Reflection, Realization & Grief. Not your average New Year blog post.

I know most people are starting out the new year with blog posts about resolutions, plans for the next 12 months & happy reflections on the year prior.

This is not going to be that kind of post.

this post is going to be full of grief, realization, reflection & tribute.


Meet Brian.

No words can describe him thoroughly.

The best house parties. He had them.

The most infectious laugh. He had it.

The loudest voice. He had it.

The love, acceptance & patience of a saint. He had all of those.

Spontaneity so strong you could barely keep up. He had that too

My funniest, laughter filled, booze induced memories include him.

Brian also had a medical condition that ended his life very, very suddenly.

We weren’t the best of friends, but I knew I could always, always count on him. We would go days, weeks, even months without talking but I knew when he was in town going out for drinks was a requirement & we would pick up like we were never apart.

The last night we spent together was “The Big Gay Birthday Bash”. The joint party of him, myself & 3 other friends.
we drank too much, we smoked too much, we laughed until our cheeks hurt, we danced, we sang, we hugged, we mixed drinks so potent they caused the hang over from hell.

Less than 2 months later, my phone rings while i’m showering. I ignore it.

to be honest, i’m glad i did because I know know how i would have processed the information with a voice on the other end.

I read a BBM.

“Something terrible has happened.” quickly followed by “Emerson passed away.”

For a second, i swear my heart stopped, my throat got tight. i froze.

i re-read that message. over & over.

death in my life isn’t new. both my grandparents are dead. in fact my grand mother died at the very end of the year before.

but this was different. the death of a friend, in my adult life, that is completely unexpected was new. it was heart breaking, confusing. It was life altering. Even if i didn’t realize it at the time. I get it now.

How is someone you were just drinking, laughing & making memories with just gone, forever?

we found out on a Friday. within an hour we were all on a friend’s door step staring into the wooden slates of a deck while we talked, smoked & tried to process.

this was a part of adulthood i did not want to deal with.

friends don’t say goodbye to friends forever.

people say good bye to elderly relatives, to people with life threatening illnesses, to victims of tragedy.

other people talk about losing friends. other people have memorial cards from friend’s funerals. other people tell you how their friend’s death changed them

other people, other people. not us. not a group of us in our twenties. we don’t do this.

the next night we had plans to go out. & we did.

But it wasn’t like any other night at the bar.

His face was everywhere. I kept thinking i heard is laughter in the distance. i kept looking for him in the crowds.

Anyone who knew Brian knew his love of Britney Spears.

Hearing ‘Till the world ends, in the bar was my realization.

I cried hard. In the middle of a bar with a drink in my hand as I danced and sang along to that song the best I could. That is what he would have wanted.

Nearly two months later, it still doesn’t seem real sometimes.

some of our friend’s facebook profiles still have display pictures him in them.

i find myself looking for him in bars just in case he slipped into town & didn’t let anyone know.

i get hit with a wave of grief when i hear Britney.

i haven’t been able to get through the song played at his funeral without tearing up and forcing myself not to cry.

i haven’t yet deleted “him” from BBM

or twitter. . .

or deleted his contact card in my BlackBerry.

that just seems wrong. like it would be erasing him from my life.

i guess i’m just not ready yet.

i didn’t expect the death of a friend to impact me so greatly. i really didn’t.

especially a friend that wasn’t a part of my daily life.

but it has. & i’m not really sure i like it.

it is the events or during the times we would normally see him that it gets more real.

it started with new years. there were no discussion of whether or not he was coming home for the holidays.

we didn’t grumble together about how we had to “do the family thing” for Christmas & couldn’t wait for new years eve.

Next, will probably be pride. But our birthday will be the hardest.

but we will tell our stories, share our memories & make skittles vodka.

i just hope that whatever comes after death is a place where he can shine like the star he was.

If Brian’s death has taught me anything, it is that life is fragile. It can end fast.

It showed me that i cannot let get life get in the way of my friendships, my family & those i love.

It has taught me that no matter how close you were, the distance between you or the length of time you could go without speaking means nothing.

each and every person you befriend leaves an impact in your life.

some good, some bad.

but the little spot you have for them in your life is always there. Whether it be in memories, stories, pictures, text messages, tweets, or any other form.

