In New Hampshire, mental health care is abysmally poor. The state uses an out of date, regional agency approach for those not rich enough to afford the private psychiatrists, counselors, and clinics that has wide disparities in the quality of care, and frequent non compliance with parts of the Health Care Reform Act. It is apparent everywhere, but the last place I expected to find so many examples of what is wrong was the OFCA Advocate Newsletter. Silly me.
At one time, the #1 advocate for mental health consumers (The Office of Consumer and Family Affairs) was the watchdog agency headed by a director not afraid to show teeth and bite both a BBH wonk’s behind and a Representative’s elbow to get things changed. The newsletter usually had at least one photo or story of our Advocate fighting for us, even is the battle was lost to Tea Party fanatics.
Now, the OFCA has been reduced to an emasculated shell that has staff getting certifications in suicide prevention instead of lessons on how to hold press conferences that force change within the Bureau of Behavioral Health and the legislature to benefit and protect consumers.
The Winter 2015-2016 Newsletter, for example, disclosed that the application for the Federal block grant that funds the continuation of the broken agency system that deprives consumers of even the choice of who will provide their services had been completed.
Who led this massive effort? That yet again is going to chain mental health consumers to bad care, no choice? Yeah, that guy was actually (as State Planner), the director of the OFCA. Yep the guy who is supposed to be OUR Advocate – kicking and screaming about the dysfunctional system and pulling both politicos and state-employee-for-life-crats together to replace the system. Guess what? The broken regional agency system not only is staying, but there isn’t even any pretense of open bidding for the contracts. Great job OFCA. There’s only thousands of us waiting for you to change to a working system, one that can at least get a passing grade from NAMI.
Hold up. Understand: Nami-NH was the ONLY other national backed advocacy organization for Mental Health Consumers in New Hampshire. I would have posted a link to show you just how bad our grade is at NAMI, but the newest one I could find was 2012. Instead of an easy to read report card, they have this…mess.)
Personally, if you are going to hold your one day biggest fundraiser walkathon in the empty Sunday Afternoon side streets in neighborhoods near the state psychiatric hospital, well…how do you cause change if you aren’t causing some serious traffic jams? They have also been decimated by tax cuts and 1% rich people not donating big checks like all the other charities. Here is just a glimpse of some of the NAMI-NH programs that no longer exist:
|NAMI Affiliate||What Happened Where|
NAMI Berlin has been dissolved; please contact NAMI NH at the phone or email listed above.
Concord area is still open.
NAMI Greater Salem Affiliate has been dissolved; please contact NAMI NH at the phone or email listed
Manchester & Goffstown can still get help, although there is only one bus and it has a lousy schedule.
NAMI Manchester CAN has been dissolved -the only consumer run group of it’s kind NAMI-NH had.
Nashua & Merrimack area
Littleton/Franconia &Twin Mountain area
Portsmouth& Kittery Point area
Rochester, Somersworth, Dover
Lebanon area (NH and VT)
By the way, have you ever seen a map of NH? Looks small right? Try getting to a NAMI affiliate meeting when you need support and the nearest one is in Twin Mountain and you are in Lincoln. HOURS of driving, because Mental Health Consumers and their families have lots of time and money to drive for hours to get help and support.
Thus ends the digression on why the #2 Advocate for mental health consumers in New Hampshire isn’t making any noise about the #1 Advocate becoming the staff that wrote us into another year of abject misery. If enough of us die from the poor care, we will have an Advocate then: The Funeral Home Association needs zip lock baggies for our ashes.
None of the identified goals for the next 5 years address the discrepancy between CFI-Chronic Illness and CFI-Mental Health. CFI-Chronic Illness does suffer from a horrific shortage of home care workers and devastating cuts, but it at least preserves the consumer’s right to choose which agency does case management, what nurse comes into their home, and what doctors and therapists the person chooses to see.
CFI-Mental Health on the other hand, strips almost all choice from consumers, and literally creates a reality that moving 20 minutes up the road can cost you not only your psychiatric providers, but can cause your diagnosis to be arbitrarily changed, can cause you to lose services you previously received, and even remove you from being approved for CFI-mental health services completely. If you haven’t gotten the message yet, here you go: You mental health consumers are the peasants. You just stay put, suck up the bad care, and turn down that job, apartment, or chance to live closer to the grandchildren. We OWN you, we decide what you do or do not get, and as one employee of an agency said “Each agency is its own silo”. As in missiles, not storage of food.
