INTO THE NEST THE VIPERS SLITHER...PART FOUR of my TRIBUTE To ROBIN WILLIAMS.

Nonnie...was the only sea of something remotely close to normal in my life. (This is the only picture I have of her...my parents destroyed the rest...I had this one hidden in a secret place and have kept it safely hidden and cherished all these years.)

I'm not sure I retained any sanity after she died.

I've already shared that she and I had the same bedroom...what an amazing gift that was.

But Nonnie did so much more. I know how many girls LOATHE helping out with cleaning up after dinner each night...not me. I stood at Nonnie's elbow with my drying towel eager to listen to her share the story of her life...the love she shared with the grandfather who died fifteen years before I was born, and why her love for him was so rich and complete even though she lived another 30 years after he died, Nonnie didn't even look at another man. She said..."When you've found a love that fills your soul to overflowing anything less would hurt myself and any man I'd try moving on with."

After the dishes, Nonnie would get out the cribbage board, the pinochle deck and regular deck and we'd play card games until it was time for this girl to head to bed and Nonnie to follow so she could read in her overstuffed chair or write the weekly letters she wrote back and forth with her sister, My Great Aunt Louise, in Michigan.

We'd play cards and playful insult and tease each other...

With her, I DID know heaven, here on earth...for a little while..

Friday morning in late April...she and I chattered while dressing, left our room to walk down the hallway and start down the steps to the first floor.

I was right behind her...talking still...always eager to share the smallest thing with her..when she stopped...stood still for an over long second, then lowered herself to the step.

Panicked by this unusual act...I dropped to the step right behind her and in a shaky voice asked her what was wrong...but she didn't respond. Silence...and yet I could feel the waves from her aura reaching back to me nudging up my fear levels. 

I asked again...again she didn't move, didn't respond and I got more and more frightened. I finally screamed out...knowing my mother had to be somewhere in the house...

Mom appeared at the bottom of the steps and looked up. 

There must have been an expression on Nonnie's face that cut through Mom's first drunk of the day.

She left me sitting there with Nonnie...went and called Dr. B.

Dr. B, lived just down the street. I don't know how long it took before He was at the bottom of the steps looking up, his voice gentle, coaxing and his hands moving over Nonnie's frozen to the spot body.

"What's wrong with her? I asked, my voice shaking...(I was not calm...I was not cool...I was not, I think polite...I was scared!)

Dr. B stood after a time, went to the phone...this is back when we had land lines with extensions scattered throughout the house.

Mom followed him...I stayed with Nonnie. I couldn't leave her...I just couldn't.

The ambulance came...I had to let them take her...I didn't want to...but I HAD to...Mom piled me in the car and we followed.

Back in those days you weren't allowed to visit anyone in the hospital unless you were at least 14...I was 11.

I sat in a barreled chair grabbed my legs, pulled them up and began shaking and rocking.

Friday...

Nonnie had to stay...They wouldn't tell me what was wrong just that she had to stay.

I did the dishes that night like a zombie. I climbed into bed and looked at her empty chair, tears pouring from my eyes.

Somewhere in the night I got up, went into our closet and pulled out one of her pairs of blue canvas sandals, brought them to bed with me, hugged them like they were my long lost Teddy bear...and eventually slept with them still clutched in my hands.

By the time I woke, Saturday morning, they were soaked from the tears I'd shed...pretty much ruined...That worried me...how was I to explain when Nonnie came home that I'd ruined her shoes?

Even as I thought that I knew deep down...nothing was ever going to be the same...

Nonnie...

How hard I prayed that night, the next day and night too.

My parents refused to tell me what was wrong with Nonnie, but something in their eyes told me what I already knew...it wasn't just a bad cold.

Sunday...I HAD to get Mom to take me with her to the hospital even if they wouldn't let me in to see her...I HAD to be NEAR her.

Nonnie, I learned had been pretty much in a coma since arriving at the hospital Friday...but oddly while we were on our way int he car to the hospital, she became lucid and repeatedly asked to see me....She  became agitated enough the doctor okay-ed it.

Mom was furious...she'd been in to visit Nonnie the night before and Nonnie's eyes were open and focused...but she did not KNOW her daughter nor did she respond to her...