& when they aren’t there any longer & it is forever. it will change you. maybe only a little, but the change will be there. You may not fall to your knees in grief, you may not feel the impact as badly as others. but it is still there.

text those friends you haven’t heard from in awhile. tweet them. call them.

just don’t let life get in the way. & remember, in one split second this could all be over for us so cherish it, achieve great things & grow with each new experience.

sleep peacefully my friend, every shot of skittles vodka is a tribute to you.❤

What I Want You To Know: The Bi Polar Series

What I Want You To Know: The Bi Polar Series

**i have an awesome friend who is awesome enough to share her WIWYTK story with the world. Her story is too big, too long, too involved to be expressed in one post so I’ll be breaking it up.***
When you look at me, most of you may see me as an average joe, (the rest of you…. clever little bastards why aren’t ya =)). But if you take the time to get to know me, you’ll come to find out I am far from normal. In 2009, I was diagnosed as Bipolar I, or just as the world knows it, Bipolar Disorder or Manic Depressive. Bipolar Disorder is often misdiagnosed. You can often find it paraphrased as crazy, psycho paths. Movies always made them out to be deranged murderers. Heck, just recently I noticed they made a reference to it in a children’s movie. “Boy, she must be Bipolar” is a phrase I often hear others say. I didn’t know till 2009, I was Bipolar. For a long time, I was under the impression I was just depressed. Life was good, and then took a downhill slope, and everything after that got worse. I was married, 2 children and we owned our own home. Life should have been easy, heck, but what do I know.
It all started back in 2004, when I was unexpededly surprised to find out my husband and myself were pregnant with our second child. She was not planned but to this date still is very much our little miracle. Due to the timing of her conception, things were a bit rough. I experienced a bit of “depression” and was being seen by a social worker at the ob. clinic. When our daughter was born, my little precious bundle of joy most of the time, made life more bearable. There were still inner demons that lived within (FYI, this is not sci-fi lol)
2009, was when our life came crashing down and my episodes started arising. We filed bankruptcy, walked from our home and moved over the course of a year to 2 rental homes for various reasons. At our first one, was where I had my first breakdown. Issues were sky high, and arguments were in everyday thing in our home. During one of those arguments, I had my first breakdown. Encouraged by a friend, I self-admitted myself to the psych ward where I spent 12 days there. I was assigned a permanent Psychiatrist, who diagnosed me as Bipolar I. Bipolar I is consistent with elevated moods of mania and depression, where the mania moods last the longest. I was never consistent; you never knew how I would react, what my mood would be. And on top of the Bipolar, other pre-existing diagnoses lived (yes, you decided to read this) I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, ADHD and Paranoia. All of this, to this day I believe played a part in our financial demise.
6 months later, I was hospitalized a second time. It wasn’t the fighting this time, more so the stress, the ongoing motor that drove me to take on twenty million things and the paranoia people were whispering and talking about how horrible you are doing. I still feel the same as I did when I met a friend in the psych ward who had schizophrenia, you cannot judge unless you walked in their shoes. Paranoia is no laughing matter. It isn’t something I choose, it consumed me. I avoided confrontation, lied, only because of the fear I lived in constantly, worrying about what would be said. I lost a lot of friends during the second hospital visit. The second time around I was diagnosed further as Cycling Bipolar; due to the fact the quantity of my mood changes were more frequent. Again, and as the remainder of the year after, I was tested on a dozen or so different medications. For 8 solid months, I was unable to be around my children alone. The reasons behind it are controversial, but I won’t go there.
Life after the second time around got better, to an extent. Finances were no longer a worry, arguments were still there, but good times still happened. I was pretty much as stable as one could expect from 2009-2010. With Bipolar Disorder, one can remain stable but a single “traumatic” episode can send you spiraling back. And spiral back I did go. September 2010. I could go on and on, but I would ruin the allure of my blog and there would be no reason to return to read more (just humor me please). So until then, the story is on a standstill.

hey neph,

Hey Kid,

this next few weeks is going to suck. a lot.

I know you’re going to be in a lot of pain & recovery is going to take awhile but i need you to remember that we all love.

me, mommy, grandma, auntie joy, grandpa. all of us.

you aren’t doing this by yourself.