None of the 5 goals included any plan to recruit more psychiatrists and psychiatric Nurse Practitioners to the state.. Even though we are facing a critical shortage, and happen to have a state that is still cool enough that the mayor of Rochester convinced TWO companies and 800 workers to come here and build turbines. Nobody could set aside a couple hundred bucks to send that guy, TJ JEAN, to recruit psychiatrists in BOSTON?!?
None of the goals included creation of a system similar to the used in the legal profession that unless employed in Community Mental Health Care, all psychiatrists, psychologists, psychiatric nurses be required to donate a fixed amount of pro Bono work per year to those who cannot afford to pay for it.
Also left out of the 5 year goals was compliance with creating the required number of community homes for consumers as mandated in the Amanda D settlement, where the state violated the rights of an entire class of mental health consumers for close to 10 years just so they could “be a low tax state” to the Mitt Romneys and the Dean Kamens. Yes, Robotics in high school is great….but we have people starving, homeless, and dying here. Mitt, Dean: Pay more taxes!
There was no specific goal to correct the survey and data collection
methodologies that have important budget decisions based solely on how many consumers hit the 1 in 200 chance of getting a bed at the New Hampshire state hospital twice. (The reality is a person with an inpatient stay may get discharged from the State Hospital, then 20 days later readmitted to a bed in a regular hospital. The rate of readmits doesn’t count this person unless they go back to the State Hospital. New Hampshire loves to gamble, but the odds of pulling this off are so astronomically high, it is something consumers brag about because it is so rare.)
Hundreds of NH consumers go through the agony of dealing with a psychiatric emergency handcuffed to a bed in the local ER, with barely getting food and use of a toilet due to lack of psych beds, but one of the goals identified is to reduce psychiatric hospitalizations so that even more of the state’s rising murder, suicide, and misery can be seen in our news and on TV, while the rest of us mental health consumers suffer and die silently.
By this point, the dog was offering to line his “potty” with the newsletter, but I read on, ignoring the TMJ pain in my jaw.
The final insult? An op-ed piece by a PhD on the idea that we as a state should reconsider the definition of Severe Mental Illness to focus on more on “positive functioning”.
In other words, instead of just saying, for example, that I have 2 brain illnesses, Multiple Sclerosis and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, one a neurological illness and the other a psychiatric illness, Dr. Mandersch would see a world where I have a neurological illness and that I am “working” on improving my mental well-being!
This is pure bull. I have MS, and I chose my neurologist, we chose my treatments, and when I show up in the ER, no one is pussyfooting around saying I was “struggling with maintaining my physical well being”. It should be exactly the same for mental illness. There is no way in hell mental health consumers are going to go back to having “feel good”, “let’s just look at the positive side” quasi-care.
If I have a MS seizure, get me in a hospital, a neurologist, and an IV with an anti-epileptic, stat. If I have para-suicidal ideation or a flashback, get me in the hospital, a psychiatrist, and an IV with Xanax, stat. Stop acting like Severe Metabolic Illness is OK to say but Severe Mental Illness is not.
Our mothers and grandmothers marched in too many marches, walked too many congressional halls to make it “OK” to try and downgrade one kind of broken brain to a “here, let’s talk” while the other gets proper care from properly trained and paid professionals, with real treatment, adaptive equipment, and support services.
Medicaid parity is coming. Ron can take his fuzzy wuzzy “think yourself well” and go put it where it belongs: AFTER proper recognition that these are REAL diseases and illnesses, and those of us with them deserve real doctors with real choices and as much respect, care, and compassion as every single chick wearing a pink ribbon bandana on her bald head.
Bureau of Behavioral Health and OCFA:
Epic #FAIL. Start over.
It is time for OFCA to stop being the cute toy poodle in the Tiara trying to charm people and start channeling their inner chihuahua and start biting some ankles and getting the real priorities addressed. Consumer choice, just like in CFI-CI. Real change, real treatment, and calling a spade a spade, not a washed down hippie dippy “rough patch”.
Brenda Ann Eckels, aMGC, Strafford County, NH #mentalillnessfeelslike #MentalHealthAwarenessMonth
Day after party?? No, day after launching new expansion on my site TodaysCatholics.com!
So tired but it’s gonna be worth it!
