#I was 5 when my grandma died and I don’t believe I attended the funeral bc she lived in another state (iirc my dad flew to Georgia and my

[alliluyevas]

I feel like if a child is old enough to understand the concept of death and that their loved one has died, there’s no reason why going to a funeral would be any more upsetting than knowing they are dead in the first place. if the child is too young to understand the concept of death (ie a toddler or baby) there is also no reason not to take them to the funeral unless having to take care of them there would be distracting or burdensome on their parents.

[lannisterdaddyissues]

Tlk & alfred for the ask meme👀😁

aaaaa sorry i took so long to answer this lmaoo!!! i forgot it was in my inbox but i LOOOOOOOVE YOU!!!! @stellar-voyager​ you give me all the fun validation

001 | THE LAST KINGDOM

favorite character: Literally everyone who’s ever met me knows this lol but Alfred hands down. He’s brilliant. I love the brainy ones who play puppeteer with everyone else, it just really turns the cogs in my mind. I also love Uhtred and Aldhelm though, they’re probably tied for next in line :)

least favorite character: Cn*t 🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢 I can’t stand him. But Aethelwold comes in a close second because ew.

5 favorite ships (canon or non-canon): Again, literally everyone who’s ever met me knows this but Uhtred and Alfred have so much chemistry and such a strong bond that I couldn’t just...not ship them. After that there are some really good canon ships in this show that I just love. Aethelflaed x Aldhelm, Uhtred x Gisela, Finan x Eadith, and Alfred x Aelswith have all my heart eyes 🥺

character I find most attractive: Ugh I can’t believe I have to answer this when the main cast is full of attractive people. If I’m being completely honest I really think Uhtred and Gisela are super attractive.

character I would marry: A̶e̶t̶h̶e̶l̶r̶e̶d̶   I can hardly choose between the entire cast, but if I have to narrow it to one then probably Aldhelm :’) He would be the best husband!!!

character I would be best friends with: Likely Uhtred or Aldhelm again <3

a random thought: Iseult lives rent-free in my brain forever, I know she lasted for like 2 episodes but she had such an impact on Alfred that he attended her pagan funeral and I will just never stop thinking about that.

an unpopular opinion: Finan is overrated. That is all

my canon otp: I mean there aren’t a lot of ships that are canon as of yet so Uhtred x Gisela. I love them, they’re the perfect example of what a marriage should be <3

my non-canon otp: I am once again Thinking about Alfred x Uhtred because they are transcendent

most badass character: Alfred. He wasn’t the protagonist but still stole the spotlight every time he was on screen and was unafraid to call people out on their BS.

most epic villain: I hate just about every antagonist in this show and most of them are kind of lame tbh, but Siegfried (i think that’s how you spell it? the subtitles call him Sigefrid but it didn’t look right) was pretty good. I didn’t like him much but he was probably the least lame.

pairing I am not a fan of: Brida and Cn*t are just...ew. Ugh. No.

character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another): I mean the writers did a great job with everyone really but... Brida by the end of s4? I am Not a fan.

favourite friendship: It’s impossible for me to give any answer but Coccham Squad, though Hild and Uhtred are the most wholesome friendship I’ve ever seen between a man and a woman on screen. I love the respect he has for her 💖💖 and she for him!!! Really anyone who’s friends with Uhtred, I love.

character I most identify with: I identify a lot with Aldhelm and, a fact which disgusts me :), Edward. Not that I live in my parents’ shadow but at such a young age he’s striving to do more than he’s capable of and that’s a same. I still hate him though 🥴

character I wish I could be: Aethelflaed is the Woman™️

003 | KING ALFRED (THE GREAT) OF WESSEX

how I feel about this character: HE IS EVERYTHING TO ME AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA I would sell my soul to him for a penny and a lock of his soft hair 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

any/all the people I ship romantically with this character: Have I not said Uhtred twice already? I will say it a third time. He deserves it. I also love his relationship with Aelswith. They had a rocky start but there were some scenes in the later seasons that really showed how much they loved and cared for each other 🥺❤️

my favorite non-romantic relationship for this character: He doesn’t really interact with any of the characters except for Uhtred and his family, so I’d have to say Aethelflaed. He’s such an adorable dad with her, I love seeing how much he dotes on her and he was so stricken with grief when she was kidnapped in s2 😭 But for characters who aren’t his family, I’d have to say Hild. She’s easily his favorite nun 🏆😇

my unpopular opinion about this character: A lot of people don’t like him because of his treatment of Uhtred throughout the course of the show which is valid, since he shows a lot of hypocritical behavior and manipulates Uhtred into serving him a lot. But people don’t take into account the fact that Uhtred refused to assimilate with his culture and follow his laws in his own land, instead doing the exact opposite by killing who he pleased and blatantly disrespecting the Christian God. People normally ignore this by saying it was a different time but it’s Alfred’s house and his rules and that is the tea sis.

one thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: The reconciliation with Uhtred and the handhold was really all I could wish for 🥺🥺 and Uhtred’s speech about him!!! The love!!! I’ll always hold their bond so dearly to my heart. But I really wish that we’d gotten to see some grandpa Alfred before he died :((( Grandma Aelswith and Aethelstan were so cute, and the scene where she tells Aethelstan about Alfred’s vision made my heart hurt so much. I wish we’d gotten to see Alfred be a grandpa though 💔 He would have been the best grandfather 😤😤

favorite friendship for this character: haha the implication that alfred has friends is so funny....but no his closest friend is his chronicle (it’s really his diary). To answer this question seriously though, Aelswith may be his wife but she’s also his best friend!! They judge people together just as best friends should. I love them <3

my crossover ship: I’m not really a crossover person so I don’t really have one. Also he’s a real person so that’s just kinda... idk nahhh lol. I guess, off the top of my head, Allura from Voltron???? They’re both...royals...and they’re relatively similar in personality. I don’t even know I’m just throwing stuff into the void 😜 but oh no i’m kind of seeing it now oop- 😖

here’s the link to the ask meme!

[psycholojay]

" The memory that haunts me "

I was graduating at my college degree that time, my grandma died 5 months ago, It was supposed to be an ordinary day, when my sister told me that they are at the hospital ang my father was confined, for me, that was usual, cause it happens all the time because my dad is hard headed, he always drinks alcohol even he was advised by the doctor not to for the reason that he already had an operation due to UTI

To cut the story short, my father was subjected to a dialysis, so, his schedule was every midnight because he was diagnosed of having a TB as well, I see my mom's perseverance and patience by attending to all the needs of my dad, by the way my mom is already at her 50's given that, I know she is tired sometimes but she do not complain.

Months pass by my father is having a hard time breathing on his own, that is why we needed to get some oxygen for him. whenever he has difficulties in breathing he uses the oxygen, being busy as well in school I thought with all the medical attention my father is getting better until one day, I have noticed that his bones are noticebly seen, which means his dropped weight, like a lot. Untill one day, the saddest day of my life, my father started to loose his vision, I was hurting inside, but I didn't show my mom, because if I will shenmight loose her hope as well, hope that my dad will be alright soon.

