We need this thing called closure.  We need it to thrive, move forward, to feel secure, and yet most of us don’t ever get it.

We have lost a loved one, to where our hearts are ripped out of our chests.  We weren’t granted the opportunity to say goodbye.  We woke up one day to find that someone left us brokenhearted, without a reason or excuse.  We went into the living room one evening, only to find our beloved dog had passed in her sleep.  Loss is pure devastation.  It can kill you in so many ways, but it is not having that closure that works on your insides like a cancer every single day.

In a perfect world, we could turn back the hands of time.  We could hold our loved one and feel their breath on our faces.  We could embrace that one person that we will always love, our soul mate, and know it was forever, no matter what.  We could cuddle our dog or cat, and their weight on you would bring you comfort.

But this is not a perfect world.  Those who have left us will never come back, and those who could, probably will not.  Why does God take them away from us?  In the moment, hearing the words, “he/she is with God now”, does not comfort most, when in fact, it angers most.  In that moment, God did this.  I’m a christian, but will never understand, or wrap my mind around this.  I am not asking for a Bible verse, just know that I will never understand why good people are taken away.

When they have the capacity to come back, why do they choose not to?  Were you not good enough?  Were you not pretty enough?  Why, why, and more whys. Why the heck can’t people just tell you WHY?  It does an injustice to you, and disrespects what existed and had meaning at one point in both of your lives.  Now it is just gone, as if it never was there at all.  Why do people feel the need to run away, and never gift closure to that person who they “loved”?  And there you go, the word “love”.  It makes me crazy, the way people throw that word around, when it is not present in their hearts.

This goes in hand in hand with my Purpose blog……letting go.  I have anger towards those who do not give closure, when in fact, it is common courtesy, not to mention a gesture of respect.  A lot of my friends have had this happen to them, where they are left empty handed, out of the blue, and all for what?  To feel like a fool?  It’s not right.

Death.  What do you do?  How the heck do you move on?  I’m still haunted by my mother and my grandpa.  They are in my dreams, their presence is in my home.  Haunted in the way where my stomach feels sick.  But the memories……..yes, there ARE many wonderful ones with  my mother.  My grandpa and I have memories that no one else can comprehend.  I didn’t get that closure with my mother, because it was taken away from me.  I got to say goodbye to my grandpa, and you know what?  It hurts like hell anyway, but there are so many things that I wanted to tell him, had he been in his right mind.

I’m telling you, the one who has experienced loss….keep moving forward, keep yourself busy, and try not to let your heart harden from being broken. Every day, try to let go, just a little bit.  Just a little.  And never forget.  Hold that memory, and let go of the bitterness.

Easier said than done, I know.  Maybe I am typing this to convince myself.



A Purpose


My emotions are extremely jumbled up right now, all intermixed and confusing.  I’m not sure how to express it all in words right now, but I’m going to try.

New beginnings can be refreshing, exciting, and moving forward with a new perceptive can be life changing.  It is, however, hard to let go of the negativity that caused you to run in the first place.  Let it go.  Only 3 words, and yet you can’t do it. It’s only weight.  It’s only hate, sadness, emptiness, and loss.  How do you let it go, when it is instilled in your heart and your mind?

One day at a time.  Busy yourself with projects that make you feel a purpose, a strength, and mostly, an outlet.  Shut out those who choose to bring you down.  They are not worthy of your time.  Your time is yours, and you decide whether you go down the path of demise, or you go down the path that makes you feel a pride so intense, that you cannot help but smile.  Lock in that pride, hold it tight, and only face the sunshine.

This year has been a challenge, to say the least, but I’m still here, despite it all.  I’ve had to let go of things that I truly loved, a job where I finally felt like I belonged, but in the spirit of my own sanity, had to walk away. I’m still heartbroken over this loss, but you need to honor what is best for your soul.

Bailey has her good days, where we have the most wonderful conversations, and then she has her bad days, where we are fighting to move forward after falling down yet again.  This picture that I posted was right after she was past the point of no return, during a horrible meltdown.  She wanted me to smile so she could take my picture. Because she was okay, and she had gotten past it.  I was not, but I did my best, and I tried to get past the way she had punched me in my lower back, and past the fact that she did not mean to hurt me, because she is autistic, and she is still learning her way.  I am her mother, after all, and it is my job to teach her between right and wrong.  Mothers are supposed to fight through the bad times for their children, no matter how bad it may get, and that is my purpose.