This is me, 3AM… Today when I wake up at 9:30, it will be much worse!
It’s a race to build, a job now…or else I keep starving.
Even though multiple sclerosis is only one disease I live with, these cuts to social services, lack of workers willing to beat up their cars and slave at Medicaid home care wages means I have to “unretire” and make a few hundred a month on top of my check to survive.
Since I often have to work from my hospital bed in my room, this is it – my best chance.
Runs kinda like a very tiny public radio right now, please check out the Gift and Book Shop link and consider donating and sharing what you find there.
Going to crash, pray, sleep…
Take care, Brenda The Writer
Bad Dream by Brenda Ann Eckels, aMGC (c)2016
I dream a lot, once my broken body manages to get into the REM state. Sometimes I remember them when I wake up. This was one. Just a horrible dream I had during my nap one day.
Trump got the nomination. He won the Oval Office, and a GOP/Tea Party majority in both House and Senate. The head men at GOP National ran the country.
My $16 in food stamps, my electric assistance, my fuel assistance got shut off, my Medicare and Medicaid went up, and food got even more expensive. The grant that helps pay for the wheelchair van disappeared, and I started to miss appointments and to run out of food more.
About a year later I got told that instead of an SSDI check, I would get a voucher to take to any Stockbroker or Investment Bank to open an account and live off the interest and dividends. The best I could get was a money market account based on a group of military contractor stocks, and most months I got a deposit of $125.00 in dividends.
No one went out in public without a gold-looking Trump pin, but even so I got harassed by Makers roving the streets. I learned to always say “Making America Great Again!” in a loud happy voice whenever I saw them, police, politicians.
I was able to keep my apartment, but only after agreeing to cover the rent that used to be subsidized by taking in roommates. The landlord didn’t care, as long as they got paid. My adoptive parents moved in, as did my sister and her family, a few others, as Section 8 was abolished. It was so crowded, we often got sick.
President Trump travelled constantly around the country to rallies. Sometimes the news would say in advance he was coming, but most of the time you just got a Tweet to show up at a certain stadium at a certain time. Everyone over 18 either had a phone or a Twitter watch. Those were free from the government. Shutting off your phone or watch GPS was outlawed.
Once at the stadium, you clutched and watched your phone, waiting for the tweets:
“Making America Great Again!” You had to be ready, shouting it loud, happy, and holding your right fist up high in the air. If you didn’t look “devoted” enough, the Makers in the crowd or the people around you would point to you, grab at you, and the soldiers and police would drag you out. Sometimes, you never saw those people again. Sometimes you did, always with bruises.
Sometimes you would get a tweet, half kill yourself to get your family there, and it would just be a preacher or a senator. It didn’t matter. If you missed a rally, they knew. Your GPS would give you away.
We had only one time we dared to have Ma, so sick she couldn’t sit up, not go. We made sure to call 911 and get the letter from the EMT’s for her and one of the older kids to stay. The Makers still showed up the next day, and trashed our entryway, throwing our coats on the floor and so on.
This one, though, we knew would be Him. We got 24 hours notice to get from Rochester to Manchester. It had to be a Presidential rally. We carefully fired up the lawnmower engine on the adult trike, and Dad’s old Ford pickup, hooked the wagon Dad and I had made the second year, and got on the road. Counting the littlest ones, there were 14 of us.
My brother in law rode shotgun, sitting on top of the big barrels of gasoline we stole from abandoned cars. My sister steered the trike, while Ma and the others rode in the wagon. I drove the Ford with Dad next to me. We made good time, as both could go off the crowded roads, but the trike only went 8-10mph loaded and pulling the food in the baskets. My sister was locked and loaded too, behind the wagon and truck, with a handgun. Just in case.
We got to Manchester in the dark, and parked at my brother’s place. They were not as thin as us, because they had gotten one of them a job with the GOP office there. If you worked for the party, you got special “shopping days” where all the stuff was 50% off. But, they were antsy every time we had to come. “Brenda,” his wife said “you gotta repaint that side of the wagon. It is looking faded.” I agreed, and until we all left for the last couple miles to the stadium, I was busy retouching the painting on the side with Trump’s head in front of a waving American flag. I touched up both sides of the truck, too. Patriotism was important, and the best way to be allowed to have a vehicle on the road.