With their weekly schedule of dialysis my mom told me that the reason of by dad's blindness is due to a mild stroke and a vein in her brain clogged that is to why the unfortunate event happened, after that my father was going in and out of the hospital, he was being isolated as well due to his condition, fast forward.

One night in the calmness of my sleep a heard my dad calling my mom, so I went to check they are at the kitchen, my dad was coughing blood, it was a lot of blood, you can really smell the blood althrough out the kitchen, I don't know what to do that day. A week pass by everything was running smoothly, sometimes a helped my mom attending to my dad's needs specially assisting him going to the rest room, and as well my dad is having difficulty in swallowingso what he eats is right that has a lot of water

I thought everything is going okay now because my dad finished his medications for tb and he is declared of not having it anymore, until one day my dad was having difficulty in breathing, the oxygen no longer help him, so everyone is panicking while my dad is complaining that he no longer wanted to proceed with the medications because things doesn't do any better

Then after a week the day come, I was prepping to go to school when I heard my dad calling for me, so I ask him why and he said He wanted to go home so I answered him we are at home (I am really confused that time, I think he thought we are in the hospital untill he mentioned) "agawid nakun idjay ballay mi, idjay panggasinan" I wanted to go home in our house in panggasinan, so I panicked I called my sisters, I was crying that time because I believe that is not a good sign, so I let my father calm down, wait until he got rest, my mom is nowhere to be found that day, I guess she went to the market, so I ask my niece to look after because I really needed to go to school

It was a normal day at school, me and my classmates even hang out and do some shoots, at 6 pm we decided to go home, so my ex-partner decided to call for a trike for me, so while I'm on the way home, I have smelled a scent of a flower so I thought it was normal, but as I get nearer and nearer my heart is starting to race, so I rush going home and my neighbor who is at the store ask me if my dadwas already taken so I answered him I do not know because I do not have any idea, so I run and my heart started racing, until I saw ny dad, lying in his bed, no longer using oxygen because he is no longer breathing, I was crying a lot, it's like a piece of me was being torn a part I was in deep pain, I blame myself that maybe if I didn't go to school maybe I will still see him, setting at the edge of his bed, listening to the tv, (Syet, I'm already crying) my mon decided to call the funeral on and they said they will come early in the morning, so my last moment with my dad was 3am in the morning, I was ask to look after him because my sister needed to take some rest, so what I did is I hold my dad's hand, and ask for forgiveness in all the weong things that I did and was not able to notice, I am already crying. It was a painful thing, up until now it still haunts, I am not really close to my dad, but with that experience, I realize all the dad's effort to provide us all the things that we need, and we failed to provide him the things that he needed. I have the guilt the pain and the memories as if today, and I think it's the one that triggers my anxiety, and as well, this is the first time that I was able to release this emotion for 2 years.

Lesson is, love your parents, make sure that you make them feel special everyday, tell then how much you love them because things are unpredictable so live it, love unconditionally.

[adamandbrittanyinhawaii]

Be Better

These past few days have quite frankly been awful.  I think I’m over the isolation quarantine has brought but more than that, June was always a month that reminded me a lot of my Papa: D-Day, his birthday and Father’s Day.  Grieving always sits right under the surface waiting to be stirred and those acute reminders that it is there feels a bit like picking at a fresh wound. 

I’ve been looking through a lot of old photos of my grandpa.  I wish I had more.   I’ve noticed he only smiles in a fraction of them.  It’s not that he was a grim or sour personality, but it just seemed to be his way.  That makes it all the better when a photo captured him with a smile, cause you knew it wasn’t empty, staged or vacant.  I can feel the warmth.

I think about that face often.  I also think of all the faces I had to look out during his eulogy.  It’s sort of mind blowing how many people were there.  After all, he had out lived most of his friends in town, his family largely lives out of state, the last 5+ years he hasn’t been able to get around town all that much to socialize like he’s used to.  On top of all of that, usually only very close people will come to a funeral as calling hours are the place for more casual acquaintances.  And yet there we were, filling up the church with more people than I’d ever seen in that church, not an empty seat or dry eye in the house.  We all wanted one more hug, one more conversation, one more laugh with Papa but our time had run out.  I think how amazing it is that so many people came from so far away to descend on little Erie, PA to say goodbye to a 95 year old man that if you wanted to see him for much of the last decade, you needed to go to him.  But there’s a simple reason why we all made the pilgrimage up there: he was worth the trip.  

I think back to when one of our neighbor’s died in his mid-40s.  The community turned out in droves because a man in the prime of his life is reaching so many lives through work, through his kids, etc.  But a long since retired man with much of his family out of state that has outlived much of his generation, that’s not a funeral that gets well attended.  And I don’t know if others in that crowd had the same feeling of inadequacy as me, but I was thinking that if I didn’t see the funeral I would think it isn’t possible to be a positive force on so many lives for so long.  I think my grandpa would say to that: don’t cut yourself short.  You can be better, but you have to start by expecting more from yourself.  Not that your goal is a packed house at your funeral, rather that is the result of constantly making the world a better place, one ounce of kindness, one act of patience, one relationship at a time.  My grandpa wasn’t extraordinary because of an advantaged upbringing nor was it because he invented some cool widget. He worked at a phone company for 40 years in the same town and lived in the same house with his wife for nearly 70 years.  That’s not exactly what makes front page news nor is it what people get hyped up about when they are 8 years old dreaming of their life possibilities.  And yet his life was extraordinary, not because of the circumstances he was born into or the accolades from others, rather it was his character that made the difference.  So whether it was cracking a joke with a waiter at a restaurant or making time for friends when he’d see them around town, he demonstrated through actions that everyone mattered, that their life was valuable and that he believed in them.  It’s not mere audacity.  He always held himself to a high standard so it makes sense that he would believe others could reach their goals too.  

So as I fumble around with my feelings of grief, loss, sadness and insecurity that my grandpa’s passing brings, he still bears encouragement.  I know he would be hopeful, he’d remind me that things can and will get better and that I’m in control of my happiness and outcomes.  He’d tell me that my future doesn’t have to be anchored by my past. (I think he might also add a caveat that if it’s not done with character and integrity, then it isn’t going to be positive).

Going back to my initial comments on feeling bitter and fed up with CV, even Papa provided a road map for these times.  As his world shrunk, his abilities began to fail and he was stripped of his pride in being able to take care of himself, he fought harder than anyone I know in beating back the negativity.  My aunt would go over and visit my grandparents and when she’d walk into the living room my grandma and grandpa would be sitting there side by side holding hands.  She’d inquire what they were doing and the answer was usually the same: “counting our blessings”.

[nashbashwithshells-blog]

God, people can suck. Like really suck.