#parentingistough #autismsucks #ilovemychildren

Never Forgotten



Last night one of our rescue dogs passed away suddenly.  Major was an old timer with a sweet soul.  He was a GOOD boy.  He could hit a ball right back to you with his nose.  He was intelligent, but goofy when he wanted to be. I only had a very short time with him, but I wish I had more.

His passing left me tossing and turning all night long.  He reminded me of all the others that have been lost.  I cried for them, for their foster families that cared and nurtured them, and for each beautiful soul that was abandoned by the only family they’ve ever known.

Major reminded me that I had been part of a wonderful cause, a unit of women bound and determined to save lives and not allow these dogs to die in the shelter, but in someone’s arms who guided them to a better place where there was no pain.  I will always be involved in rescue in some form or fashion, and that is something I will take with me when it is my time.

Major made me cry for the inevitable.  I wanted seniors, and here they are, living and thriving in my home. Some not so much, though.  I know their days are numbered.  I know that day will come, and I know it will have to be me that does it.  My mind knows, but my heart looks the other way, because the thought hurts too much.

How do you keep moving forward when you lose your family dog/cat?  How do you walk by their beds and bowls and toys?  How do you stop crying, when you could swear you heard them bark or whine, or their steps in the hall?  How do you fill that emptiness after they are gone?

I asked my friend, why can’t dogs live as long as we do?  Her answer has resonated with me in the most comforting manner.

“Because they will become bitter in life.  They teach us how to love and not to judge”.  Rachel Cameron Bell

*Some of the dogs that have been lost are above* #Rest In Peace

My targeted heart


First, let me start by saying this….this blog is not about any one person, or any one particular situation. This is a series of events throughout my lifetime.

I’m not looking for sympathy, and I am not breaking out my violin or breaking into a tearful song. I am merely admitting the fact that I am way too sensitive. And this is why.

My childhood was abusive, up until my grandparents took me in. Many of the memories as a child weight heavily on me today, and they will never let me go.  For this reason, I have an overwhelming need to help others see their own worth.  I gravitate to those who need to hear words of encouragement, support, and I cannot stand to see someone who has lost their way.  This is hugely why I entered into the dog rescue world, and hugely why I will always be involved in the dog rescue world.

This should be a positive, but it is not.  It puts a target on your heart. It puts you in a defensive position. It mostly makes me want to crawl into a hole with just my kids and dogs and never come out.  It makes me want to leave social media forever, and it makes me hesitant to say anything or type anything.

I do feel like a victim, and technically I was as a child, but I hate that persona of playing the victim.  I do not want to be THAT person, bitching and moaning all the time. But you know what?  I am aware. I am aware that I can be, and I wish that wasn’t so.

Why do some feel inclined to walk over me as if I am not there?  I can hear, I can see, and I do have feelings. Being excluded is very isolating. Being verbally hurt by someone that doesn’t know you at all, in your truest form, shouldn’t kill me as much as it does. Being verbally hurt by someone you are close to, or thought you were, is not something I cope with well.

I think that I am a good person. My heart is big, and I have many friends who also have big hearts. I will be the very best friend till the end, but as the expression goes, don’t mistake my tears for weakness. I’ve been through hell and back, and I’m exhausted by people making me feel like I’ve done something wrong. I am always here to help, but I’m done with second chances.

I shake my fist at you, Giraffe!!!


We get home from a really long day and everyone is trying to relax. Right on cue, I checked the mail, and there was a toy cat that Bailey has been wanting and pining over for weeks. I was in a good place, and took my shower and fed the dogs.

But wow, I should be so lucky, LOL!!  Here it came……Bailey was upset because she couldn’t find the giraffe from her Mouse Trap game. At the time, I didn’t understand why, but somehow her new cat was connected to this mouse trap game. Her dad found most of the pieces, but there was that one “bleepity bleep” giraffe. Boy, did I HATE that giraffe. I looked for the longest time, anywhere and everywhere, while she proceeded to go into her meltdown.  The giraffe was never found, and I ended up taking her to bed earlier than normal to calm her down. Not a great way to end a day, to say the least.

This morning, though, I grudgingly woke up, waiting for the next giraffe storm, only to find Bailey at the table with another giraffe she had found. She was making it work on her own accord, substituting this giraffe for the lost one. She was problem solving!!!

My Bailey, with her creativity, beauty, and her memory like a steel trap…..she is such an Einstein in disguise.  She is on the spectrum, but she is a little girl first and foremost, and last night, she was very sleepy. She is just like any other child that is tired and grumpy. I’m a proud mother.




