I wavered for the first several years because of the guilt that I felt, but once I realized my loss, I decided to break the stiffness between us--in any way and every way possible--in order to gain her trust and love once again. Slowly, but surely, that old bond between us started to grow, but somehow I always felt she was holding something back.

As the years went by we loved as best we could. Then grandma became terminally ill and was hospitalized. First she had colon cancer and had a colonectomy procedure that weakened her terribly. Not only physically, but mentally. She never really got better. I would occasionally go out to see her. She would love a treat like homemade cheese enchiladas or lemon meringue pie. I would read prayers to her out of her little prayer book. Then one particularly sad day, after I had been with her for over an hour, she looked at me with a cheerful little sparkle in her eyes and said, "You know dear, you remind me of my granddaughter!" I felt so miserable and alone. I cried on the drives home every time I left the hospital.

Grandma died shortly after. Matter of fact, she died on her 57th wedding anniversary, June 6, 1983. I miss her SO much! I can only pray she had truly forgiven me that rash and hurtful decision of years gone past, but, until I die I will never really know.