When I look back at the beginning of that relationship, I see this 20-year-old girl lost in the midst of college. Moving into my first apartment, trying to figure out what I wanted my life to look like and probably developing some questionable drinking habits. I was young, never been in a “real” relationship, naive, and definitely a people-pleaser. On top of that, I had this very college-girl mindset that I had to be an adult and prepare for life after graduation and find a guy and find a job and get married, the whole nine yards. Looking back on it now, it’s like shit. Everything really was set up so perfectly for him.

The beginning of the relationship wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. In fact, I would say it was pretty great. We started dating right before the summer between our junior and senior year. I remember how excited I was when he asked me to be his girlfriend. I could barely contain myself. I spent at least every other weekend out at his house in Holly, Michigan through that first summer. We went to the Detroit Zoo, we went to cute little diners for dates, we took walks together, we went on day trips to Frankfurt, Michigan, and when we couldn’t see each other, we’d talk on the phone for hours and send each other stupid gifs back and forth all day. It was like it was out of a storybook and yea, I was pretty happy.

But when we moved back to college for our senior year, it was like things slowly, slowly started to change. The first sign of an abusive relationship is isolation. The abusive partner starts to isolate the other to keep them from confiding in friends and family about the abuse. I mean, it’s not like he woke up on day and said “Alright, so this is the part of the relationship where I isolate you from your family and friends so I’m gonna need you to cut off all contact with anyone other than me and my friends.” Instead, it was a very gradual process over the course of time. In fact, it happened so slowly that I didn’t even notice it was happening right before my eyes. It started with me spending almost every single night at his house instead of my apartment. This then started to affect my relationship with my roommate, who I now never saw. Next, it became my friends. Each friend he had a perfectly orchestrated reason or lie as to why I could no longer hang out with them. Sometimes it was “She’s not your real friend if she doesn’t approve of me.” Other times it was “I heard her say she doesn’t want to hang out with you anymore in class today.” Each one, I believed. Why wouldn’t I believe him? He had never betrayed my trust before. This was the same guy that wrote those thoughtful cards on my birthday and on Valentine’s day and the same guy that surprised me with a cute dinner date after my midterm exam. He was just looking out for me, right? The funny thing about this part of the relationship was that I was 100% allowed to spend time with his friends and the people in his friend group. He had already tricked them into thinking that he was this charming, loving friend of theirs and he knew that if I ever spoke up to one of them, they likely wouldn’t believe me (which I later found to be true). Even when he would yell at me in his bedroom while our friends were downstairs or he would publicly degrade me and belittle me in front of his friends, they would brush it off as just “Josh being Josh.”

This is also kind of when things started to get messy in bed too. This guy wanted to have sex almost every night. I mean, at least four nights a week. Let me be clear here: he never brutally raped or used physical force in bed with me. But he also made it very clear to me that it was not okay for me to say “no.” This is when I first started to see the aggressive side of him that I became so painfully familiar with in the following months. If I said no to sex, he became furious and would spend the remainder of the night accusing me not finding him attractive and blamed me for his insecurities and degrade me in front of his friends for saying no to him. He would go on for days if he had to until I would finally give in. The message became crystal clear to me. If I said no to him, I would pay for it and so I quickly learned that this just wasn’t an option. Or sometimes if I said no to him as he tried to start things with me or even right before we were about to have sex, he would pretend he didn’t hear me or just completely disregard the comment. When I look back on this, I just feel this intense level of discomfort take over my entire body. I can feel it in my toes, in my chest, in my thighs, in my stomach. God, it just sucks. So anyways, back to the isolation part.

Then, it came my family. This one was definitely the hardest for him and this is where a lot of the controlling part of this relationship comes into play too, so buckle up. My grandpa died in February so the beginning of our second semester of senior year. Talk about poor timing, right? You see, my grandma had made it very clear that she didn’t want any of the grandchildren’s significant other’s to attend my grandpa’s funeral and we were all pretty much in agreement to this. None of them had even met my grandpa, so why would they drive all the way out to St. Clair, MI to attend his funeral? Well, Josh certainly didn’t agree with this. He completely twisted it around that my family didn’t want him in their lives and they weren’t welcoming him into the family. Josh very quickly made it known that I wasn’t allowed to see my family unless he told me I could. From here on out, he always had a say in when I saw my family and for how long I saw my family. I even remember one instance about a month or two after my grandpa’s funeral that he told me I couldn’t go home to see my family. My family and I had planned a fun weekend together filled with going out to dinner, going to the movies, spending time together, and even going to a basketball game. It was going to be the first time together as a family since my grandpa’s funeral and likely one of the last time together before I made the move to Nashville after graduation. The point is, this weekend meant a lot to me and he knew that. So naturally, he took it away. I remember sitting on his bed in tears as he yelled at me for wanting to leave him all alone at college while I went home and that it was horrible for me to not invite him and that I wasn’t enjoying my last few weeks at college like I should. Somehow, I always ended up being the one apologizing. I remember sitting in his bed and calling my mom in front of him to tell her I couldn’t come home because he “didn’t trust me enough” to call her later on my own. This is definitely one of the more heartbreaking phone calls I’ve had to make. It was like with each and every day, he drove a bigger and bigger wedge between me and my family. Sometimes I feel like moving to Nashville was just all apart of this plan. 

So. May finally comes and off we go to Nashville. If I could go back and tell myself that this was going to be one of the biggest mistakes of my life, I would. But even if there was a massive billboard outside my apartment that read “Don’t Move to Tennessee” I still would’ve gone. I was so blindsided by the glory of graduating and moving to Nashville and moving in with my boyfriend. Little did I know that the hardest eight months of my life lied ahead of me. My new norm became not being able to spend time with friends I had made at work, not being able to call my mom when I was around him, not being able to talk to any of the guys at work, not being able to go home and see my family. I remember when he would come home from a long day at work, he would find something, just something to get mad at me for. And every time, I believed him and I apologized and I genuinely felt guilty for ever doing something to make him this mad. I had never felt like such a shit human being in my entire life. He made me feel like I did absolutely everything wrong and I was so lucky to have him and often found myself wondering why he put up with me all the time. Looking back at this truly makes me feel sick to my stomach. How did I ever let it get this far? I remember one night locking myself in the bathroom in our apartment as he yelled at me (for God knows what). I still to this day have never felt so genuinely scared of another human being. I mean, he was a big guy, he grew up on a farm and I was just this 140-something-pound girl that has zero way of defending herself. 