NOW I'm being let in...but worse...when I entered Nonnie's room she  again got agitated pointing at mom and vigorously shaking her head and pointing mom out...

Pointing at me and with a crook...called me over to climb on her bed.

Mom snarled, but left...Me?

 Scared half out of my wits, I climbed up, lowered my head to Nonnie chest and told her how much I love her, and she can't go...because I need her.

In a voice barely more than a whisper she said..."You are breath of my soul, Child. If I could stay again I would. You must be strong...I stayed this extra time, but the angels are here, and I can't stay behind again. I have shown you how much you mean. Your life will be hard...remember me...you have the strength. I love you child...You won't see me but I'll never be farther than a breath away."

"No, No, NO!!! You CAN'T leave me Nonnie," I screamed.

Two weak, frail arms touched me before my beloved Grandmother slipped back into her coma and I was forced to leave. 

All the way home in the car Mom snapped at me to tell her what Nonnie had said...How could I? She'd said something about staying the last time that I hadn't any clue what that meant...besides I was almost comatose with my own pain.

We weren't home five minutes when the phone rang. 

The pit of my stomach reached up and grabbed me.

Knowing...I left the house and went to the pool to weep from the depths of my heart.

Now I must admit my shame...

I could NOT go to her funeral...I couldn't find enough bravery inside me to handle the thought of watching them lower Nonnie's casket with her dear body into the ground...

so I begged to stay home...where I sat in our room clutching her shoes, running a gentle finger over the silky petals of her African Violets and wishing I could die right then and join her.

Later, Mom and the others taunted me for not respecting Nonnie enough to be at the funeral and grave-sight. Obviously I didn't love her enough they said.

So raw with my own misery over losing the only person who made me feel loved, I bit down on my pain and asked about Nonnie's statement...

That night if I'd been courageous  enough I would have ended my life. I hurt so deeply. 

See I learned 3 years earlier Nonnie had been critically ill and everyone expected her to die then, Oddly I don't remember it...I remember my OTHER grandmother dying when I was eight, but not Nonnie being near death. 

Seems I crawled into bed with her, thinking she was just sick and kept telling her throughout the night that I loved her and would make her better.

Nonnie when she recovered enough, told mom she had to stay for a little longer because she needed to make me strong enough for what the future held...so although she didn't fully recover to the women they tell me she'd been then, she stayed...and gave me the mother I would need teaching me what love really means so I could handle the future she knew was in front of me.

I am in tears as I write this... so I'm going to have to stop soon.

"Nonnie, I am so sorry I could not handle being a part of your funeral, but not a day has gone by in the past 52 years I have not ached to see you, talk to you, and feel your arms around me, just once more."

And on THIS note has I HAVE to finish PART FOUR of my Tribute to Robin Williams...

Again I ask you to help me honor him as he should be honored.

I am donating 100% of the royalties to my short book for the remainder of 2014

LIFE'S JOURNEY in ROBIN WILLIAMS' name for Suicide Prevention.

My Book is only $0.99...so please help me pay tribute the only way I know how.

It's available at MUSE IT UP PUBLISHING, INC


At Amazon.com


And where other fine e-books are sold

All of my royalties for 2014 will be donated in Robin Williams' name to Suicide Prevention

I think Nonnie would approve.

Love you Nonnie...if you get a chance...give Robin some of the unwavering love living inside you...and help him heal.

He's a winner, Nonnie. He helped keep me sane.

PART THREE..IN HONOR OF ROBIN WILLIAMS...DEPRESSION...THE SERPENT THAT BITES FROM THE INSIDE

I'm still L.J. Holmes and this is Part THREE in my ongoing tribute to ROBIN WILLIAMS and why I KNOW the depths of the depression he battled, but had a little easier time THANKS to 

Robin and his 

amazing humor.

I ended my last installment with the fact I was a straight "A" student. For most people that would prove to be enough of a positive it'd counter-balance my deepening feelings of inadequacy...

I've already shared my mother's weapon against her depression...alcohol...and my father's...rage...especially rage against females.

