Right now, at this very moment; I am sitting on a king-sized bed in a luxurious 4 Diamond Hotel called Caesar’s.  You might have heard of the place before.  You probably have.  It’s the one located in Windsor, not Las Vegas, but it’s still spectacular.  I have a clear view of the GM building across the lake in Detroit.  It’s quite impressive and is breathtakingly beautiful when you observe it at night.  Last time we were here for a few days we took the underground tunnel to get across the river to check out the new GM building that greets you as soon as you get across.  There were fountains, stores and restaurants.  We even watched a newly married couple get their pictures taken on the steps by a professional photographer.  They were having the reception inside the GM building and you could see the balloons and streamers decorating the balcony off of the reception room.  There were 2 big ships parked off to the left of the GM building for day tours.  There were even children laughing and playing in the fountains under the blazing sunshine.

   But that was months ago when it was in the middle of July.  Right now it’s only about 42 degrees F and it’s raining.  It looks miserable outside and my husband is working in that weather.  But he never complains, he just tells me to enjoy myself.  Which is a really hard thing for me to do.  I wasn’t raised to believe that I have the right to enjoy life to it’s fullest and pursue happiness just for the sake of being happy.  I’ve worked hard all my life so I don’t feel comfortable with letting someone else pay my way.  I always prided myself on being financially independent and able to take care of myself and my kids.  I was never wealthy but I always had the ability to find a way to obtain anything I wanted or needed.  But, I just finished 4 years of schooling in Criminal Psychology & Behaviour so I haven’t had an income of my own in a long time.  Which really messes with a person’s head who has worked since she was 13 and left home at 16 to find her own way in life.  Now don’t get me wrong, my husband is generous to a fault and we talked about this before I started on this next chapter of my life.  However, Talk is one thing, reality is another.  The reality of this situation for me is that somewhere buried deep in my psyche is an overwhelming fear of insecurity.  I’ve been taking care of myself for so long I find it very difficult to believe and trust that someone could love me enough to take care of me without throwing it back in my face.  I wasn’t taught unconditional love growing up.  I was brainwashed to believe that there was a price for everything and that I needed to prove my worth on a daily basis.

   There is a cause and effect theory that I think applies here to my situation.  The reason I find it hard to just kick back and relax is because I grew up in a mind-control cult that spread their hateful propaganda on a daily basis; brainwashing young children into believing that they have no individual value.  For 12 years I was told that I needed to earn the right to even exist and that they held the key to my eternal salvation.  Although I never bought into their rhetoric, I’ve come to accept and understand that if someone tells you that are nothing and don’t matter every single day of your childhood, there’s bound to be some lifelong side effects.

   I’m not looking for pity and I don’t ever want anyone to feel sorry for me.  The past is gone and nothing can change it. But, I’m determined to life my life to the fullest without feelings of guilt and unworthiness.  So I struggle daily with accepting my good fortune at having a wonderfully loving husband who thrives on spoiling me and calling me his princess.  Last night we went to Spago for dinner and tonight we have reservations to the upscale Nero’s restaurant located inside the casino building.   We ate at Nero’s last time we were here and the food is incredible.  I’ve eaten in high-end restaurants all over Canada and the United States but Nero’s superseded my expectations.  We had the Date Night Special which was lobster, crab and shrimp.  The quality was A+ and the ambiance was incredibly romantic.

   So, I KNOW how lucky I am to have such a fulfilling life and that there’s lots of people less fortunate than me.  I also know that in time I will find my way to the next exciting chapter in my career life, but in the meantime my biggest challenge is learning to “just enjoy” the life I am so grateful to have at this stage of the game.  And I’m going to keep on writing about the JW cult, no matter who likes it, because I know firsthand the damage that they have caused to millions of people and continue to do so in the year 2017 in my city and yours and all over the world.  As long as I know that children are being subjected to the mental and emotional abuse (and sometimes sexual and/or physical abuse) perpetuated by the JW cult I will continue to speak out against such atrocities in the hope of helping or saving one person or family from the  harmful effects of a publishing corporation disguised as a religion.

Ciao for now,


#42 What Does It Mean?

pexels-photo-149988.jpeg   The other night I had a terrifying nightmare.  Like so many others I’ve had since I was a child.   They say it’s an aftereffect of being raised in a doomsday cult. So anyway, I woke up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat with my heart pounding so hard and my head swimming with confusion.  The time was 0436 and the number 42 was stuck in my head on a loop that kept flashing before my eyes. I sat straight up in bed and tried to make sense of what was going on.  Why was I sweating and breathing so hard?  Why was I scared out of my mind?  I tried to close my eyes and go back to sleep but that number 42 kept racing through my head.  So I gave up and decided to figure out the significance of this number in my life.

Continue reading #42 What Does It Mean?



   It’s been 10 years since my father died.  Alone and lonely;  in a room he was renting from strangers.  We were estranged at the time for many years so it hurt really bad, knowing that the chances of making amends was now forever terminated.

   Christmas has never been a happy time for me.  Not since I was 3 years old.  That’s when I lost my extended family for many years.  My parents joined a religious cult that expected and demanded members to cut off all ties to anyone who wasn’t a member, including biological family.