I don’t know what it was that final day that made me leave him. It’s not like there was an massive argument going on or anything. Just something in my brain clicked. Still to this day, I don’t know what it was that made me wake up that day and say “I’m breaking up with him” but God, am I glad I did. From that day on, I’ve truly never looked back with regret or guilt and that’s something I’m incredibly grateful for. I’ve never once thought about going back and I never will. But I gotta say, those first few months out of the relationship were far from easy and my fight was far from over. It’s not like I just ended the relationship and all my problems were gone. In a lot of ways, a lot of my problems were just beginning. Those two months I had to live with him after we broke up were just plain shit. I slept at my friend’s apartments and when that wasn’t an option, I’d sleep in my car in the Walmart parking lot (which is still something I’ve never really told anyone, oops). I remember dreading leaving work because it meant having to find somewhere else to go. I’d work from 6:15 in the morning and stay until 5:00 at night because I just truly didn’t have anywhere to go. With that being said, I was still paying rent and I did still shower in my apartment before Josh would return home from work and all of my clothes were still in that apartment. But the thought of having to face Josh truly terrified me. In those two months, when I would be around him, he never actually hit me. He’d grab me, throw things at me, yell me at me and threaten to hit me but he never actually hit me. If I didn’t sleep on my friend’s couches or I didn’t sleep in my car, I think that would’ve been a very different story. I remember some nights when I would see him (mostly in the few days right after the break-up), I never knew which Josh to expect to walk in the door. I could get a furious Josh that had veins popping out of his forehead and got noise complaints called on us from his yelling OR I could get the Josh that would cry and promise change if I came back and even swore he would kill himself if he had to be without me. I still don’t know which one was worse. 

Once I finally moved back to Ann Arbor, I was hopeful. I thought “Ok, now all of my problems have ended.” But again, most of my problems were just beginning. At this time, I was still (yes, STILL), in denial of the fact that I had been in an abusive relationship. (I know, I know.) There’s still so much of it that I’m working through but I’m making progress nonetheless. After a year and a half of being blamed for everything and for being the root of all the problems in a relationship, it’s hard to go back and unpack everything and make the realization that maybe it wasn’t all my fault. Let me rephrase that, it’s hard as hell. Going to a therapist in Ann Arbor has been one of the better decisions I’ve made for myself since moving back here. There’s so many things from that relationship that I just truly don’t want to tell anyone in my life. My friends and family are just so much better off not knowing or maybe just knowing the very surface level stuff. Seeing a therapist has helped me keep all of it from getting bottled up in my head. I’ve felt so many emotions unpacking that relationship. I’ve felt anger, regret, sadness, anger, depression, anger. Did I mention anger?

I feel like I’m getting there though. I’m getting through to the other side of this shit show. I’m finally starting to feel like I can see the light on the other end of this miserable, fucked up part of my life, which is definitely something to be grateful for. Sometimes I think about what life would have been like if I didn’t wake up that one day in October and decide to break up with him but I’m damn grateful that I’ll never know.

[daphner20]

John Woodside

Forgiveness

Prologue “Today is the best day of my life,” said John Michael Woodside II joyfully. Am in grade 7 at the most prestigious Catholic High school in The Bahamas. St. Francis of Assisi, was the most competitive school to get in. There were almost a thousand entries, but only 100 applicants were accepted. John was in the top 5% with the highest score. He played soccer, baseball, basketball, and ran track. He also played the piano pretty well. Let’s see what they said “ he would be an asset to the school”. And the icing on the cake, I was an altar boy. My best friend Benjamin Hall, got accepted as well, this is so cool. John, didn’t think much of his life up to now. He was an only child. His father John Sr. , whom he loved fiercely, was his idol. His mother, (the prettiest woman in the world) whom he adore was his everything. His father, was quite a bit older than his mother (30 years). But they seem very happy. Most people called them wealthy, he knew they lived in a upscale gated community, he was chauffeur driven every where, and for as long as he could remember, he had travelled extensively, with his parents, ( his father had his own plane). He overheard, his father, telling his mom, that he was contemplating buying a yacht. “Time to go”, said his Father. “Do well, I am so proud of you”, beamed his Dad. “Thank you, daddy,” said John, as he hugged him, and kissed his mom. The first day of school, was everything, John, thought it will be, Benjamin, and I were in the same class. At recess, I heard my name on the PA system, to come to the Principal’s office. When I got there, my chauffeur, Mr. Lee was there.

He said , “there has been an accident.”

Chapter 1 John in his 12 years, never had to deal with anything distressing. Mr. Lee, didn’t offer any other information. We he got to the house, there were so many people there. He wanted to see his father, because Daddy will explain everything to him. However, it was his mom, who came to him. She was disheveled, no makeup, track suit and sneakers, this isn’t my mom. “ Where is Daddy?, I asked. “ Your father, is dead, he suffered a heart attack this morning,” she said sobbing. “ This can’t be, I just saw him this morning,” I said in disbelief. “I want to see him, this can’t be,” I shouted. ‘Its true Johnny,” she was openly sobbing. As I looked around, all the staff was crying as well. Then I knew, my daddy was gone, my heart just melted, and I just couldn’t stopped the tears. Suddenly, my father’s lawyer Mr. Campbell told my mom, that he needed to speak with her in my dad’s study. I noticed, that 3 men and a woman, entered, as well. I have never seen them in my life. About half and hour later, I heard my mom screaming, No! I can’t loose another parent I thought, as I burst through the study door. “Leave my mother alone,” I shouted. Then this man turned at looked with such hatred, “ so this is the bastard” he said cruelly. “ Stop it,” said my mother “ Stop what,” said the stranger, “ I am just getting started.”

“ What is your name?” asked the female stranger. ‘ John Michael Woodside the second,” I said proudly. “ Unbelievable,” shouted male stranger, “He gave his bastard his name.” “ Stopped saying that,” said my mother, “he is a little boy.” “ Do you know, who we are?, asked male stranger 2. “ No,” I said. The girl stranger, just starting crying, “he forgot about us,” she continued crying. Finally, stranger male 3, said, “ we are your brothers and sister. I am Jason, I am the second,, this is James, the third son, this is Jasmine our sister. And this is the eldest son, John Michael Woodside the second.” He pointed to the first stranger. I looked to my mother, for affirmation, she looked liked her worst nightmare had just came true. “ How come we have the same name, as our father,” I asked the first John the second. “That is not your name, he was not your father, and we are nothing to you,” he said angrily. Mr. Campbell, finally spoke, “Let us show some respect for your father. I know that emotions are raw, but don’t let us say anything we will regret.” “ Considering my father, never divorce our mother, from this moment on, I am now the head of this family.” John the first second said as a matter of fact.