Neither of my parents made it past the seventh grade. I think they were both suspicious of education and Leary of me...someone who got excellent grades easily. I never took a note, found memorizing a breeze, never studied for tests but always earned "A's" All three of my brothers struggled for their C's...when report cards came out and they'd earned a "C" or two it was cause for celebration...my "A's were scorned and any pride I might have taken in them, was ridiculed. 

It confused me when classmates spoke of getting $10.00 for every A they got because their parents felt my classmate had done something spectacular..In my house, with the exception of my grandmother...Nonnie and I shared a bedroom..SHE celebrated my "A's" by teaching me about her favorite thing...growing African Violets. 

I was so very proud she trusted me with these precious plants...To this day I KNOW if I had not had Nonnie guiding me, loving me those first eleven years of my life, I would not have survived what was to come.

When Nonnie died, I knew when the phone rang. A part of my soul shattered that day.

While mom answered the phone I made my way out to our pool and began weeping from my soul. 

Aunt Charlotte, the wife of Nonnie's son, and mom's brother, came marching out, her arms pumped up and told me to stop acting like a baby. 

Nonnie was better off dead so get over it. 

Not to me...

Nonnie's death ended the last vestige of my innocence...the last buffer between me and a my parents battles with their depression...

It began almost immediately with dad informing me...since I was the only FEMALE child, it was now my responsibility to keep mom sober...talk about setting someone up for constant failure...especially since Dad was giving her alcohol behind my back. (Dad liked her drunk because then he could get away with...ohhh bringing bar waitresses home to have his way with and rub my mother's face in his disdain for her, after getting good and hammered at a bar somewhere in Philadelphia.

I was 13 when I caught him...that taught me to never get thirsty at night and come down to get cold water from the fridge. (Dad was not happy I caught him...yet secretly I think he really was...)

This opens the doors on a period in my life I'm 100% certain Nonnie would have been severly disappointed in me.

My parents liked booze. Dad's booze of choose was scotch...Mom's was 4 Roses whiskey. I'm not sure exactly what motivated them to conduct their contest with me at the center...but for the next few years they "urged" me to drink their liquors of choice both wanting me to end up liking theirs best.

I became a teenage alcoholic. Dad would come home and pour me a glass of scotch encouraging me by toasting every sip, daring me through narrowed eyes to suffer the consequences if I didn't lift my glass and guzzle right along with him. Mom was equally cunning...waiting till dad fell asleep in his chair watching TV before handing me a glass of her favorite drink. 

Mom would use "if you love me, you'll like my whiskey. Daughter's are supposed to love their mother's best, so show me I'm your best...drink!"

I wasn't strong enough to fight them...I became an alcoholic and in doing so let down the memory of Nonnie I held close in my heart. Instead of JUST failing at keeping mom from drinking I was now being pickled in the competition between my parents and, now, my own alcoholism.

I hated it...but the competition between my parents for my soul had just begun.

I hated it...and yes...I hated them...but I was still Catholic...

How do you go to bed at night hating your parents when you're Catholic and not spend the night wide awake afraid you'll die in your sleep with the cardinal sin of having deep and dark thoughts of hate for your parents being the last things roiling inside your mind before sleep pulls you under? 

Would I wake in the morning and sigh in relief because I hadn't died with hatred of my parents...the parents determined to claim popularity over my drunk body and mind delivering me into ETHEREAL and ETERNAL hell?

I wanted to die...but suicide is a cardinal sin too...I was too afraid to end my sorry existence but racked with pain knowing I had stopped living up to the honor my grandmother taught me...

Could it get any worse...?

This HAS to stop Part Three...I need a chance to prepare myself for where Part IV will take us...so

I will remind you all why I am doing this...

Robin Williams could not find his way out of the dark cyclone of pain his depression spun within him...I was not brave enough to end my nightmare...was he brave?...or did the rest of us, his fans, his friends, his family fail him? 

I cannot fail him now. I MUST try to honor him now the only way I can...

I AM an author...I've won awards. my short story about a journey beyond the veil, choices I needed to make there, and why I'm still here, 

LIFE'S JOURNEY is $0.99 at my publisher MUSEITUP PUBLISHING, INC bookstore, 

Amazon.com and where fine e-books are for sale...