Ma, Dad, Me all had wheelchairs, and we had strollers for the kids. Everyone except my sister and my brother’s family walked, she rode the trike, they had bicycles. The roads all had folks like us. Only GOP officials could afford cars, and the Makers either had SUV’s or armored carriers like the soldiers. You had to stay to the right, and folks like us weren’t allowed on the highways. My brother still had his 2 cars, but always went with us to rallies. They weren’t high enough to have a parking space anyway.
On the TV stations, you never saw any of it. 24/7 the broadcasts were full of how everyone had at least one car, how there was no homeless, shows about new factories making the newest drones and weapons, the parades of ISIS prisoners of war, the liberation of Iraq. There was a show each month profiling someone who had gotten rich using their voucher in the stock market.
It was hard to find a place to lock up our bikes, but finally we found a spot in the cemetery. Ma reminded the young ones not to go near the bikes after the rally until we said so. We adults slathered Vaseline with poison on the lock, the handlebars, and the seats. Dad bet me one ration of bread that we’d come back to only one dead thief. Sucker bet. Idiots would step on the dead body and try anyway. Almost always the chains would have cut marks.
We all had to turn over our phone or watch to get inside. I had to explain the photo of the line of dead cars I forgot to delete. Thankfully, my explanation I was catching the sunset worked, even though they made me delete it.
We got in, and took our seats, clutching and staring at the screens. The jumbotrons were showing the Christian Rock band playing music.
“3” “Kids, get ready” we adults hissed…
“1” Fist tight, arms rising…
“Making America Great Again!”
They went on for hours. Up on high, “Goppers” as we called them, enjoyed all kinds of free food, as did the people, mostly officials, who got floor seats. Those of us who were in the stands were not allowed to leave our seats, and the hawkers with the soda, candy, popcorn were too expensive for even my brother. Our group did get a bit more room however, because of our wheelchairs.
At the rally, I watched my friend, a poet, a dissident, a…prophet? He barely made it in, long hair, sandals. But he cheered really loud, and had his fist up first every time. He would just randomly do it, so the Makers made fun of him, but didn’t stop him. I had seen him at lots of the smaller rallies, but never a Presidential.
The video played, and Hail to the Chief came over the loudspeakers. More chants. Trump had said his 3 carefully crafted lines, all that passed for a speech, and it was the part where he just kept the cheers going, faster and faster, until the end when the music would blare, fireworks go off, and it would finally be over unless you got pulled out of line to be interviewed. My brother and his family, never us skinny, toothless, poor and disabled.
My head hurt, my fist hurt from being clenched so tight. My face even hurt from keeping my smile on. I was dizzy, having only our bread and vegetables we grew to eat. We all had scurvy, protein deficiencies.
And suddenly, I heard my friend, behind me, at my ear: “Mic check. Remember. Tell the stories.”
I turned on my phone camera so I could see over my shoulder. One more cheer, a wave, we stood, shouted “Death to Muslims!”, we sat…
Except my friend, now two rows back. He kept standing. A pit grew in my stomach. Oh, No…God, no…
He gracefully pulled the shirt off his body, over his head in one sweep, his long hair flying, exposing his bare chest…
.. with a rainbow flag and “#anonymous” painted on it….
A full second? Maybe less? The cameras turned, one on a drone swooping in, and suddenly all you could see on the jumbotrons was the Makers and everyone around him turning, punching, grabbing…him falling….the crowd going wild, cheering, stomping their feet, chanting “Traitor! Traitor!” His bloody, battered body being dragged away, and then the screens filled with Trump smiling. “Thank you, Patriots, for catching that nut! Let’s hear it! True Americans!”
It wasn’t until late that night, long after the man had appeared next to me outside the stadium, that my video hit the underground. That was when I saw that one of those in front of him had a syringe. My friend only felt the first few punches.
Dad and I sat in the quiet cab of the truck, our phones resting on the back bumper, and talked, again, of moving north. The Wall was already up to Mexico. The military had all the harbors. The Underground could only take healthy, able bodied, and if you went with them and got caught…
The deep North was still open. Especially in winter. “You should go.” He said. “They have all your blogs, your Democratic and Green Party work. Your gay rights posts. You should go.” His eyes were so sad.
I woke up, shivering, in my dark room. Booker raised his head, perked his ears, asking “What? What’s wrong?” I comforted him, drank some water, went back to sleep.