Chapter 2 The day my dad was buried, it was dark and wet like my soul. My mother and I were not allowed to attend. The servants were, but not us. In one week’s time. My whole world was turn upside down. When my mom, meet my dad, she was 20 and he was 50. She was his junior secretary, at the Offshore Bank, where he was the President. My brothers were

28, 26, 23, and Jasmine was 18. With my dad being Catholic, he didn’t divorce their mother. My mom, got pregnant with me 2 years later. I was their love child. Because of the scandal, he was forced to retire, however, he took two thirds of the bank clients, and open up his own private trust company. My mom and I became his family. His children never forgave him or spoke to him again. So, in one week, because my dad didn’t leave a will. My oldest brother, became his heir. First decree, we were not allowed to attend the funeral. We were kicked out of the house. My name was taken from me. My dad’s name was never on my birth certificate, ( my parents were not married) so my name was John Michael Munnings. ( my mom’s maiden name) And finally, I never returned to St. Francis of Assisi. There was no provision for our future. My mother left all of that to my dad. I hated every thing and everyone. Things couldn’t get worse, don’t bet on it! We had no place to go, my mother didn’t want to keep me out of school, much longer, so she decided to return home. Because, we had little money, we had to take a mail boat to Orange Creek, Andros, that was my mom’s home. The boat took 10 hours, and we arrived at 5 am the next day. An elderly man, came to pick us up, in an old beat up truck. He didn’t say one word to my mom. He just loaded up our things on the truck.. I don’t know how long we were driving, but it felt forever. We pulled into a modest wooden house. I couldn’t see much, it was still dark. The old man, put our stuff in a small room, with an even smaller bed, and left. My mom told me to go back to sleep. Later that morning, mummy got me up. She told me she had to enroll me in school. This was another Catholic School, but it wasn’t like the one in Nassau. It had from kindergarten to grade 12. The average size of the class was 10 students. I could still wear my St. Francis of Assisi school uniform. Everyone seem friendly enough.

St. Thomas More, was the name of the school, it was a 20 minute walk to the house, everyone lived in the settlement. On the island, instead of towns, they were called settlements. When I got to the house, I was formally introduce to my maternal grandparents. Charles and Louise Munnings. My mother, looked exactly liked my grandma. My grandmother did all the talking. “Your mother, has brought shame and disgrace to this family, we will keep you, but she is not welcome here.” I looked at my mom, who was sobbing quietly. “Please Mummy, don’t leave me, “ I begged. “ It will only be for a short while,” Mummy said. “I will come back for you, and we will get our life back.” That night, as I lay on my tiny bed, I made a vow, I will never forgive my mother, or my siblings.

Chapter 3 “ Do you have your speech,” asked my Grandfather. “Yes sir,” I replied. I am the Valedictorian of St. Thomas More Prep. It’s been six years. I thought it was going to be 3 months! My mom, never came back. She got married, two years later, and guess to whom? Yep my oldest brother, John the second. He has truly taken every thing away from me. Life on Andros, was hard. Firstly, my grandparents who were devoted Catholics, had the mindset, church and work. My grandfather was a Catechist, and grandma played the organ in church. I took that role over when I became 15, 2 mass every Sunday, and the high seasons. My grandfather was a fisherman. He liked to say,” they were Jesus' s favorite people.”

So, for the last 6 years, this was my life: devotions at 5am, rain or shine; feed the chickens, rain or shine; (grandma sold organic eggs) ; school, rain or shine; mass rain or shine. After school, I helped Grandpa, with the nets and his boat. I asked God, that if I ever get of this island, may I never returned. My grandfather believed, that I will follow in his footsteps. I wanted to be an investment banker, like my dad. I wanted to make so much money, that no one will ever be responsible for my well being, only me. Unbeknown to me, my guidance counselor, Mrs. Smith had fill out several scholarship applications, and I got them all. Because I was 18. I didn’t need anyone’s permission or consent. Thank you Lord. As I walked down to the graduation ceremony, I knew my mother, will not be there, I haven’t seen or spoken to her in 6 years. My grandparents, never discussed her, and neither did I. I thought of my dad, and the last thing he said to me was “I am proud of you”. I have no more tears left. A month later, as I said goodbye to my grandparents. I was on my way to St. John's University, New York, on a full ride. I knew that I didn’t want to see this country again, or my family. “Thank you Grandfather,” I said as I shook his hands. “ Thank you Grandma,” I said as I kissed her cheeks. “Goodbye son,” they said in unison. Chapter 4 As I looked out on Central Park, from my penthouse, I had to pat myself on the back. You have made it. Forbes Magazine, had just listed me, as one of the youngest millionaires under 35 ( I was 32). It’s been 14 years, since I left Andros. I didn’t returned even when my grandma died 3 years ago. There wasn’t nothing there for me . I am living my best life. It’s 6am and my cellphone is blowing up, who is calling me? And from a 242 area code The Bahamas. “ Hello,” I said in my most annoyed voice.

“ Good, morning Johnny, this is Mrs. Smith from Andros, your grandfather, has been airlifted to the city on an emergency flight. He is at Nassau Hospital. He is asking for you, so don’t tarry. I came on the flight with him, so I will you see you when you get here.” Click. “Why me,” asked John, as he booked a flight, made hotel arrangements, and cancelled all of his appointments for the next week. As the flight touchdown in Nassau, the country of his birth, John heart was hurting. “20 years,” he muttered to himself. He hadn’t been back in 20 years. When he got at the hospital, Mrs. Smith, just hold him tightly. “ Go in John,” she said quietly. As I walked in the room, lying on that bed was not Charles Isaac Munnings. Not the imposing figure of my childhood. The man laying there was frail and fragile, he was hooked up to a lot of machines. He opened his eyes, and motioned me to come closer. “Forgive me,” he said weakly. “ No Grandpa, forgive me, I should have come back sooner.” “ No, son, unforgiveness, has robbed from me of a relationship, with your mom, my only child for over 35 years. When you came to us, it was like God was giving us a second chance. But we were so bitter and angry with Carol, that we couldn’t see that we were creating you to be like us. The greatest gift you can give your self, is a spirit of forgiveness. Johnny, my dear son, My departure is at hand. Forgive your mom, and your siblings. Forgive me and your grandma. Bury me in Andros, with your grandma. Now pray with me one last time.’ “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be your name. Thy Kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day, our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespassed against us.” Then my grandpa died. And after 20 years, as the tears flowed, I finally found Peace.

As I knocked on my father’s door, Mr. Lee open the door. “ Master John,” he exclaimed with genuine warmth.

“ Hello Mr. Lee, I replied, is my mother here?” He hesitated for a moment, “ Don’t worry Mr. Lee, it’s ok.” He pointed at my dad's study. As I entered the room, to my surprise, they were all there. My mom, John the second, Jason, James and Jasmine. The glass fell out of my mom’s hand. “ Johnny?” It was more of a question, than statement. “Yes, I said, “ Your father died today, here in Nassau, but he wants to be buried in Andros, because you are his child, I need your permission to release the body. I will take care of all of the arrangements. My mother, still a beautiful woman at 54, aged immediately, that is when she finally moved, and cried in my neck for eternity. “ John, forgive me,” she cried. “ Its ok Mum, the hand of The Almighty, has been with me, all these 20 years, what the enemy meant for evil, the Lord made it for my good.” I said. My grandfather left me, every thing he owned, one hundred acres of land in Andros. And now I own the largest commercial fishing company in The Bahamas. It has provided over 90% of employment in Andros. Plus grandma organic eggs, has become a house hold name. THE END

[accidental-psalms-blog]

Ellie

"You have to be ready, Ellie," my grandfather said. "The world is cruel, and you will lose everything and everyone you've known and loved."

