My Mother’s Birthday

When I wake up in the morning, there are so many stories in my mind waiting to be written. My priority in life is taking care of our grandchildren. When I have time to myself, the first priority is writing the stories within me. I have a whole list of projects to manifest. Not assuming that I have time, there is a sense of being in a hurry inside. I’m the only one to tell the story. I can get help from my divine friends for editing, and polishing later. My husband, my partner in writing, at times is puzzled and irritated by my sense of urgency.

On this day, I don’t feel like writing anything, highly unusual for me. My pen and my notebook are needed pronto. If I’m able to write, most likely I can process and come to some understanding. After meditation and deep breathing, thoughts like passing clouds shaped.

My mother was placed in a nursing home. It was way overdue and was the best logical decision. My sister was basically exhausted and her health was at risk for taking care of our mother for the past few years. Having three full time care giverswas not sufficient. I felt I was in peace sending her my love and healing energy praying for her soul.

What is going on within me? My soul needs a time out to process. Words show up as I turn off my mind and let my Higher-Self guides me. My mother is the type of a person that speaking respectfully, would be called an “energy zapper”. She is a survivor of severe trauma from infancy. I wrote a whole collection about her life and my relationship with her called Scars, yet still my heart and soul longs for her being in peace.

Her birthday is on March 10, not sure exactly how old she is. She always said her birth certificate was issued much later after her birth and was added years to give her as a bride sooner. Historically, there is truth to this phenomenon. Knowing her, she has the romantic heart of a teen-ager in that aged body. She is still the Cinderella waiting for her prince charming.

Listening to my inner voice, I wonder if she is frightened being in a strange place feeling unloved and abandoned. There is no doubt. This is the best placement for her at this time. While she seems to have memory impairment, she is sharp when it comes to hurting others with her words to the last communication. 

Viewing a trauma series by Hay House, the presenters suggested that trauma is genetically passed to the next seven generation impacting the brain and nervous system with repeated emotional patterns. My mother’s extreme phobias and emotional persona is similar to Holocaust survivors. I wonder what she hadexperienced in infancy to have such impact on her. I’m aware of the effect on myself and a long-life journey of identifying and releasing those impacts. As an untreated survivor, she is impossible to be around.

On one hand, I feel her pain, her fear of death and extreme anxiety and have compassion. On the other hand, she has caused pain to four human beings who have devoted their lives to take care of her for years. How does an adult child let go of a toxic parent? How do we bring the logic and emotions in harmony?

She is the biological source of my existence and she has been the source of deep emotional pain on my psyche.  She lives on zapping energy from those around her. Now, no one is able to be around her. My heart is filled with sadness sending healing energy to her soul. May she find peace she couldn’t experience in this life time, in the afterlife.

Repeating the Serenity prayer, I consult with my angel cards. The card is Go Now! Suggesting to let go of the toxic relationship NOW.

Happy Birthday Mother, wishing you a spiritual re-birth

Note: The book Scars, My Mother is on Amazon.

Happy Birthday To An Angel

Beautiful inside and outside

A true Pisces

Loving, caring, kind and thoughtful

Brilliant, gifted and talented writer, artist

A shaman

Amazing journey 

A source of inspiration in my life

Met her in a writing class

A soul connection


Sharing her gifts

Lifted my spirit

Made me feel loved

read my emotionally filled writing

polished, edited and enhanced with her inquiring mind

authentic, honest, nurturing

honoring my voice, my culture, my humanity

she got me

few have been able to feel the depth of my pain in life

collections of Scars, the most challenging writing in my life

manifested by her long hours for a few years

the only one who can keep up with me

she has become my hear through many heartfelt conversations

How can I ever thank her for her generosity?

She is my soul sister

Loving, nurturing energy I longed for all my life

An angel hand picked at a critical time in my life

Guided me through a deep cleaning of the soul

With deep love and gratitude 


The Yearbook by Jeff Weissberg

It’s almost a year into this pandemic lockdown and I’m organizing my bedroom closet for the third time. I was always well aware of my high school yearbook on the top shelf, but this time I chose to actually take it down. I was in the mood to spend a few minutes revisiting old memories. The Plainview Long Island Seagulls – class of ‘66. I wasn’t a big fan of those high school years, but on the up side there was track team, some good friends and a couple of inspiring teachers. These all helped me find confidence and identity amidst so much useless noise and adolescent angst. The yearbook was a treasure chest of recollections with some surprises from the last time I looked a few years back. 

Like most at that age I had friends and definitely-not-friends and everyone in between. First to mind of definite-not-friends was Randy Dwarkin. About my size, he was a tormenting bully and had a reputation to match. It was said he slammed a locker on another student’s fingers breaking some bones. I remember him as nasty and mean and giving some kids a hard time. Probably anyone he thought he could push around without push back. I’ve learned that’s what bullies do. Flipping through the black and white photos of classmates I was curious to see his face, but for some reason he wasn’t included in the book. This triggered me to delve deeper into my memories of high school and one especially eventful day. 

Dwarkin hadn’t bothered me personally over the years. We saw each other from afar, but our paths never crossed. That all changed in the 12th grade when I found myself in Mr. Storch’s science class withRandy sitting directly behind me. One unsuspecting day, a few months into the year, Randy used a taught rubber band to snap the back of my neck with a paperclip. Damn! That was a total surprise. Like an electric shock his assault delivered a bolt of pain that shot up my neck and down my spine. I was caught too off guard to turn around. I was temporarily paralyzed. In my frenzied mind I thought: “This won’t happen again. I’ll just pretend it didn’t bother me and he’ll stop.” And so I did nothing to respond as my body slowly recovered with sweaty tingly sensations. But my anger festered. In about 10-minute intervals this happened two more times before I finally broke out of my paralysis. My adrenalin kicked in and surged through my body. Now Randy was equally caught off guard as I instinctively grabbed the front legs of his modular desk chair and explosively yanked upward.My rapid jerking motion upended his desk and sent him crashing to the ground on his back. With legs up in the air he looked stunned, helpless and foolish – not such a bully then in his vulnerable posture. I jumped up from my seat and hovered over him for a moment when a larger classmate intervened and muscled me away. The incident ended with Mr. Storch sending me to the principal’s office. I protested to no avail that Randy’s provocative antics started the altercation, but I didn’t really mind. I was happy and content that I had put the infamous Randy Dwarkin in his place. I glowed in a bounty ofpreviously illusive self-confidence. Over the next week I gladly did the daily after school detention as a badge of courage. 

As I glance again through the yearbook for Randy’s profile I realize he is just not there. Now I remember what I had long forgotten. Due to bad grades Randy didn’t graduate that year and had the embarrassment of being left behind.

The next time I saw him was a couple of years later at the draft board. He looked smaller than I remembered. We made eye contact and shared a moment of non-verbal recognition. I knew I had earned his respect that day in science class. As for the army draft, I ended up with a college deferment, but I thought I remember hearing from friends that Randy was sent off to Vietnam. I never really knew what became of him. Did he survive and return physically and emotionally intact? I’ll most likely never know. 

I put the yearbook aside but not too far away. My appetite was whetted for more trips back of those high school days.