Your mom will never leave your side & we won’t be far away.

i know you’re going to remember all of these next few weeks & i think that is what hurts the most.

you’re going to see the scars, notice people staring, know you are limited physically, think that we aren’t making them stop & there isn’t a damn thing we can do about it.

but listen kid.

you’ve got this. you’ve done it once & you’ll do it again.

just remember, we all love you. more than you’ll ever know.

how we decided to use a known donor and why i changed my mind.


sperm is something a person usually, only thinks about when makin’ babies.

But when you’re a same sex female couple, its always there.

for awhile I thought using a Known Donor [hereby known as KD] was best for our family.

to read the entry about that go here.

..but then i changed my mind. and this is why…

the donor we had chosen was someone we both love & cherish dearly.

he is a person i want to play a large role in my children’s lives, regardless of whether or not his DNA is in the mix.

& he is also a person whose feeling, emotions and concerns need to be validated, addressed and taken into consideration.

& the friendship i have with him is not something i want to lose.

taking all of those into consideration, we pulled the plan of using him as our donor off the table for several reasons.

i’ll be blunt and say i just don’t think he is ready. Is this his fault, absolutely not. Joy & I are a train that is full speed ahead to destination Motherhood. He isn’t in the same place.

Considering the idea was only pitched a couple of months ago and we’re looking at put it in action in the next couple of months putting our dear friend under that kind of pressure is unfair.

We’ve had years to process our wants, desires & emotions. He would have just a few months. & in that time he would have to let family, any potential spouses & friends know. He would have to deal with unsolicited advice, people who aren’t going to agree & any emotions that may come up along the way.

He has also had a lot of bullshit flung at him in the last year or so. He deserves time to process that without 2 baby hungry woman all over him for his baby batter.

As the time came closer to talk about this seriously, my fears kicked in.

i kept them down and quiet for as long as i could before i finally thought “this doesn’t feel right.”

I feared that he would feel some emotional connection with MY child that i couldn’t compete with, nor could i expect him to deny.

I started having these weird scenarios play out in my head, where we were in court and had to plead our case as to why he sohludn’t have joint custody of our child.

or that he and my wife would fall in love, and there i would be in the back ground.

or that he would suddenly want to co-parent our child.

it was crazy.

i also thought about it and realized that if he agreed, we continued and a few months later he decided it wasn’t something he could do, although it would totally be his right & i wouldn’t want him to continue if he was uncomfortable. i would be upset, angry and disappointed. A resentment would build because i would have felt like we “wasted time”  i really didn’t want that kid of emotions tarnishing our friendship.

and it really only re-confirmed that it wasn’t the best option for us.

I’d take his friendship, his support, his love & opinions over his sperm any day.

so now we are back to the anonymous donor. & now that we’ve “tested” the waters of both scenarios i feel much, much better.

what i want you to know.

what i want you to know about self mutilation is:

  • that it is & was the best & worst thing to ever happen to me
  • it is not a phase. it is an addiction. like heroine, like nicotine, like prescription pills.
  • its not always for attention.
  • its not just a “teen” thing.
  • it is more common than you think.

i don’t remember exactly when or why i started cutting.

but i was hooked from the start.

so much so, that although i don’t remember why, i remember exactly how i felt the first time i did it.

i loved the feeling. the high. the reminder that i could still “feel”. the control it gave me.

i didn’t cut just because i was sad. i’d cut when i was bored, or hungry or tired or happy.

i went on binges where i could cut for days and days. at home, in my room. in the shower, in the school bathroom, at friends houses.

i was bailing out on my friends to stay home and cut.

i owned an arsenal of stuff to cut with.

i had favorites, things i didn’t like much & things that would down right terrify some.

as a teen who was struggling with my sexuality, a parent addicted to crack, my sibling being pulled from my life, my best friend provinces away, dabbling in my first long distance “relationship”, not getting along with my mother, resenting my [now] step-father i felt lost. as many teens do im sure.

but instead of finding a healthy way to deal with it i turned to one of the most misunderstood coping methods out there.

but i didn’t do it to get back at my parents, to get attention, to make a statement.

i didn’t do it because of anyone.
i did it because i felt like my life was out of control. i hated myself. i hated who i had become & it was both a punishment and a reward.

i haven’t cut myself in over 5 years.