I was driving in my car a couple of weeks before Christmas when the song called “Please Come Home For Christmas” by The Eagles came on the radio.  The sad lonely desperate lyrics made me think of my father, which made me start to cry unexpectedly.  See, the last time I saw my father and actually spoke to him was over the Christmas holidays a few years ago.  I was with my father’s family at my Uncle Rick’s house and the last person I would have ever expected to see there was my father.  Yes, even though I was at his brother’s house with most of his siblings.  Because of his involvement in the JW cult he had cut me off many years ago.  He obediently shunned me as part of the requirements of being a member in good standing because not only had I run away from the JW as soon as I could, I was a known apostate.  I spoke out against the tyrannical rules and regulations dictated by an organization that destroys families and robs children of their innocence.  I was having a great time with everyone when I noticed that one of my aunt’s had seemingly disappeared.  I looked around the house for her and was told that she had gone outside for a cigarette.  So naturally, I went to the front door and when I opened it I got the shock of my life.  There stood my father!  He turned and smiled at me so I said hello.  He said hello back, but then… nothing.  The moment felt so surreal and awkward.  I didn’t have a coat on and he didn’t make any gesture to encourage me to come to him so I just smiled at him and shut the door.  I’m sure the whole exchange took less than a minute but at the time it felt like I was caught in a time warp.  I don’t remember who else was standing on the porch or if anyone else said anything but I will never forget that lost chance of reuniting with the first man I had ever loved.

   Every year, as November comes to a close a darkness starts to wash over me.  It comes without warning or notice.  It’s a feeling of dread that’s brought on by childhood memories of sad feelings of isolation and loneliness, knowing that everyone else was engaged in celebrations and being merry while we were forbidden to engage in such activities.  Every year I hope things will be different and I really hope that this year will be different.  I try to stay positive and focus on the plans I have for the loving family currently in my life that I am so grateful for.  But every year, without fail…the darkness comes and casts a gloomy shadow over all of my good intentions and positive plans.  I try to conceal these negative feelings from everyone I love but I feel like I’m walking a tightrope of feelings that could cause me to topple at any second.

   This year however has been extremely difficult to hold back the floodgates of tears and feelings of misery.   My 92 year old paternal grandmother died on November 21, 2017.  She was living with one of my aunts  2 hours away so I was fortunate enough to be able to go there and spend her last days with her and other family members.  The family members that I was denied during my childhood.  We took turns sitting by her side; never leaving her alone.  We held her hands and rubbed her arms, whispering words of love into her ear.  Just like we did with my Aunt Nancy 4 years earlier.  I am the oldest and first grandchild on my father’s side of the family,  so as I held her hand and my grandmother slipped into unconsciousness it felt like a small piece of me was dying with her.  After many years of separation we each took tentative steps to repairing and rebuilding our fractured relationship.  I made the decision many years ago to put myself out there and try to get to know my grandmother better before I jumped to any conclusions or judgements about her role in the dissolution of our families.  As scary as it was to let my guard down and allow her into my heart; I am extremely glad that I did. When you gather information and put all the missing pieces together, things begin to make more sense and the healing begins.

My grandmother had a very dignified funeral service and the turnout was huge.  My father was there too.  Well, his ashes were anyway.  When he died he didn’t have any kind of service so we were denied the closure that is necessary for the grieving process.  It had been almost 10 years since I viewed his cold, bloated body on a gurney in a body bag in a back room of another funeral home.  It was the first time my husband had ever met my father.  He stood by my side, holding me up as I talked to my father and stroked his cold, sad face.  So now here we were and his time had come to be given the dignity he was denied so many years ago.  One day I will write about the whole thing surrounding my father’s last days and death.  But right now I need to stay focused on the recent events.  My father had  spent the last few years first at my grandmother’s house and then later with one of my uncles when she moved out to the West Coast.   Sitting on a table beside my grandmother’s elegant light blue casket were my father’s ashes and a picture of him just months before he died.  The plan was for me to place his ashes in my grandmother’s casket before the service began, along with his picture.  After a second service at the cemetery we were all invited to a luncheon at the building next to the funeral home.  I was exhausted when it was all over with but I wouldn’t trade the time I spent with my aunts and uncles during that time for all the money in the world.

   Three weeks later my favourite uncle was admitted to the hospital for the final time.  He had been battling health problems for years and had had to go on dialysis the last year of his life due to kidney failure.  After finding out that he was also suffering from kidney and liver cancer he decided to stop all treatments.  He was tired of feeling sick.  He was tired of fighting a losing battle.  He was tired of sleeping all the time.  So, he made the very brave decision to stop all treatments and let nature take it’s course.  A week later he was dead.  Three days after Christmas.  I was his POA and Executrix so I got the call at 0426 that he had died and I needed to get his stuff out of the room and make arrangements to have his body picked up.  I’ll write more about that whole experience another time.  Right now, I just want to grieve the losses I’ve dealt with this Christmas season and hope that by Spring I won’t still feel like crying everyday.

   I’m already not looking forward to next Christmas.  Too many bad memories, too much pain and heartache.  Every year I say this year will be different and I make plans to provide a beautiful Christmas for my husband, my children and grandchildren.  But every year it’s foreshadowed by a lifetime of haunting images and disturbing memories.  I know that everyone has suffered from grief and heartache sometime in their lifetime.  I don’t think I’ve cornered the market on misery but I definitely think I’ve had more than my fair share of tragedy.  Like Elvis Presley sang, “I’ll have a Blue Christmas Without You”.




evergreen trees in snow.jpg

I woke up really early this morning because I was in great pain. It’s been extremely cold outside and my hip was acting as a barometer; letting me know that spring still hasn’t arrived. I got up to go to the bathroom and took a couple of painkillers to try and numb the stabbing pain that’s become my constant companion for the last few years.  As I lay there waiting for some sign of relief I closed my eyes and instantly music started playing in my head.  Like an old jukebox stuck on repeat. The same song had been playing in my head all night long and it managed to wake me up every couple of hours.  So instead of trying to escape back into sleep I leaned over and grabbed my iPad and opened up youTube and did a search for the song that had haunted me all night long.  It was “The Great Pretender” by The Platters.  And then it hit me!! I had been dreaming about my father again last night.  Singing and playing his guitar.  Singing that song over and over again to me like he did when I was just a little girl.
Continue reading SUNDAY MORNINGS