The Long Road Home (Continued from What Doesn’t Kill Me…)


After he said he wanted to go home, I took Brant’s hand.

“Do you remember me?” I asked him.

“I love you,” he answered in that strange new voice we’d all get used to in the coming months. I smiled and kissed his fingers.

“I love you more,” I answered. His eyes narrowed at me, but he looked around at his family. My admission was something we’d discuss during a private moment later. He squeezed my hand gently. At first, I thought it was his attempt at being gentle, but we’d also find out that he’d have to relearn how to use his limbs, walk, talk and pretty much start over as an infant would from birth.

“I’ll be back at the next visiting hour,” I told him after his family talked to him for awhile. There wasn’t much he could say in response. His words were indistinguishable, as if he spoke another language.

As soon as Brant’s visiting hours were up, the family and I went to the waiting area. He hadn’t been awake for more than a few hours and the family told me, “You have to tell him what happened while he was asleep or we will.”

“He needs to rest and recuperate. He doens’t need to know his daughter was molested while he was under. That could set him back.”

“We don’t believe she was. That’s why we want you to tell him. He’ll be on our side.”

“You don’t know my husband very well, then do you?” I asked back and walked away from them. There was no way I would tell him something so shocking so soon after he awoke. There was no need. My daughter was fine (as fine as could be), and Brant’s recovery was the most important thing.

At this point, we didn’t know what sort of damage had been done to his brain or organs from being under so long and being on an oscillating ventilator, which is the ventilator that vibrates air into the lungs. He didn’t takes breaths like you and I anymore. His lungs vibrated, air entering and leaving in an extremely fast rate.

Brant’s stepmother, father and brother followed me as I walked away.

“I’m serious. If you don’t tell him, we will.” His father said.

I walked faster. I made it to the chapel and fell to my knees.

I don’t remember the exact prayer I prayed, but I do know I asked God for wisdom. I knew I could throw his family out, but that would make things worse. I might end up attacked on my way to my car if I had to leave to take money to mama. But Brant might also end up back where we were a day before if they stressed his body or mind, too much. I just asked God for his hand of protection over us.

In three hours, it was time for his next visitation and we’d be alone. I looked forward to it so much, yet dreaded it at the same time. His family had stolen what should have been one of the sweetest moments of my life…

HUNTER – My YA/NA Fantasy Romance Has Just Released. Come Check it Out.


Odessa Loraine Black:

Everyone please check out this author! She’s great! Her works are wonderful. I have read Protector and plan to delve into Warrior and Hunter before I go into the other series. Have fun!

Originally posted on Joanne Wadsworth:

Hunter

HUNTER

To love and protect…across worlds.

Nineteen-year-old Lieska Alura, a Dralion warrior from the planet Magio, calls an Australian Outback station her home away from home. Hounded by her skilled hunter senses, she is on a mission to track down one man, her soul-bound mate.

Peacian protector and hunter, Cole Cyrano, is driven by his soul’s demand to find his mated one, a woman he knows is his enemy. Dralion and Peacio are at war, and he ignores his soul’s call. Except Lieska shows up during a fierce training session inside his protectors’ arena, and his soul demands he protect her.

Completely, yet impossibly matched, they decide to renounce their bond, only not all goes as planned when Lieska receives word bushfires rage across her Outback station. She leaves, and now nothing can keep Cole from the hunt. He joins Lieska in driving the station’s cattle toward the mighty river…

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First Moments Alone (Cont. from What Doesn’t Kill Me…)


I went back in to the room for Brant’s next visit. He stared wide-eyed across the room as I approached with my carry-on bag and pillow and blanket, of which I brought with me everywhere I went. I had to or they’d be stolen. The neighborhood wasn’t the greatest.

I approached the bed and our eyes met.

“How do you feel?”

He spoke slowly. “You…look…like… oompa…loompa.” His first words while we were alone. Wow.

“What’s an oompa loompa?” I asked grinning. Not sure if he was hallucinating or if his brain wasn’t quite right after waking.

“Charlie. Chocolate Factory.” His words were garbled, but I understood. I laughed. “Everything orange,” he said rolling his eyes around room. I looked closer at his eyes. Orange cream rimmed them. Must’ve been something necessary. His eyes hadn’t been open for 45 days.

“There’s some sort of orange film over them. They put cream on them or something.”

“You’re bootiful,” he said lifting a forefinger. I looked at his hand. An odd thought struck me.

“Brant, can you lift your arm?”

He tried and his eyes widened as the tips of his fingers were the only things lifting off the bed. “Caaan’t mooove.”

I took a deep breath. “It’s okay.” I took his hand and squeezed it. “You’re probably weak.”

“You’re diff…rent,” he said eyeing me.

“Slimmer. I bet so. I’ve lost some weight.”

“Over…night?”

Uh, oh.

“No, you’ve been asleep awhile.”

“How…long?”

“Don’t be scared. You’re doing much better now, but you’ve been asleep for over a month,” I told him.

He was silent, the shook his head. “No.” He shook his head some more.

“It’s okay. We’ll talk about all that later. What matters is that the doctor says he thinks you’ll make a full recovery,” I kissed his cheek and hugged him best I could.

“Another thing. What’s in my butt?” he asked. I couldn’t help but break into giggles.

“A tube, honey. It was that or have poop all over you and risk skin break down.”

“Want it out.”

“I love you,” I whispered to him as I hugged him again.

“Really?” he asked.

I leaned back and put both hands on the sides of his face. “Really. I’m in love with you. Butt tube and all.”

Brant stayed in ICU for a few more days then was moved to the tenth floor, the cardiac ward. Brant had so many things they were worried about, they sort of didn’t know where to put him. As his body healed, he had to have dialysis, insulin and various other drugs to rejuvenate him. The tips of his fingers had turned black, pus seeping from them where his extremities had started to rot. Like I said, the machines were fighting a seemingly hopeless battle. God had different plans.

Confess Him Lord (7/26/13)


Originally posted on The River Walk:

Read: 2 Chronicles 17:1-18:34, Romans 9:25-10:13, Psalm 20:1-9, Proverbs 20:2-3

If you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. (Romans 10:9)

Jesus is Lord

Relate: I’m currently reading an excellent book by Stephen Prothero, a religious studies professor who describes himself as religiously confused. The book God Is Not One gives a solid breakdown from an outsider’s perspective of the eight most influential religions in the world. I’ve only read the first three so far (Christianity, Islam, Confucianism) but I feel he gives a very fair and thorough “outsider” view of each.

One thing he said of Christianity that I wish was less true was that Christianity is all about right thought (orthodoxy) and little about right practice (orthopraxy). He says that for membership in most churches of the major branches of Christianity (Catholic, Protestant, Orthodox)…

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7 Tips For Finishing The First Draft


Odessa Loraine Black:

This was very helpful, so I shared!

Originally posted on Writers In The Storm Blog:

Erika Marks

Erika Marks

by Erika Marks

First draft.

Talk about two words that manage to strike both excitement and fear in the hearts of all of us who write, yes?

After having published three books and now deep in the middle of my fourth, I’d like to think I’ve got this whole first draft thing sewed up.

Except, well, I don’t.

But while I’m no pro at this yet, friends, like all of us, I’ve amassed a decent catalog of tried-and-trues that work for me.

Since everyone has her or his own tip sheet, what works/what doesn’t when they sit down to write that often elusive, sometimes terrifying but always consuming first draft, I thought I’d share some of mine with you all today. And I’d sure love to hear some of YOURS in the comments section.

Okay. Here goes…

First off, don’t sweat the small stuff.

I have found…

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