"What does that mean, lolo?" my seven-year-old self inquired. I wasn't really listening. I just indulged him because he bought me ice cream; I was too busy licking the excess off of the cone to take on this conversation. The next moment, my grandfather reached for the cold, cheese-flavored confectionery and took it away from my sticky hands.

"Lolo!" I protested.

"I said: you will lose everything. Are you listening?" he said in a stern voice.

"I'm listening!" I said. "Please give me my ice cream back..."

He did, and then told me to "Go, play."

My grandfather was a harsh man, but he carried a softness that would make people talk about him kindly despite his strictness. I'd known for a while that his family — most especially his grandchildren — were his weakness.

I did not understand it fully then, but his blue eyes contained a sadness that is similar to the arrival of dusk: a certain gloom tinged by the slightest optimism, brought on by the change of rule when the sun abdicates its stellar throne and moonlight claims sovereignty over the sky.

***

I finished my elementary education while living with my grandparents on my father's side of the family. I liked them both equally, but I was closer to my grandfather than anyone (I spent some time with grandma, too, but she spent most of her afternoons gambling with the neighbors).

He loved arts and crafts; be it sculpture, painting, music, or literature, but my grandfather loved the art of mapmaking most of all. He would often commission local artists to make maps of different places for him. My favorite was the one of Panay, with Boracay Island placed like an awkward piece of beef jerky from across this gigantic blanket of prime meat. I think it was drawn by Kurt, the artist next-door who wanted nothing more than two bottles of beer and a stimulating conversation for such a beautifully-colored map.

My grandfather and I spent a lot of time together during my elementary days, and I loved mornings with him the most. Every sunrise, he would take me to Mang Eric's store to get some Yakult, or Chocolait if it's a Wednesday. That is, if I could wake up as early as 6 AM. If I woke up any later, then no Yakult for me.

Of course, I know that it's his own way of getting me to wake up early in the morning and exercise, but if I'm getting a Yakult (or a Chocolait!) out of it, then I don't see a reason to wake up late.

***

I remember waking up at 5:30 one Wednesday morning to the sound of rain, feeling particularly excited about the chocolate drink I would have later. I washed my face, drank some water, and ran to my grandfather's bedroom which, curiously, still had its door closed. I knocked.

"Lolo? Lolo! Lolo, wake up," I yelled. I remember thinking that it was unusual for me to wake up before he did; I know for a fact that he can wake up as early as 3 AM.

My seven-year-old self did not understand the sinking feeling I had then, one that brought frustration, the way one feels when trying to catch a butterfly in vain. I knocked again three times, louder this time. My grandma would probably get angry with me. But I didn't care. It's Wednesday. Everything is better on Wednesdays.

"Lolo!" I shouted. Outside, the rain went on, and I felt as if the raindrops mocked what little voice I had.

The doorknob turned, and the door slowly opened. It was my grandma who said "Sorry, Ellie. Lolo cannot go out today. He is very sick."

"Can I see him?"

"Later, darling," she said.

***

My grandfather did not die that day. In fact, he lived for many years later — much longer than the days I could spend with him. When I needed to be in high school, I had to go to away and live with my parents in the city. I met new people, new friends, and life became much more than just Yakult, and Chocolait, and Sunday ice cream. There were boys to crush on, books and TV series to speculate on and overanalyze, and Facebook and Twitter and Instagram and all those things I never even imagined would take over my teenage life.

The news of my grandfather's rather unceremonious passing came to us in the middle of my third year in high school, while I was burning brain cells for a barrage of exams that I'll encounter in the following weeks. He died of tuberculosis.

"Your father and I are attending the funeral, sweetie. Will you come?" my mother asked.

"No," I replied. "I need to read— there's just a lot of stuff going on at school right now, mom. Please tell grandma that I love her."

"Alright. Take care of things here, and don't push yourself too hard." she said.

Later that afternoon, I found myself binging on Game of Thrones episodes and fangirling about how Jon Snow should really just end up ruling all of Westeros because he is the one guy that cares and he deserves it.

I will not pretend that I wanted to go to the funeral. I didn't. At the time, I was thinking, it's such a waste of time, the dead are. I knew my grandfather when he was alive, and he made my childhood more colorful. That much is true. He knows that I love him, and I am saddened by his passing, and I think that that is enough. If ever he is watching me, by some notion of the supernatural being true, then he will know that I meant no disrespect.

There's just a lot of things that are more important and more enjoyable than attending someone's funeral right now. I went on with my week, thinking nothing more of it.

***

When my parents came back from the funeral, they brought unripe mangoes and freshly-picked corn. While we were feasting on the produce after lunch, mother told me that grandma found an unsent letter among my grandfather's belongings. The date on the envelope said that he apparently finished the letter three days before his passing.

"Oh? Who's it for?" I asked, intrigued.

"Here," my mother reached into her handbag and produced a sealed white envelope with a map of Panay printed on it. I read the writing on the front: "09/21/2011. For Ellie."

I walked off to my room without a word.

***

xx

Dear Ellie,

I have been thinking about you more and more often these past few days. I know you are faring way better than I can ever, and that alone gives me consolation. The thought of you being energetic, excelling at school, and pursuing some manner of art gives me joy. What remaining energy I have after the days are done, I spend praying that you be kept safe.

You had always been a pearl in my and your grandmother's eyes. When your parents asked us to take care of you in your elementary days — perhaps in a most elaborate attempt to teach you to never forget your roots — we were, at first, reluctant. We are old, and we don't know if we could still handle such a task.

But you made it easier for us, dear one, by being the sweetest girl to grace this boring town. I thought that if I was made solely for the ultimate purpose of taking care of you, then I would accept that I have lived a very full life, indeed.

And yet, see, I am wasting away now, dear child. Whatever life I had is leaving me.

Do you remember when I said that you will lose everything and everyone you have known and loved? When you went away to continue your studies in the city, that was when I felt this truth hurt me the most. I've accepted that you will forget us. Perhaps not completely, but we will be nothing but a very faint memory, one that will be filed behind a multitude of sensations, and whatever tickles the fancy and vigor of youth these days.

I yammer and this must be tiring you; I must get to the point. The purpose of this letter is to ask: Will you come see and us again, soon? Even for one last time. Your grandmother and I will be grateful to have you grace this household once more. I already asked her to prepare your favorite sinigang when you come, as well as to stock the fridge full of Yakult and Chuckie (it's what they call Chocolait these days — I personally hate that cartoon cow, but the drink tastes great all the same).