I’ve never paid attention to my limits.  I’ve been overwhelmed for many years, and yet I kept juggling and taking it all in, even though my cup runneth over.  This is what mothers do, though, right?

Dog rescuing was always in my heart, from day one when I was 7 years old, and my mother and I witnessed her boyfriend shoot my irish setter, Big Red. We also had to watch our german shepard, King, die from poisoning, because we could not get to the truck to get him to a vet. I will never forget my mother and I, screaming and sobbing, and grasping each other.  It’s shame that most of my memories are devastation and loss.  And you know….I could go on and on, but I know that people who don’t know me personally, become uncomfortable when I address my childhood, so I will stop here. Point being, I saw things that a child should never see, but it made me who I am today.  Now I have 6 dogs in my home, and they have a home for life, because that is how it is supposed to be.  They are my family.

At this time in my life, I choose to simplify.  The kids need more from me.  My daughter has spiraled out of control.  My own dogs need more from me. This are true statements, but my heart is broken nonetheless. Rescue is where I belong, and I believe that to my core.  I’m not sure where that is, or will be, or even if I need to stay put on a smaller scale, but I will find my way back once I get my second wind and attend to priorities that should have been priorities all along. Sometimes you have to sit down, and really contemplate what is best for you, and your family.  The struggle is real.

I know what I want and need……I want that warm fuzzy feeling when you save one that captures your heart. I want to save all breeds and all sizes. I will always be committed to making our city a NO KILL city. I will always love and respect my team. For now, though, I am redirecting most of my focus to my family, my sanity, my health.

The worst thing about walking away from something that you love to do, isn’t that you don’t belong to an organization any longer…….it’s about loss, and those friendships that you built and nurtured for years.  At the end of the day, you have to push forward and hope and pray that you find your place in this world, and that those who call you their friend, are still by your side, and still believe in you.

#ILoveRescue #NextChapter

Summer, why must you leave me so fast?


It’s been awhile since I’ve blogged.  We did not enroll the kiddos in any activities, though kept them very busy with sleep overs, friend’s birthday parties (including their own), and lots of quality family time.

But let’s be real.  We are not the Brady Bunch. There are a million triggers every day that set off BOTH kids in one way or another.

Everyone knows that children with autism need routine, thrive on it, in fact.  And yes, routine is vital for all children, however, a change in routine for a child on the spectrum must be treated with kid gloves.

On a more personal level, Bailey had a rough summer, to say the least.  I was hardly able to leave her side because she had attached herself to me 24/7.  I’m not sure why, but most likely she was out of sorts from being out of school.  It was truly nice to have her wanting to be with me all the time, but also didn’t allow any wiggle room for me to decompress from her meltdowns, much less tackle every day household activities. As you learn and grow with your child, you start to foresee a potential meltdown, and that allows you opportunities to nip it in advance. I truly was not on my game this summer, though.

Bailey is 8 years old now….stronger…..she grows angry fairly quick now, as do those punches when she is past the point of no return. She became very ugly towards her dad and brother. I wish I knew why.

This summer was a learning experience. I will never have my children spend so much time together during summer break.  They were constantly at each other’s throats, both being at fault, and both just plain irritated with one another. NEVER again, I repeat.

I joined an autism support group on Facebook.  I read these stories of heartbreak, depression, stress, and marriage troubles.  There are no judgements, just VENTING with other parents that can relate.  It’s amazing, as are these women.  I also read about miracles, progress, and accomplishments.  It hurts my heart deeply that our children have disabilities at all, and knowing deep down that it affects the entire family in the worst way hurts even more.  Other regular functioning families cannot relate, but please be mindful that everything is different when there is a special needs person involved.

I’ve had to backpedal on other ventures in order to focus more on the kids. I cannot begin to tell you how hard that was for me, because as a mother, your passions are mostly on the back burner, and over time, you do lose sight of who you were before children.  In this case, it was even more vitally important for me to do this.  Bailey was attached to me for a reason.  She needed more, as did Reagan.

I’m approaching Reagan from a different angle, in an attempt to not offset his anxiety.  He does not respond well to raised voices.  Like I’ve said before, he has a tender nature, and I forget this when I’m in my “crazy mommy” mode.  It would be much easier if I could create a protective bubble to form around my children, and then I could relax and be assured they would never be emotionally scarred, anxiety ridden, or even AUTISTIC!!  I wish I could create protective bubbles for all parents.