To honor Robin's legacy I am going to donate 100% of my royalties for all sales of this book for the rest of 2014, and donate the proceeds in ROBIN'S NAME to the National Suicide Prevention Help Line and Help.org.

My name is L.J. Holmes...I am sharing MY story so you know I DO understand the depths of Robin's pain and want to do everything I can to in HIS name to keep these two agencies going to help a future sufferer of insidious depression.

This concludes Part Three...

I have made a promise to Robin's memory, my Grandmother, and my own sense of what's right and wrong, to return with Part Four and continue sharing my 

surfboarding ride through Hell's BIG ONES.



So till then, thank you for coming back...and thank you for helping me make Robin's legacy happen.

Suicide Warning Signs
Talking about suicide	Any talk about suicide, dying, or self-harm, such as "I wish I hadn't been born," "If I see you again..." and "I'd be better off dead."
Seeking out lethal means	Seeking access to guns, pills, knives, or other objects that could be used in a suicide attempt.
Preoccupation with death	Unusual focus on death, dying, or violence. Writing poems or stories about death.
No hope for the future	Feelings of helplessness, hopelessness, and being trapped ("There's no way out"). Belief that things will never get better or change.
Self-loathing, self-hatred	Feelings of worthlessness, guilt, shame, and self-hatred. Feeling like a burden ("Everyone would be better off without me").
Getting affairs in order	Making out a will. Giving away prized possessions. Making arrangements for family members.
Saying goodbye	Unusual or unexpected visits or calls to family and friends. Saying goodbye to people as if they won't be seen again.
Withdrawing from others	Withdrawing from friends and family. Increasing social isolation. Desire to be left alone.
Self-destructive behavior	Increased alcohol or drug use, reckless driving, unsafe sex. Taking unnecessary risks as if they have a "death wish."
Sudden sense of calm	A sudden sense of calm and happiness after being extremely depressed can mean that the person has made a decision to commit suicide. Common Misconceptions about Suicide FALSE: People who talk about suicide won't really do it.  Almost everyone who commits or attempts suicide has given some clue or warning. Do not ignore suicide threats. Statements like "you'll be sorry when I'm dead," "I can't see any way out," — no matter how casually or jokingly said may indicate serious suicidal feelings. FALSE: Anyone who tries to kill him/herself must be crazy.  Most suicidal people are not psychotic or insane. They must be upset, grief-stricken, depressed or despairing, but extreme distress and emotional pain are not necessarily signs of mental illness. FALSE: If a person is determined to kill him/herself, nothing is going to stop them.  Even the most severely depressed person has mixed feelings about death, wavering until the very last moment between wanting to live and wanting to die. Most suicidal people do not want death; they want the pain to stop. The impulse to end it all, however overpowering, does not last forever. FALSE: People who commit suicide are people who were unwilling to seek help.  Studies of suicide victims have shown that more than half had sought medical help in the six months prior to their deaths. FALSE: Talking about suicide may give someone the idea.  You don't give a suicidal person morbid ideas by talking about suicide. The opposite is true — bringing up the subject of suicide and discussing it openly is one of the most helpful things you can do.

DEPRESSION AND HELL....One and the SAME PLACE. TRIBUTE TO ROBIN WILLIAMS: PART TWO.

When I started school... it was Catholic School...My first day was a huge embarrassment for me and my brother because I was one those kids who CRIED, AND CRIED AND CRIED.

They had to call my two older brothers from their classes to try calming a child who'd drowned just a year and half earlier and was so traumatized by that event I couldn't handle being away from my mom...fear is a powerful motivator...oh and nuns do NOT appreciate you wailing like some diva actress in their faces. That first day set the tone for my years in grade school that would follow. All the other kids in my class thought I was either a wimp...or a mama's girl. The latter was the closest to the truth, but they would never know about my dying...I also learned the religion might TALK about long ago miracles but they did NOT want to hear about me flying with the angels and living to talk about it. 

