It is said that there is a fine line between right and wrong, love and hate. I think the same holds true with sane/insane, crazy/not crazy. I get up each day and face the reality that I cannot call my daughters and talk. I cannot share something that happened the day before. I cannot share a funny antidote. I cannot share memories. I cannot ask how they are doing. I cannot ask them about my…"It's a fine line we walk…"
Love At Last I remember the good times, that we once had… but still my life, is oh…so sad I try to look forward, but my mind goes back… because a piece of the glass, on our portrait is cracked I try so hard to protect the glass, I won’t let it shatter… Because you and your love, are all that matters My family is all, that means anything to me… still…everything always gets blamed…"Poem From Mom Who Wants Her Daughter's Love by Peggy Liimatta"
A Rose in Bloom My earliest memories of childhood are of my sister’s funeral. Debbie died of Leukemia at age seven; I was only five. We were born two years and one day apart, and each year I celebrate her birthday in my heart the day before mine. My world fell apart when she died. Grief counseling was virtually unheard of when I was a child. The adults in my life grappled with their own angst,…"A Rose in Bloom"