Less than a month later, the videos of the Trump campaign rally, the teenager who didn’t do anything but miss a cheer, playing with her phone, came up on my YouTube suggestion list. I made it to the bathroom, throwing up my ensure. Since then, it has been at worse….
Just a dream….We Americans can’t be that stupid. We won’t be that stupid….God, We will wake up, right?
#Elections2016 #NeverTrump #HumanRights #WakeUp! #Anonymous
“I Will Support The Party Nominee…That I Can’t Stand.” WHAT!?!
By Brenda Ann Eckels, aMGC (c)2016
So, this guy “works in the trenches” with GOP SuperPacs for two years to try and stop reality show host Donald Trump from winning primaries.
Then gets on FOX News (the official propaganda outlet of the GOP) and is asked by a “Judge” who he is going to vote for, while she fishes to see where all of the SuperPacs money is going to go.
Like any good soldier, he repeats over and over the only answer that will save his career and his life: “I Will Support The Party Nominee.”
His body language tense, his nostrils flare just a little each time.
Trump has declared his rallies to be private events, and we have all seen the videos of what happens to people he doesn’t like. Pepper Spray, Bruises, Sexual Assaults, all done in his name by the more rabid of his supporters.
Trumps interviews are only on GOP supported and owned media. I won’t reprint his most common verbal reactions to the few humans he meets who don’t support him because I detest vulgarity.
He has been known to not just fire, but to do his best to destroy people who have worked for him. He is one of the largest exporter of jobs to other countries in the Menswear business, and thinks nothing of shutting down American factories and devastating lives and communities to make himself richer.
So, right after Trump forces Cruz to quit, what did the “Judge” think the poor schmuck she was interviewing was going to say?
The entire interview was staged, filmed, edited, and broadcast as a warning to #Republicans. Like or don’t like Trump, it doesn’t matter.
It was played and spread to tell you Republicans “Support Trump, or those same rabid supporters of his might decide to grab your teenage daughter’s breast, spray your Mother with pepper spray, and knock you until you are bloody.”
Trump actually has to have an announcement made at every rally to remind his “Brownshirts” NOT to attack protesters, and even with the announcements there are still times that the air is thick with violence.
Some rallies Trump has ordered the crowd to raise their right hand and swear they will vote for him.
Donald, asking for a person’s vote is OK.
Ordering them to swear to vote for you is Fanatical Nationalism on display, and:
No, Not All Republicans Are Nazi’s!
Republicans! You DO NOT have to support this man who is lacking even the most basic skills to be a politician, never mind a President.
Trump has no intention of working with Republicans and Democrats to get legislation passed.
He has no intention of reading your emails when he does something that you Republicans don’t like.
He has no intention of doing anything about the massive amount of tunnels under the spots he wants to build a wall, because he could care less how much bad weed the Cartels bring in the country.
He just wants to stop starving victims of those Cartels (and his 1% friends) from getting in, and wants to make it harder for anyone to get out.
He could care less about the middle class and poor Republicans, and already released a tax plan to give the uber rich (like him) massive tax breaks. It has nothing for Republicans making under $100,000 a year.
He doesn’t belong to any church, and has shown almost no indication that he respects your Christian faith. All he cares about is that Christian Republicans give more to SuperPacs than they do the Sunday collection.
Republicans, Wake up!
There is a reason #stoptrump #nevertrump and more are growing, and there is a reason why The Right Side News (Fox News for youtubers) is spending mucho dinero pushing out slick videos of Trump rallies with all kinds of cool music and careful editing. They are desperately trying to keep you Republicans from seeing the Emperor has no clothes!
There is a reason that it has become a drinking game to watch those videos and try to find the token Black or Latino! (Try it! It is fun! Plus you don’t get very buzzed, so you can still drive home!)
Where do you think all the Non-Fundamentalist Christian Blacks and non-Roman Catholic Latino Republicans went? Now remember, the Fundamentalist Blacks (and Whites) and the Vaticanite Latinos have already gotten orders at Church to vote for whoever is antiabortion and anti-gay, even if it is Satan himself. Pretty much the same as the Germans in the 1930’s were “advised” at church to vote for Hitler. They are lost souls. We other Catholics and Christians pray for them.
Think of it this way: Would you let the pastor at Westville Baptist tell you who to vote for while they hold up traffic and signs at military funerals? Of course not. Same for Roman Catholic Latinos and Fundamentalist Christian Blacks, etc. who support Trump. They are brainwashed. Just move past them.