Instead of a scarlet A across my forehead, I developed an invisible "L" for LIAR across mine...from Mother Superior down to the other odd ball kid in our class who peed his pants the first day. "He lived down his stigma by the second week...mine carried on through till I left Catholic school when I graduated eighth grade and move on to public high-school.

LIAR...everyone called me that..so I was the kid over at the very edge of the fence, sitting in the dust watching the other kids play at recess when I couldn't figure a way of hiding in the bathroom when we were farmed out for recess.

Sounds bad, right..and it was. Abuse by teachers is accepted as normal coarse in Catholic Schools. 

No...I was not one of the kids most viciously abused by being a student there...

The worst was when one of the lay teachers...they're the NON-NUNS...Looking back I think she must have had a rough night before. 

I was a straight "A" student which of course made them all the more furious with me for being a Liar...but that's not what set her off.

I grew up with chronic tonsillitis. Every other week I was burning up with fever and unable to speak comfortable because of how hue my tonsils grew.

The doctor wanted to get my tonsils out by the time I was seven...I STILL have them. My mother refused to allow mine out because they'd had my eldest brothers out...Bob is NINE years older than me. His grew back so mom wasn't about to pay to have mine out and risk THEM growing back too.

Because of that I got severe attacks every other week...I was out of school sick, a LOT...another thing that made the other kids think I was either a freak or...LYING.

When your tonsils swell large enough to block your throat they began moving in and wage war against your ears. I am deaf in my left ear, and partially in my right. 

The lay teacher was talking to me, I'd learn much later, but I could not HEAR her...something we would again only learn much later.

She thought I was ignoring her. So she picked up a desk closest to where she was standing and threw it at me. 

I was in a cast for several weeks after that, but I made certain to never relax for the rest of my year with her. I'd diligently watch her lips and eyes. Even though I could NOT read her lips if she was looking at me and her lips were moving I politely responded "Yes Ma'm." I rarely answered correctly, but at least she did not think I was ignoring her again. (I was 16 before we learned I was partially deaf because of the repeated tonsil infections throughout my childhood.  I STILL get tonsillitis, but not every week...The last time was in 1981 when my own children were five and six...and was so bad I was in the hospital for a month because I was not responding to IV antibiotic. (At that time I was told they don't take out adult tonsils...so I was stuck in agony until the infection began responding to antibiotics...a whole month IN the hospital fighting something that should have been taken care of when I was a child...in the hospital...not with my precious children...Sometimes I think Depression and its cause and effects are really boomerangs.

The strangest thing is that despite my weakened hearing I was a STRAIGHT A student...I wish I could say my A laden report cards gave me a sense of pride...

PART TWO...Isn't odd to think that something like your tonsils can be the catalyst for bouts of some of the most emotionally isolating bouts of depression a child can have to work their way through?

Oh I understand why Robin Williams' pain could make him feel so unworthy of breathing the same air of those sitting beside him, or applauding him so adoringly from the audience. How do you see/hear past your own pain when the demon of depression has such a stranglehold on you?

I NEED to donate all my royalties for the rest of 2014 for my $0.99 cent e-book LIFE'S JOURNEY and donate it to Suicide Prevention in HIS, ROBIN WILLIAM'S name...

AND we need to star talking about depression, tear away the dark curtains we all hide our pain behind so help can find those who need it BEFORE we take that step we cannot undo.

I thank you for taking the time to read this...and please remeber I am doing all this because Robin shared his troubled humor to us with love...help me show his spirit how much he DID for us now.

Part Three of my Story is coming.

In the mean time here are the direct links to my books' Buy Pages at my publisher's MUSE IT UP PUBLISHING, INC

and

AMAZON.COM

LIFE'S JOURNEY IS ALSO AVAILABLE WHERE FINE E-BOOKS ARE SOLD.

DEPRESSION AND ME...NEVER PERFECT TOGETHER...PART ONE.

My History with the demons of depression...

I wonder if it's hereditary.

My mother was 19 when her beloved father died unexpectedly at the very young age of 45. Grandpa's death devastated her. Prohibition was in full swing and Mom found a shield for her to hide her pain behind beyond the hidden doors of Speak Easy s and alcohol.