I hope you will, dear. I actually have more than a feeling that you will grant this request, because I wrote this on a Wednesday, and we both know that everything is better on Wednesdays. Better enough that I even wrote a poem, see:

*

You will not need a map

The drawings and maps are all gone, Ellie, taken away by a dozen storms, but you must not worry; you will not need them to find me.

I will be the memory of a little valley, a little store on the off-road, the melting ice cream on Sunday afternoons.

The colors fade from my skin, like a blackbird losing feathers to reveal what pale skin lies underneath; weak, frail.

But I believe that even if all of the maps are gone, dear Ellie, you will not need them to find me.

*

That's it, dear one. I'm afraid I've written what this poor mind could handle to write for a day. Should you decide to come visit, let us know soon.

Sincerely, Your Grandfather

xx

***

I cried that whole afternoon.

I suppose there's no truer adage than "You'll never know what you have been missing until it's gone," but after all was said and done I felt a sense of contentment and purpose, thankful for my parents and my grandparents for making my childhood just that much better.

I had never thanked my grandfather properly, and I have to admit that I was insensitive about his funeral. But I'm a woman of means now, and the idea of giving back was instilled my heart from the day I read that letter. Now, at twenty-eight, I spend my spare time doing volunteer work for a local organization that helps children deal with domestic abuse.

Everyone can be a gift to the world. An act of random kindness, a smile, a melody, a little poem, or the mere act of sharing bowls of sinigang with the next door neighbors, can make a difference. There is no escaping from loss; loss will always be there.

All that matters is how we deal with loss moving forward. And, as my grandfather taught me, I need no map.

[icantkeepquiet]

Here’s all the jewelry you grew up viewing and admiring on the women whom had the most impact in your life. Now pick out your favorite pieces. Go!

Woof. I never know what to expect with this whole experience of my Mother no longer being here. Going through a loved one’s things can be difficult, emotional, or straight up weird. Sometimes all three at once.

Earlier this week as I was cleaning out my Mom’s vanity with my Dad and said “She would just have a fit knowing we’re going through all her things.” My Mother was warm and welcoming but also an insanely private person despite having 5 children, aka constantly surrounding by people. Apart from personal care and fashion, she also had notebooks upon notebooks of her personal thoughts, prayers, and dreams.

June 8th, the day my Mother died and June 15th, the day of her funeral. Almost 260 attended her funeral. Each of my 4 siblings & I spoke. (This delicate bracelet is one of my favorites.)

The Jewelry.

My Dad, bless his heart, has been trying to get my two sisters and I all three together at his house to go through all the of jewelry my Mother had. I am going to give a few tips on how we went through everything and then show you a few pieces I got.

1. First thing we did is get everything out of the jewelry boxes and storage containers. It is much easier to go through things if you can see everything. Here is video of how much there really was. Although my Mother had a lot of jewelry, not many items were considered “precious” despite many being precious-to-us. (Some families going through jewelry may want to get certain items appraised.)

2. Next what we did was take away things we thought were not things we’d be interested at all. These were newer pieces we didn’t remember our Mom wearing very much, things that were too specific style wise, or too commercial looking. Then we put aside the items that had the most memories, we saw her wear the most, or the item just screamed “Carole Walker!”

3. After we did most of the sorting, we went back and forth about what we liked the most. I reminded my sisters, “Maybe some of this stuff isn’t our style now, but it might be one day.” I zoned in on the things that spoke to me the most regardless of what was “in” and came away with several things. I encouraged each sister to take the things they really wanted in the moment that each one was “hemming and hawing”. One sister wanted my Mother’s wedding ring and the other wanted her locket with pictures of her and my Dad.

Now I’ll share what pieces I took home.

Can you tell I love gold tone earrings? I can never say no to simple studs. The black beaded necklace was one thing that I remember being briefly “in” again when I was going through a hipster stage right after high school. So I grabbed it because it reminded me of those days when I would frequently borrow my Mom’s jewelry. The square metal and stone earrings remind me of how distinct my Mom always was with her accessories. Although I’m not a boho-chic girl, I couldn’t leave these behind. Maybe someday a daughter of my own will be and she’ll love them. The dangle chain earrings are just so me and the half oval hoops are as boho as I can pull off.

Mom wore so many shades or green and blue. Turquoise was perfect for her, I *think* I got this bracelet for her in Mexico. I could be totally wrong about the origins, but this is something I remember her frequently wearing. As I feel the cool large beads it reminds me of her warm plump hands and beautiful nails. I remember sitting at her dining room table and at tough times she would grab my hand and say “Carrie, I really think everything’s going to work out for you.” Then she would undoubtedly pray with me. And you know what? Everything did work out for me.

The funny thing about this is I found it earlier this week when I was having lunch with my Dad. I said “Oh, I thought Mom had already given this to me. I’ll have to check my jewelry box and if it’s not there I think this one is mine.” Well of course I forgot to check between then and when my sisters and I were meeting up there. I found it again as we were going through things and told my sisters the same thing. Well lo and behold, I came across another one just minutes later! Now it seemed that Mom had a plan for these heart brooches. I said “Okay, I think Mom was intending for each of us to get one of these. I’ll check my jewelry box as soon as I get home and report back to you.” Above is the picture I texted my sisters after finding this in my jewelry box. Our Mother had three of these hearts and was planning on giving one to each of us, which makes this even more special. She just gave me mine a little early.

This little ring actually fits my finger! Hooray! I couldn’t hardly believe it but there it is. I never dreamed I’d have another diamond ring anytime soon. I’d gladly trade it for it’s former owner but alas, here I am with this ring. I believe this ring is my Granny’s (grandma on my Dad’s side) from her second and most definitely happier marriage.

Lastly, this watch was handed down to my Mother from…someone older than her? Okay, I don’t really know, of course it was someone older, I just don’t know which side of the family. I remember sneaking into my Mom’s room and snooping through her dresser. I used to open this little orange bag and look through all the treasures. I marveled at the loose diamonds (we’re still looking for those) and this beautiful watch. I was always so careful to put everything back. I would sit, admire, and imagine what life would go with something so elegant. (The answer little Carrie, is whatever life you want.) I will be getting a band to secure it because unfortunately it did not come with one. My cousin works at a custom jewelry store called Johnson Jeweler in Woodbury, MN and I’m sure she’ll have some suggestions of what can be done. We will likely also get a few other things repaired and resized there.

Tomorrow, June 8th, is the one year anniversary of my Mother’s death. I’m doing pretty well but I don’t know what to expect for tomorrow. My whole family will be altogether for the first time since Christmas and viewing her newly installed headstone for the first time. As I was having a tearful moment…okay fine…complete waterworks mid-writing this post, I told my husband “This is all just stuff, it has no meaning until you assign it. I’d give it all away if I could have her back.” He reminded me, yes it’s just stuff, but having these things will give me bright moments to remember her and they’ll become even more special to share when we have kids.

I needed that reminder in my bitter moment, that someday they will carry the memories.