Trump has no plan for immigration reform besides banning Muslims and building the Wall. He would happily rip apart families of Latinos who applied to be legal and whose paperwork got lost, or misfiled.He has made no announcement to bring funding and staffing levels up at Immigration to address the backlog of applications.
He has no plan to address the disparities in this country that exist for Black Americans. He could care less if your teenage son gets shot for wearing a hoodie. He has made no room in his tax plan to help police departments tell the difference between criminals and the black accountant who just got out of the gym.
Trump has no plans to help single mothers, disabled women, middle age soccer moms care giving older relatives. That is because as he has shown time and time again, women do not count unless they have money. Even then, they don’t count for much.
Trump has no plan to get Republicans in Congress to stop shutting down the government.
Except for a smattering here and there, Non-Roman Catholic Latinos and Blacks, millions of women, many disabled and a lot of poor older folks don’t want Trump any more than you want this megalomaniac with bad hair!
Republicans! Wake Up!
Call your state GOP office. Find out who your delegates are. Politely, email or write to them that you do not want Trump, especially if you voted against him or missed your primary. Hell, New York alone “lost” over 100,000 ballots!
Find out what exactly happens in the GOP if a delegate gets more letters saying “No Trump” than they had votes for Trump to begin with.
Go ahead, BE a Republican, but be an awake and informed one!
Take your party back, or leave it and start over!
If you get stonewalled, shut out, dismissed, or end up like the guy in the video, stay strong!
Don’t give in to the fear Trump’s rabid right will hurt you or your family!
YOU are the voter, and YOU get to choose, not FoxNews, not The Right Side, and not a man who pulls himself out of bankruptcy by ditching one wife for a richer one. No, he wasn’t always rich. Yes, he gets passes on things small business can only dream of.
In November, remember this:
Every ballot location in the country, every little voting booth, has a Black Pen or a digital equivalent.
Republicans! Use it! #WriteInBlack
#Elections2016 #Trump2016 #GOP #RepublicanParty #VotersRights
Spring in New Hampshire
By Brenda Ann Eckels, aMGC (c) 2016
In the land of birch trees
Of little towns
Bearing rivers with
Used to be
Mid March the lamb
Chased away the snowy lion
Happy fat warm drops
Coaxing the seeds
Masses of daffodils
And more than enough
For children’s bouquets
On Mother’s Day.
Ruined our paradise
Our Prophets ignored
We now pay the price
March and April
Bitter cold winter
And May Day
There is no pole
No gay ribbons
No laughing children
Cold, sharp, mixed
With a slushy ice
Choking the Iris and Lilly
As they try to bring up shoots
Has only the hardiest
Tiny white clumps
And yellow dandilions
For a bundled child
In boots and rain slicker
Oh, woe to us!
Humans who thought
We could out run
Expelling of noxious excrement
There is only
Spring in New Hampshire
We made into tourist attractions
We sold souvenir swatters
Healing, Life-Giving Rain
We danced in
Bright, warm sunshine
For gardens to grow
And it was glorious
Now, we lament
What we have lost
On a May midday
Almost as dark as sunset
Shaking our heads sadly
As we mourn the death
That we caused.
The youngest ones
Once upon a time
There was more to life
Than snow, ice, rain
And precious few days of warm comfort
Before the burning time of summer
Drives them indoors again.
Spring in New Hampshire
Was glorious, us crones whisper
As sleepy heads fall asleep
To what they think is a fairy tale
Not noticing the single tear
On the elder’s shamed and guilty cheek.
After three weeks of pain, stretches, massages, warm baths, rest, sucking it up etc I finally bit the bullet and went to a physiotherapist yesterday. I’ve pinched the sciatic nerve in my back, which is causing the limp, pain, aching, numbness and pins n needles in my legs and foot. He did the stretches then […]
So true…sometimes, people just don’t get it.
I was his Queen.
I still bear royal standing.
Simply for being.
I am at peace
with that realization.
No, they did not deserve me
To count me as one of them.
He did deserve me,
And I him,
Our souls linked.
The actions that ripped us apart
Such an affront to God,
the angels wept, and weep still.
I? I survive. I live.
I pray for Him.
Walk the Widow’s walk
No grave for flowers
Avoiding the shell
He once lived in.
(C)2015, Brenda Ann Eckels, aMGC