I was never told WHEN Mom slipped into full blown alcoholism...but I know she drank the entire time she was pregnant with me. (She was 34 when she had me...She and Dad met in a Speak Easy when she was 20...they both enjoyed...alcohol...although I'm not sure that's accurate...Dad ENJOYED drinking...for Mom I think it became a way of life...from the moment she'd awaken till she passed out for the first time, only to regain consciousness and repeat the pattern all day, every day. (I have repeatedly said if my Grandmother had not lived with us I would not have had a Mother...this is why...Mom was rarely sober. Nonnie, thank the merciful God, raised me. She gave me the ONLY love and unconditional acceptance I would know throughout most of my life. She died when I was 11...Mom didn't stop drinking...and Dad? Dad hated females. He was the only boy, with three sisters, one older, who happened to have been one of the first pro women wrestlers in the United States, Aunt Stella, and the others, thorns in his side the entire time he was growing up.


I promised to share MY journey through the dark pitfalls of Depression as I further pay tribute to Robin Williams and try to explain why it is so important for me to DONATE ALL MY ROYALTIES for my 99 cent book LIFE'S JOURNEY IN ROBIN'S NAME for all sales of it from now until the end of 2014.

I hope you will bear with me as I explain my journey and why ROBIN'S brilliant comedy gave me surcease from some of the intense pits of despair I have battled over the years.

This is PART ONE...

I will turn 63, Robin's age, on December 12th of this year...Battling Depression is NOT an overnight process and like an angry sea the waves will pummel, subside, calm, only to rise up and pummel again.

I will try to be diligent in sharing a slice of MY Depression pie right here, every day from this point on...so please come back...but also remember I am doing this so I can make this donation in

Robin's name so someone in the future, dealing with the viper's bite of depression can reach out to the two agencies I have chosen to receive this donation will help someone down the line from feeling the darkest war any soul will ever have to face, alone.
Two damaged people got together to create the next generation of damaged people.

At the end of this posting I will copy the information you need to be one of Robin's angels and my heroes.

LIN'S JOURNEY INTO HELL'S OCEANS.

I was the first of my parents children to be born in the hospital. On December 12, 1951 at 11:05 PM...Mom squirted me out right there on a gurney in front of the nurses station...her previous yells for attention ignored by the hectic bustle of shift change.

Mom never made it to either the labor or delivery rooms...before there was me...9 lbs 2 oz...of unhappy baby.

I was born with blood tumors between each of my toes and fingers and a good size one on the right apple cheek of my butt.

Dry ice was applied to all tumors, burning them off, leaving behind angry skin...skin a baby cannot keep her pee from scoring into every time said baby has a bit of a nature event. (I was a very unhappy, screaming baby...not at all peaceful to have or be around.)

Eventually the wounds...surface...wounds healed...the scar on my right butt cheek...was never pretty...but became the source of much...odd entertainment.

First it convinced my parents that I wasn't really THEIR child, but the spawn of Satan. How they used to brag about my demonic parentage to anyone who came along to visit.

Most people pooh pooh such a claim when made by tellers with scotch or whiskey glasses in their hands...so my parents would call me down from my bedroom, make me pull down my pants,turn  and  bend over to show one and all the symbol of evil, verifying  most visually what runs in my genes.

I learned to hate visitors...I became shyer with each exposure and learned to hide my pain behind a frozen mask that allowed no emotion to show.

Friends? How could I let friends into my life? If I did that I risked THEM learning of my evil mark and the truth.

Sleep overs? That would mean possibly bathing together...NO WAY could I risk that.

I became a loaner. Shy, afraid, timid, and insecure.

My ONLY friend after my Grandmother died, throughout my young life would be my dog Heidi...I could tell Heidi anything and know she'd never stop loving me. Heidi gave enough of her joy to me, I managed NOT to slip so deep into the insanity of my parent's cruelties to give in to the voice inside my heart and soul,  telling me the world would be better off without me.

Heidi made me believe I had SOME value in life...some GOODNESS, she could see...she gave me a reason to HOPE I wasn't JUST what my parents wanted me to believe.

 I was NOT the cause of Dad's heavy handed anger. I was NOT the cause of Mom's deceit about that not JUST being Pepsi in her glass...a glass that had odd fumes rising from it that never rose from the glasses of Pepsi I poured for myself.