I would be lying if i said i never thought about it anymore.
i’d be lying if i said i wasn’t proud of myself.

i’d be lying if i said i didn’t miss it.

i hate the way i catch people staring at the scars that riddle my thighs.

but i also love staring at them. remembering that i am a survivor. that i am stronger than i think.

i love that my scars are fading & i know it is a sign that i have grown up, moved on & gained strength.

but im scared that they won’t be there as constant reminders that i don’t want to go back there.

i want you to know, is that cutters aren’t crazy.

most don’t want to hurt or worry anyone.
they just want to feel. want to remember they are in control. want to bleed.

this is not something we ever “get over”, “grow out of” or “move on from”.

it is a part of us, a part of me.

& as unhealthy as my path was

but for now, i am okay. i am recovering.

**i think i may do a “what i want you to know” semi-regularly, so you may see this type of post on a few different topics**

the one where the lesbian talks about sperm & how she needs some.

You would think sperm is easy to come by, right?

After all it is getting shot into socks, shower drains & lord only knows what else all around the world.


My dream in life is to be a mom. I’ve always said i don’t feel as though my “job” as a woman would be complete if i did not reproduce.

Never did i think that it would take 6+ years into my relationship to make this happen.

We’ve always known we would be married & have a handful of kidlets.

But damn i never expected it to be this hard.

Sperm is expensive. very expensive.

medical procedures are invasive.

adoption is a very long, long process.

my biological clock is kicking me in the face. everyday.

Joy and i have always openly discussed becoming mamas, how we plan to raise our offspring, things we agree on, we disagree on.
A lot of conversations in our life start with “when we have kids…”
Even more nights are spent of me just wishing & hoping this process could be a little easier, a little faster, a little more RIGHT NOW!

We have both just sort of assumed we would use a anonymous sperm donor. But as i researched more the idea of a known donor sparked my interest.

it would be cheaper. we could be more selective in who we used, our children would know where they came from, we would have medical history & although we will never hide the process of how they came to be from our children i think being able to say ” Uncle is actually your donor” may curb the identity crisis most adopted & donor conceived children go through.

then comes the role call in your head of all male friends who would meet your criteria.

  • good medical history.
  • asking them won’t damage the friendship.
  • you think they are able to understand the seriousness of the commitment.
  • they understand they can back out at any time.
  • they understand they will have no legal responsibility to my child, nor will they have any legal rights.
  • they are willing to sign legal documentation stating such.

KD (known donor) possibilities ran through my mind a lot. everyday, in fact.

Jokes of  “you should use my sperm” or casual mention of a male donating his baby batter became serious to me.

Casual conversation with a friend, with Joy, again with the friend & again with Joy took place.

As soon as i felt like using a KD & using this friend was something i may have wanted to explore i brought it up to Joy.

Many more, casual but with an undertone of serious happened & here we are tying up lose ends of life before a baby, preparing as much as we can & in the next 3-6 months we will start inseminating.

The possibility of a Anonymous donor isn’t out of question.

In fact in the next few weeks i will be starting on the “gathering information & fighting with insurance companies” portion of our journey.

& then we will make a final decision.

i don’t know what lies ahead for my wife & i, but i know that in the end this will all be worth it.

just don’t ask me when i’m holding a screaming newborn, a pile of diaper laundry that should have been done two days prior, hooked up to a breast pump and a wife who is rocking in the corner cursing at the cat.


i think im ready.

i think im ready to talk about it.

it being Neph’s new brain tumor.
its there. it is going to remain there until it is surgically removed.


this time requiring chemo & what seems like a shit load more of appointments.

blood draws, eye appointments, MRI, internal eye appointments, check on the shunt, more blood draws.

my nephew is FIVE.
a five year old who when ill doesn’t tell you because he knows he will have to be watched closely and probably end up in the ER.

a five year old who vomits and hides it/cleans it up because he fears having to go to the hospital.

a five year old  who is already tired of people assuming they know what his “medical issues” are and trying to hold him back.

a five year old who has night terrors of people putting in external shunts, PICC lines in his feet, neck & arms. These things aren’t his imagination. They all happened to him.

a five year old who knows what is ahead.

he needs chemo this time.

that terrifies me.

chemo is for cancer patients.

chemo is for people who are sick.

his isn’t sick. in fact, when his hair is long you really have no idea there is anything wrong with him.

his scars have finally healed, but they’re going back in.

my family is going to fill up a waiting room as we all sit anxiously waiting for the surgeon to appear and give us updates.

my sister, my best friend, is going to hand her life over to a team of doctors with tear filled eyes & a body filled with anger, worry, love & impatience.

but this time, it doesn’t end there.

he will be sick.

even when home.

is going to attack that tumor & a hope with everything it has it doesn’t attack his spirit.

i have no idea where we muster up the strength we have, but it is there.