Let me end with some positives (I made a “funny”).  I always have to remind myself to focus on the positive, even though life has taken me down a rough path from day one. I have touched base with Reagan on a deeper level this summer.  We had many wonderful conversations and serious laughing fits. He is such a comedian when he isn’t trying at all, and I don’t think he realizes that he doesn’t HAVE to try so hard.  It is my mission to get him to let go of all the little things that don’t matter.  This is most challenging, though, because he has learned this from me. My worst characteristic is wearing my feelings on my sleeve.  I am working on that.

Bailey not only talks, but we have full fledged deep interactions.  She wants to share everything with me and truly enjoys being with me.  I know this will change when she gets older, but why does it have to?  Why can’t our children STAY in that mode, where we are their “everything”, their “hero”?  Sure, they need to explore new experiences, but why stray so far away from their roots?  I know it will break my heart, and I will be like all the other mothers that try to hold on too tight.  Isn’t that our instinctual job?

#backtoschool #backtoroutine #imisssummer

Father’s Day


Father’s Day is the day to show your appreciation for everything your dad has done for you.  Their sacrifices, support, and all of the little moments you will remember as you watch your own children blossom.

For some, though, it is a reminder of what you have lost.  I used to believe that grief got better with time, but after losing those close to me personally, I beg to differ. The INTENSITY of the pain isn’t as strong, but that raw pain never goes away.

I remember this day so fondly.  It was one of the rare times that it snowed here in San Antonio. My grandparents and I lived in this house that I reside in now, and I ran outside and frolicked like a child around in the snow, though I was about 15 years old.

I saw Grandpa chuckling from the kitchen window, shaking his head.  I imagined him saying, “dear lord, these women!”, because he always said he was outnumbered by the women around him.

I found myself laying face up in our driveway with my eyes closed.  I opened my mouth and tried to catch the dinky little flakes that Texas graced me with.  I heard a wicked laugh behind me and sat up to see Grandpa, crouched down, forming a snowball.  I giggled and came to a standing position , smiling so hard that my lips cracked (that and from the cold wind gusting around me).

No WAY he was going to throw that snowball.  I didn’t think he would, since he had rare playful moments, but as soon as I turned my back….BAM!!  And this wasn’t a fluffy soft snowball, either.  Before long, we were engaged in a hard snowball fight.

We ended up shoving against each other in a huff, Grandpa grunting and telling me, “alright, alright, I’m not interested!”, in his usual grumpy fashion. For some reason, his grumpiness already spurred me on even more, and I highly enjoyed poking him in the ribs to make him grunt. He was so dang cute!!

This same afternoon, I slid in the ice and dislocated my knee. Quite possibly, the most painful injury I’ve ever had, but there was Grandpa, picking me up, and getting me inside.

He was always there when I needed him. When he slipped away inside his own mind many years later, I still felt that connection. He’ll never leave.

Happy Father’s Day, Grandpa!!




So, I was lost for a little bit.  I know that many people out there can relate to high flying emotions that grab a hold of you and won’t let go. Loss, fear, hopelessness, and feelings of negativity due to circumstances out of your control.

I’m trying. At times it gets to be too much, but with some help from my new doctor, friends, husband, and my kids who keep me on my toes, and keep me from focusing too much on the negativity….I do believe I will be okay.  I’m already feeling more grounded, and that is huge for me.

This has delivered a new perspective for me.  I feel a stronger compassion for others that are struggling emotionally, physically, and just need to hear supportive words and encouragement.

You NEVER know what the other person has endured, and the battles they have fought. Be understanding and mindful of that.

Belated Grieving Sucks


I woke up this morning with this dull ache down to my core. I went about my routine of getting kids ready for school and out the door, and then walking back up the hill towards the house, it hit me like a ton of bricks.

Twenty six years ago, my mom died.


The principal of my high school came into our room.  Our heads were bent down working on our quiz, but we could all hear the muffled whispers.  Mr. Jennings glanced briefly in my direction, shaking his head from side to side. He looked concerned, and had an intense eyebrow furrow. I looked back down at my quiz and continued working.

“Kathy”, said Mr. Jennings, who had suddenly appeared at my desk.  I glanced up at him, still in a slumber from the sleepless night.

“I need you to go to the nurse’s office.”

Confused, but curious, I stood up and started towards the door.

“You’re gonna want to bring your backpack”, he stated before I could take too many steps. I nodded and started packing up my books, feeling the piercing stares of my classmates. Walking out the door, I made eye contact with John, and saw a strange sadness in his eyes, which only drove me to walk faster. What in the world was going on?  Had John heard the Principal and Mr. Jennings whispering?