I wasn't responsible for the fire my brother started in the attic of the garage even though Dad swore it was me, not Don that dropped that lit match into the hay bale..despite the two octogenarians two houses down swearing I was with them when the fire happened..

Heidi happily leaped into the pool with me and played water sports with me with a grin on her face and a twinkle in her eyes even thought it was ME she was palling with...

Still there were times when I hid beneath the blanket on my bed listening to the fury escalating between my parents downstairs, certain I'd done something wrong and their fury with each other was my fault...a belief Dad would reinforce the next night when he'd get home from his job, pick me up eager to tell me what I'd done wrong, something I could never remember doing, while threatening to toss me into the nearest wall so I'd remember to behave myself next time.

(Dad actually only hit me once...I was seven...It took a month before I could sit...and in that month when dad was home, I'd hide behind the couch praying he couldn't see me.

SEVEN!

Some of you might want to know where was Nonnie when dad ripped into my body with his angry hand...

In Michigan for a rare month visiting her sister, my great aunt.

(Dad never hit me or tossed me into walls when Nonnie was around...

I never knew why, I was safe when Nonnie was around, except when she died...a very strange thintgs happened...for the first and ONLY time in my life, I saw Dad cry. (Nonnie was not HIS mother...she was his MOTHER-IN-LAW, but she is the only woman he ever cared  for...teased with gentle affection...He called her "Toots" in such a soft, loving tease...I think he LOVED her...so much so he CRIED when she passed on.



That's it for now...PART ONE. is complete.



Now please remember 100% of the sales of my book LIFE'S JOURNEY...(Nonnie's in this book)...is being donated to Suicide Prevention causes in

ROBIN WILLIAM'S NAME.

Help me honor this genius...Please.

Thank you.

And check back for PART TWO of my Journey Through the rising and Falling of MY Battle with Depression.

LIFE'S JOURNEY is available at my publisher, Muse It Up Publishing, Inc for $0.99

At Amazon.com for $0.99

And where quality e-books are sold.

Thank you for taking the time to read my story and I hope you'll continue following me as I honor

Robin Williams the only way I know how

Again...Thank you Robin...you made me laugh...I can never thank you enough for that..

To Robin Williams

There But For the Grace of God..and thankfully I have received that Grace: Now it's your turn. 

But let me tell you MY odd tale.

Several Years Ago I had quite a lot of surgeries to repair some of the damage done to me by my ex-husband. I KNOW depression...I have heard its voice inside me many times since I escaped from a marriage my ex fashioned in a hell I never wish to revisit.

I don't respond well to general anesthesia...the fact is I went into cardiac arrest and died on the table, a time or two...at least.

What I experienced during some of those..."light's out in the old ticker," has made me know I will be more than ready when it is my time to go home, and stay.

I was given a choice in my last one. I wrote about it in my short paranormal book LIFE'S JOURNEY. This is a 99.9% true story.

This was not my first trip beyond the veil. 

I was four when I drowned. Four year old's know no fear, so I just bravely walked out into the lake, not realizing speed boats further out would be sending me waves strong enough to lift my little body and submerge it..letting child-like panic settle in. 

When they found my floating body and got the water out of me they delivered my weary little body to my mother's arms. Years later she told me I looked up at her and said, "Mommy, I was flying with the angels. I called your name, but you didn't come."

My best NDE...Near Death Experience happened when I was 34...like Robin Williams I am on the cusp of turning 63...on December 12th. 

I "awoke" while my body was in full blown cardiac arrest, and I was nestled in God's Arms. 

I know there are those who say if you see God's face you die...well I was already dead...but I never saw God's face...I was in His arms surrounded by wave after wave after wave of unconditional love washing over me and such peace.

For the first time in my life I knew I had a Father who loved me. I deserved being loved, and despite the things my ex did to me, I was still precious to Him...My Father, and not tainted beyond value by the scars I carry...some very easy to see...some implanted on my soul.

I know, at this moment, My Father is encompassing Robin William's battered spirit in that same sea of His Unconditional Love for Robin, His very troubled Son. 