& it will be with him.

just like last time.

last night was the first time i have ever heard my sister speak of being scared. This shook me to my core.

only then did it sink in.

this is going to be long, long process & it very well could end worse than last time.

this will change him. physically. mentally. emotionally.

he will remember. he may not understand it all, but he will know.

it will take months for him to become comfortable with his scars & after seeing a twenty nine month old be self conscious i’m painfully aware of how he observes physical differences.

because of that, i will be shaving my head once he begins chemo.

actually HE will be shaving my head.

it is really the least i can do, for the person who i love the most.



when your heart goes boom.

While cruising pictures on Facebook the other day, i stumbled upon these.

To anyone else, this seems like kids meeting at some event & having fun.

to me, this is two seprate worlds colliding.

Let me explain, this represents my nephew meeting my youngest sister.

Seems simple enough right? Wrong.

Darien is my step-mom’s daughter. No direct biological relation to either myself or my nephew.

In what i vaguely remember as a pretty messy split my step mom & dad went their seprate ways.

Step-mom taking her his with her, as none of hers are biologically my fathers & he stayed here.
After a few “quick trips” back and forth i in’t see my siblings again for six years.

i had three little beings floating out in the world that i cared about more than i can ever express, with very uncertain futures, for many reasons.

There was often talk if them. From family on my Dad’s side & even my mother’s side.

There was forever a wonder of where they were, what they were doing, how they were, if they remembered me, if they needed me, if they thought i abandoned them.
There was a massive resentmentt with my father, in which i blamed him for ruining my only chance to have something that resembled a real family, for not letting protect children that at the time needed protecting, for not keep us together until i was 18 so at least at that time i could take care of them on my own if my parents were not capable.

I kept up with them as best i could. Stayed in touch with my step mom’s family on the sly for a bit. Facebook. Google.

Luckily for me, all of my parents [ Father, Mother, Step-father & step-mother] ran in the same social circles quite a bit so i would hear their names mentioned. Each & every time my heart swelled & stopped in excitement & fear at the same time.

But life caught up with me. & i seemed to have mourned the loss and carried on. Never forgetting, always wondering.

I was still the oldest of five. I still had four sisters and a brother, who lived with my step mom out of town.

I was still their big sister, even if they didn’t know it, or agree.

In fact when joy and i first got together i made it clear that my family came first & if my siblings popped up & needed me i was gone quickly and she needed to come along for the ride or not. . .

I graduated school, got a job, my oldest little sister had my nephew.

sister & i would casually creep facebook together, grill my father for answers, ask people who knew them how they were doing.

They were [& still are] always a part of my life, but like distant cousins.
Then in the face of tragedy [read: neph’s first tumor] they re-appeared.

Not just with opens arms, but with open doors.

I sat in my step mother’s living room while my sister, nephew & other family were only short drive away in the same city.

Still, my two worlds didn’t collide.

The four children i loved the most had never met.

it’s like my heart was still divided, functioning separately as two pieces.

Then this happened.

Little-ist sister meets nephew.

it was bound to happen. the social circle thing still remained.

but two pieces of my heart fused.

& neither of them has any idea who or what role the other plays in my [& sister’s] life.

she held my heart first.

he holds it now.


I guess to most it just seems simple.

“so, your sister met your nephew…”

if only it was my friend, if only our family was that easy to explain.

i know it is going to be a journey & probably hard to do, but i plan to patch my relationships with all my siblings [including the little brother who is three years younger than my nephew] & both the mothers of my four youngest siblings.

I wish we could have all been a family & i could be as close as them as i am with Sister, but i hope one day that can happen.

As long as they all know they have a big sister out there who would do absolutely anything for them [& i’m not just saying that] then i guess that is all i can do.

So, Brandy, Justice, Darien & Haysh.
I will always be there for you.

to talk to.

to cry to.

to bitch to.

to laugh with.

to ask a favor of.

to save your ass.

to cover your ass.

to help you whenever you need it.

& to love you, unconditionally, just as you did with me without even knowing it.