Do you have anything special to you from a living or passed loved one? What things do you hope to pass on to your kids or loved ones someday as a special gift?

My Mother’s Jewelry Here's all the jewelry you grew up viewing and admiring on the women whom had the most impact in your life.

[newstfionline]

A mother’s leap of faith at an African airport, and a 15-year mystery

By Petula Dvorak, Washington Post, December 17, 2018

The story of Tom and Maya and Zainab is about trust, about listening to your heart over your mind, and about that gut feeling you have when you meet a good person.

And it’s a story that could’ve gone horribly wrong.

It began in 2003 in the Lungi airport in Sierra Leone, the only international airport in the coastal African country.

Maya Hughes was 5, with two pigtails, a wide smile and a pink Hello Kitty bag. Her mom was looking for someone to get Maya out of the country--fast.

Zainab Sesay was born in Sierra Leone and left when she was 11. Raised in Maryland, she married, worked as a technical writer and thought it would be a great experience to spend some time introducing her daughter Maya to her homeland.

But Sierra Leone was still recovering from a brutal and bloody civil war. The country, the towns were struggling. Her family was struggling.

Maya, who is now 20 and a college student in Chino, Calif., knew none of that then. She recalls her time in Sierra Leone fondly. She was surrounded by cousins and other family. There were clothes washed outside, generators for light, a small bag filled with dirt to create the ball they would use to spend hours playing soccer. She was 5 and delighted and charmed.

But there was a crisis in the family. Maya and Zainab are reluctant to go into detail, but Zainab carefully explained that Maya’s life depended on getting her out of the country quickly and quietly.

So they packed that Hello Kitty bag and--when no one was watching--they headed to the airport.

Zainab began asking ticket agents to point out people traveling to America.

“Any city, she said she’d take any American flying to any city, as long as it was the United States,” Maya recalls her mother telling the agents.

The agents told Maya and Zainab they couldn’t disclose that information. Then, surreptitiously, one nodded toward a white man standing alone, Zainab said.

Tom Perriello was 29, exhausted and grief-stricken.

“He was distraught, I could see it on his face,” Zainab said.

Tom was part of the U.N. war crimes tribunal team that had just indicted Liberian dictator Charles Taylor and at the time, he was working as an adviser to the prosecutor of the Special Court of Sierra Leone.

But he wasn’t at the airport on business. Tom was headed to Charlottesville because his beloved grandmother--the last of his four grandparents still alive--had died. He was heading home for the funeral.

Then came this woman and child.

“I said to him: ‘I’m about to pose the most insane question. Can you travel with my daughter?’,” Zainab said, explaining that her daughter’s safety depended on her getting out of the country--immediately. She told him she would arrange for her mother in the states to meet them anywhere he was flying.

Tom was suspicious. He had worked in the war-torn region long enough to know there were scams and rackets, child trafficking, and diamond smuggling. But that face--Maya’s round, smiling face.

He figured this was a case of imminent danger or something deeply shady. In either case, he knew he would regret having just turned a blind eye. So he started making phone calls to check things out and worked with the airline agent to find a solution that got Maya into the plane before taking off on a journey that crossed three continents.

“That was it. That was the last I saw of that man,” Zainab said. “I waved, I didn’t give him any paperwork, no exchange, no phone number. Maya had a cutesy little bag with her grandmother’s contact information, her U.S. passport and that was it.” But something in her gut told her Maya was safe with Tom.

The flight wasn’t easy.

Maya was in tears, afraid she’d never see her mom again. She was also speaking mostly in Creole--or Krio--the language of Sierra Leone.

From his short time in Sierra Leone, Tom had learned a few words and a song in Krio. He sang the lines he knew over and over again. “Something about today, today,” Maya remembered.

It calmed her. “I don’t remember much. I remember being scared at the airport. And I definitely remember Tom and Tom’s singing. And I remember he never lost patience with me,” Maya said. “I was never afraid of him because he was super nice. As a kid you can pick up on things. I could tell he was super nice. A good person.”

Nice as he was, Tom had little experience with children.

“On the flight from Côte d’Ivoire to Brussels, Maya finally fell asleep. She was across her chair and mine. I knew enough about children not to wake her,” Tom said. “So I spent most of the flight just walking up and down the aisle, so I didn’t wake Maya up.”

And on the final leg of the trip, one of the flight attendants was Liberian and heard about the work Tom’s team had done in her homeland.

She came back to thank him, and he explained the situation. “She brought us meals from first class and had the crew share some babysitting time so I could finally collapse for a few minutes. Maya had a team of guardian angels working to get her home that day,” Tom said.

When they got to Dulles International Airport in Virginia and those frosted, international gates slid open, Maya saw a familiar face for the first time on the trip and bolted.

“I remember seeing my grandma and running to her,” Maya said. “And then Tom, he just disappeared. And for 15 years he’s been a ghost. I never knew his full name.”

Tom didn’t want to get in the way of that reunion.

“It was not lost on me that this journey was about the love and bonds of child, mother, and grandmother, as I traveled home to be with my mom who had just lost her amazing mother,” Tom said. “I know my grandmother was smiling down as I got to see young Maya run into the arms of hers.”

Tom told the wild story to friends and co-workers over the years. Zainab had done the same.

Then last week, Zainab happened to be visiting a cousin who has worked for the United Nations in Africa. The cousin asked, “Hey, did you ever get in touch with Tom Perriello?”

Who?

Her cousin said she had heard a story about a man named Tom Perriello who had once flown with a small child from Sierra Leone. She figured it had to be Maya.

Zainab Googled him. A former U.S. congressman for Virginia, a diplomat under President Barack Obama’s administration, a candidate for Virginia governor. Wow. And then she saw his face.

“That was him!” Zainab said.

She emailed Tom last week. And he emailed back. And the three of them have been emailing and talking on the phone filling in the gaps from the harrowing story.

Tom didn’t know the backstory of what was going on with the family in Sierra Leone until now. Zainab didn’t know how many diplomatic hurdles and all the paperwork and calls Tom had to make, that they were detained at a transfer point because he had to get Maya through more international clearances.

“Hearing all of it, I honestly don’t know if I’d be alive today if it wasn’t for Tom,” Maya said.

Zainab realizes how lucky she was. “I was young and distraught at the time. I didn’t know what kind of world this is. And I was lucky it was Tom,” she said. “I’d never do anything like this again.”

Tom? He’d do it again.

“A mother was in a horrific spot but also a very complicated one,” he said. “I figured I was in a better position than most to make sure this was on the level and then work through some high hurdles--high for good reasons--at each stop of the long journey home.”

And, to be truthful, being with Maya eased his grief about his grandmother’s death and actually made that trip easier for him.

Zainab was surprised to learn the details that went into getting Maya home. But there was one detail that absolutely floored her.

“I missed the funeral,” Tom said.

But grandma, he believes, would’ve been okay with it.