"Robin heal well.  Soak up the unswerving sea of love up there with Dad, and know we are all sending our love your way too."

Okay before the naysayers chime in...I know the theory about what happened to me has to do with lack of oxygen to the brain during those moments in time. 

I don't care. 

I know what I felt before and how I feel now. If it's a delusion, it's a delusion I'll happily continue holding deep inside me for the rest of my flesh life and beyond.

LIFE' JOURNEY is a short book that tells the story about what I experienced during my second Near Death Experience and is available in e-book at Muse It Up Publishing right now at the link above for $0.99.

100% of my royalties for this book for the remainder of of 2014 will be donated to Suicide Prevention/and Help Lines in Robin Williams' Name.

Robin, I truly wish I could do more.

Suicide Prevention If you or someone you know has ongoing thoughts of death or suicide—or if a suicide attempt has been made—contact a doctor go to a hospital emergency room immediately or call 1-800-273-TALK (8255). If you or someone you know is living with depression or bipolar disorder, you understand all too well that the symptoms may include feelings of sadness and hopelessness. These feelings can also include thoughts of self-harm or suicide. Whether we have suicidal thoughts ourselves, or know a severely depressed person who does, there are ways that we can respond with strength and courage. Understanding Suicidal Thinking The most important thing to remember about suicidal thoughts is that they are symptoms of a treatable illness associated with fluctuations in the body's and brain's chemistry. They are not character flaws or signs of personal weakness, nor are they conditions that will just go away on their own. Depression and the depressive phase of bipolar disorder may cause symptoms such as the following: intense sadness hopelessness lethargy loss of appetite disruption of sleep decreased ability to perform usual tasks loss of interest in once-pleasurable activities Taken together, these symptoms may lead someone to consider suicide. However, with proper treatment, the majority of people do feel better and regain hope. Recovery is possible! During severe depression, the systems that regulate emotion become disturbed. People in the middle of a severe depression often think only of things that are dark and sad. Physicians refer to this as "selective memory"—only remembering the bad times or the disappointments in life. This type of thinking is a symptom of the illness; it does not define who the person is. And with proper treatment, the individual will start to remember the good times and develop a more positive outlook. The following two agencies deal Nationally here in the United States with Suicide Prevention.

Thank you for reading this and helping me honor a GREAT genius the only way I can...with YOUR Help.

Direct Link to Muse It Up Publishing's BUY PAGE for this book

Direct Link to Amazon.com's BUY PAGE for this book

WHAT IS THE MEASURE OF SUCCESS?

I have long believed the amount of bucks in your bank account is a poor measure of your success. My father married money. If I measured his life's success, I'd have to say, thanks to the money he acquired when he married my mother, a functioning alcoholic...sort of...he could manipulate HER bank balance reflecting the success of my great grandfather and great uncle...not Dad's own, or for that matter, my mother's own efforts.

Kat and I barely have more than a pail to dunk our sponge mop in, and yet...in the last three years, since we released our first books at MuseItUp Publishing we have acquired a rather impressive array of awards...some for our books, some for our blogs, and some just because we try very hard to help others coming along this path behind us.

What do you think? Wanna see some of our awards?

I, L.J. Holmes won the 

FIFTH place award in the Preditors and Editors 2010 Readers Poll for my debut book SANTA IS A LADY. 

Not bad for a newbie. This book released Dec. 1, 2010 so was only out and qualified for three weeks before the voting began. Being new I had no idea what this Poll was or how anyone went about getting their work into the running.

In 2011 Kat Holmes, my brilliant daughter took 

TENTH place in the MYSTERY category with HER debut MuseItUp Novel 

THE LIGHTHOUSE.

So we're doing good right?

In that same year because I found out I can blog like nobody's business I took a bunch of awards...

A LOT of awards right?

And this year 2013, Kat and I have taken between us SEVEN top ten P&E awards:

Yeah..this one won in TWO categories.

So here we are...with our awards for top ten and blogging...but what does it mean? 

Can anyone tell us? All this work to make OUR place...but what does it mean? NINE total top ten P&E awards and THIRTEEN assorted blog/friend awards.