In the nurse’s office, I was directed to sit down, and Mrs. Tyler proceeded to explain why I was there.  Her words were deafening.  My ears were literally ringing.  My head started spinning and I found myself flat on my back on the clinic bed, looking up at the ceiling. I was lost in a fit of emotions….loss, sadness, but indifference at the same time. I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to feel.  I tried to will myself to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come.

My grandparents were waiting for me at the front office.  I don’t even remember walking up to them.  I felt like I was floating above the entire world, and no one even knew I was up there, looking down.  I was looking down on someone else’s life, not mine.

We arrived at the hospital, and wandered aimlessly around until we found my mother’s best friend, Terry, who was waiting outside my mother’s room, with a tear stained face and red puffy eyes. Her hands were shaking violently as she reached out to me and took me in a huge suffocating hug. It was all too much, and I struggled to break free.  Surely, this was all a nightmare, and I would wake up.  I would go about my day, with visions of my mother coming to visit me, while we build our relationship to another level, where she was my mother, and I was her daughter.  We would go shopping together, and laugh at funny  movies. We wouldn’t be saying goodbye again, and certainly not for the last time.

My mom laid there in a hushed silence, all but the sound of the machines around her.  They were like menacing monsters, hovering over her and I wanted to push them away, and crawl in bed with her, but I didn’t.

I wanted to talk to her, because maybe she could hear me?  I wanted to tell her that I was sorry I left her, that I should have stayed and taken care of her.  I wanted to explain to her how she was always on my mind, how I waited for her to come to my door.  I wanted to tell her that I never got her one single letter, and that my grandma didn’t give it to me.  And mostly, I wanted to tell her that it was okay.  She didn’t mean to hurt me because she was sick, and sick people did terrible things.

She was bloated.  Even her eyelids were abnormally puffy.  She was a tiny, petite woman, but not today.  The infection had spread all over her body, and was like a cancer, attacking her vital organs.  She wasn’t going to wake up, but I’ve seen miracles on TV, and I was certain she would hear my voice and open her eyes.

I pressed my eyes closed tightly, and it was like yesterday, when I ran away on that cold night.  I ran like the wind, as if I were being chased, but I wasn’t.  I was barefoot and shivering, but didn’t stop.  I could see the lights of the convenient store ahead, and that was my refuge.

But then something stopped me.  This intense and undeniable presence. It knocked the breath out of me, and I turned around, breathing heavily.  There was a pain in my chest and I coughed violently.

Mom. She was calling my name, waving my note frantically up above her head, and racing towards me. I was frozen in my spot, and tears were flowing freely down my face. I couldn’t move my feet.  And then I blinked a few times, wiped my face, and she was gone. She was never there. She was still passed out with her bottle on the couch.

Maybe she was calling my name now, as she lay so still.  Maybe she was trying to get out of her own head and outside to me. Maybe she wanted to encircle me with her arms and kiss my forehead, and tell me everything would be okay. Or maybe not. Maybe she was just gone.

I never opened my mouth to speak to her.  I spoke to her silently in my own mind, and then I moved away from her. I watched in a trance-like state as my grandma stood over her and repeatedly told her, “fight, fight, fight”, and then the day was over.

I cried a few tears for the next couple of days, but I had another week of high school left, and then my graduation, so I fought to keep it in.  After my graduation, I waited for the breakdown, but it never came.  Why I did not mourn for my mother, I will never know, but one day it came.

I was looking through my grandma’s office, and I came across a ton of letters from my mother to me. Letters that I never received, stashed away in one of grandma’s books, as if they were a dirty secret.

I sat on my bedroom floor and read through them.  She wanted to see me, and why couldn’t she see me?  She missed me badly, and wanted to make amends. She wanted to be my mother and she was trying to do better for me.

All of those years, 8 of them, and I was heartbroken that she never came for me. All of those years, and she wanted me all along.

She was not drinking herself into a stupor or using herself into abusive relationships. She was working as a house cleaner, and she was taking assignments that were close to me, so that she could drive by, and watch me playing in the front yard. She watched me toss my baton, she watched ride my bike with my friends, and she watched me live my life without her.

I laid on my floor, and cried like I never have before.  My stomach hurt from the wracking sobs, and I curled up into a fetal position.  All of those years were lost, and there was no getting them back.  All of my anger and bitterness went away at that moment, and I was conflicted and bitter towards my grandma for keeping her letters from me.

The years were stolen from me. My mother wasn’t going to show up at my door and take me in her arms, and smooth my hair, and kiss my cheek. She was gone forever, and there were no second chances.