There is always a place for you in my heart, my home, my head, my life & my family.

i love you all. nobody was ever forgotten, i never left you behind in situations where i could help it & i never meant to be gone for so long.


 ‘Ohana means family, family means nobody gets left behind. Or forgotten.


Some people are trans, get over it.

Listen, i’m about to go on a transphobia rant. & i’m probably going to cuss.

This is your warning.

Recently there has been a new employee at my work place. this is normal. I work in a call center with a high turn over rate.

But this new employee is different, by different I mean transgendered. She is M(ale) To F(emale) & seems like a really sweet girl.

But I can’t say the same for the people i work with.

I’m hurt, frustrated, angry and down right disappointed in the intolerance and complete ignorance of some people.

I have heard people struggle to refer to her with female pronouns, i have heard people refer to her as a “shim”, “he-she”, “tranny” & “cross-dresser”.

Each and every time i cringe and get a bit more angry.

You would think this would be easy for me. After all, if you ask some people i’m going to hell, God hates me & i’m an abomination.

But, in total Samma style I have my back up, I’m being protective, I feel like all the comments, the sneers, the disgusted tones in voices is just as much an attack against me as it is her.

I get that Gender Identity Disorder isn’t something very well understood. I realize some will have issues wrapping their brains around it. But i don’t get what is so fucking hard to refer to her using the same pronouns she just introduced herself to you with. why is it so difficult to treat her with the respect you treat me with? We are a part of the same fucking community.

I feel like I need defend her, educate people and shake people until they get it.

She lives everyday of her life dealing with intolerance, she lives in fear of her physical safety, unaccepted by LGBTQ community & misunderstood & disrespected by the straight community.

I’m so sad by the fact that friends of mine, who love me for who I am, people who aren’t phased by my sexuality or relationship can ‘t have the same grace, tact and understanding of the trans community.

I usually try to be understanding of opposing opinions, I try to see things from both sides, i try to respect and appreciate the view from both sides even if I don’t agree, but this topic has proven difficult.

I’ve tried to understand why her being in the woman’s bathroom would upset some people.

but I don’t see what the big deal is. If you are minding your business while doing your business you wouldn’t notice that she is standing to pee.

Or if you stopped to think about it for a minute, how safe would it really be for her in the male washroom?

I don’t get why you can’t let yourself be uncomfortable for just a few minutes while this girl takes a pee and know in your heart that you are making her day a little better, making her life a tad bit easier.

I was recently told that some think GID should be treated as a mental illness [uhm, it is] & should be treated as such.

I agree. This is why there is this process called “transitioning”.

She is transitioning. She is treating her GID.

Why, instead of attacking, belittling, degrading & making assumptions can we not stop, think, educate yourself & become aware?

Ask questions.

Engage in conversation.

Open your mind.

Have acceptance in your heart.

This thing called Family.

People usually stare at me all confused when I tell them i’m oldest child of six, second oldest of eight if you include my step- father’s sons.

& the only reason i don’t include them myself is because i just don’t know how they feel about us & how easily their father became ours.

Then they want to know how close we all are in range of age.. Ha.

I’m twenty-three [for a few more weeks] & my youngest brother is two & a half.  Oh & I have a five year old nephew in the mix too.

sounds crazy right? Here is another twist.

Only my sister who is directly under me in our pecking order is biologically related to me. There are no adoptions, no official marriages, just a bond and a love that won’t break us.
My father is not my biological father, but that doesn’t mean anything.

My step-mom never actually married my father. But she still holds the title. There was even a span of time that I hadn’t been in the same city as her, or my siblings for four or five years.  I still care & respect her just as she was my mom.

My youngest brother probably has no idea who I am.  Not at any ones fault. He lives in a different city with our father & his mother.

But it doesn’t change a thing.

the six of us have something that will never be broken.

all five of those people have an older sister who would do anything for them.

Each of my parents has a daughter who will forever love & respect them.

My parents have screwed up in their own ways. Some have brought us kids along for the ride & some of us had to suffer more than others but in the end it will only help each one of us become better & stronger people.

My mom always told me that i will appreciate my siblings when i got older. That couldn’t be more true.  I’m not as close to a few of them as i’d like to be, but my sister is one of my best friends.

My life, my heart & my soul wouldn’t be complete without each & everyone of my siblings.
i love each of you.

& i hope although there are years, miles, cities & differences between us, we all remember we have each other.