As writing house and event ads become virtual I’m going to take it upon myself to use my freedom of speech and let you know ahead of time if you are in the north, where I’m from, it’s impressive how you are being protected. It’s a relief as well since I love a lot of Yankees.
However, if you’re in the south, as I am, it’s impossible the governor made you feel safe. I’ve spent many years content in South Carolina until the unstudied, poorly handled, deadly virus was a threat to all of us and the anxiously awaited press conference turned into the doctor stating how mandatory things needed to get, as the Governor gave speeches on welcoming tourists since they dream to come here. The governor in a roundabout way told us money ranked over getting serious and doing the job which is protecting the people.
This isn’t about republicans or democrats for me, that’s a conversation that will bore the bark off the tree for me, it’s simply about doing the right thing.
If we are moving, because we’re obviously not afraid to, I will still walk if I have to all to vote for the governors opponent.
As another year hits, I see many places I would love to take my mom for her birthday. I miss my mom and my dad every day, always reminisce about funny stories of them, and say a prayer in a moment of silence. Although none of those things will ever change the fact I lost my best friend, my idol, my therapist, my mother. She will forever live in me.That goes for dad as well. I know she said ‘this is how it goes, I lose her Drew loses you’ but I wish I had a choice in the matter.
Listening to Willie Nelson I think of how much mom admired him. The only country artist she enjoyed country music from. Others are consistenly surprised wtih that bit since she was friends with Dolly and even babysat Crystal Gayle (Loretta Lynn’s sister). I can relate, everyone affiates Elvis with me to a supersonic level and I’m proud of it, but Bobby Sherman, Mark Sanchez, Sam Eliott-(when 42) could knock on my door.
The inevitable loss of my mom was a dreaded lingering spirit hanging over my shoulder my entire life, and now I am living it. Any and all who know and love me always knew it was my greatest fear. I am here with many years have passed with my finding a protective peace regarding their absence.
In my opinion time will help a person get used to it but I feel no difference from my 30’s as in missing her or my dad. It’s the same gaping hole, it makes no difference when people were that important.
I know her well enough that she would tell me I’m doing a good job. I am a good mother, and not a ball of depression for others. I relive the happy times, and when I need to cry or mourn I keep it to myself. Just the way she taught me how she did it.
Her birthday is so special not only from a positive happy relationship I will never forget but it’s special to me and my vivid visual thinking because I have the hilarious memories of my parents.
My dad walking in while just sharing space with them together was an experience. Their quick wit and chemistry stood out the strongest. They both laughed together more than anything while it was healthy for me for example. My dad never forgot to walk in with song lyrics, jewelry, flowers and 2 cakes for my grateful mom, and she spoiled him right back. The cakes were the star of the show the annual one for her birthday, and one for their anniversary that was on the same day. With her long frosted locks brushed perfectly, with a fresh self done manicure, luminous eyes lipsticked lips in the highest form of femininity you’ve ever seen as she begged for her “big fat white ass” to be spared.
I wish they were here so I could do what I always done with my parents. Laugh, hang out having a good time with a cool couple from the 50s, learn, hug them, kiss them, see them cringe while I listened to the GoGo’s,complainhow something isn’t fair such as zero concerts this summer so I can hear what my mom usually, nine times out of ten were to reply, “LIFE ISN’T FAIR” or an oldie but a goody “PEOPLE IN HELL WANT ICE WATER”.
We women have a million MeToo moments from the time we are born but I’ll happily share one of mine which will head posting elsewhere to inspire any and all.
When I started high school, my school had 7th graders walking around with 18 year oldseniors and they may very well be where my love for older men stems from, and Elvis of course. At that particular time in life I knew nothing about jocks with an ego not to be superseded. Lucky me I fell for one of those jocks. While my young mind dreamt of kissing him, roller skating together, and playing with his dark curls he proved his point it was never about getting to know me, or caring about my curls, not on my head anyway.
As I dated this boy I knew he was losing his patience since he was 18, and no time to waste, I found myself one night in the backseat of a car in the woods and seeing a boy naked for the first time. I remember thinking it was what I imagined with finding my older brothers ‘exotic’ magazines, but in my 13 year old severely crushed valley girl brain he looked utterly adorable while I said “I’m not doing this”, my moms words of instruction to not getting pregnant scared the living hell out of me and even my biggest crush couldn’t sway my opinion. I didn’t want to find out the difficult, unappealing way to what my mom described as teenage pregnancy. It wasn’t worth it to me. Discovering early in life when you love a person more than yourself you will subconsciously do what they would want you to do. As my crush gaslighted me in anger screaming “tomorrow’s the game!” I sat quietly as he pondered on leaving me in the woods, I assured him I had no problem walking home. Exuding bitter attempt for pity to which no woman would change her mind for and as if it was my fault he was stripped nude while I was dressed, that was one guilt trip that didn’t work. Even though I made the mistake of giving an apology on the ride home. I will never forget how I never offered sex, I never promised sex, but I apologized.
The Monday after that date I walked into school with a huge smear campaign going on about stuff I never even took part in and to this day, 40 years later, if I run into that strong and secure former jock he will ask if I’m still a lesbian. As I look at his aged face when he’s saying it I simply think what every woman thinks when seeing a former flame. Nothing. It felt empty to see him. That boy was the virgin time from my past. I guess it’s moving that I affected him to such a degree he decided to punish til death regardless of age anyone who doesn’t sleep with him. I was raised open minded and others sexuality is none of my business however while my infamous crush is on his third marriage, I’ve been happily married for 36 years. So if a guy is so narcissistically wounded he can’t help himself but refer to you as gay and it makes him feel better to say it, no reaction is the best reaction. Your reaction makes the sick, happy. I find that one of most unsound things I’ve learned in psychology. Their wounds run deeper than the ones that would go on in any back seat. Obviously that’s the whole point to aging and wisdom. When I envision someone trying that now I would without a doubt shove him in his trunk, head first. Pun intended.
While at work today, I thought of how I will find the perfect song and tell the ideal distracting story for all who care to watch this blog. I’d rather take your mind off this hell as opposed to reminding you of it.First, since I value the letters of others reaching out, I would like to remind anyone with the doubt they will ever feel normal again. You can. You will. IF you never stop trying.
Raven, for one-of many, knows of how MINISCULE most literature, FDA, government, and insurance companies make Lyme Disease appear to the ones who don’t know any better.The cretinous don’t realize this condition can overtake your life, as well as kill you.However, we all know that doesn’t mean we have to give up. There is hope that things can change.
While you are baffled and fighting the fact that a Lyme patient is only treated for six weeks, STOP and know each one of us can study, research, be our very own doctor-to find what puts us in the much needed necessity of herxing. (ALWAYS remember you do NOT want to overdo the herxing. When the blessed yet painful day arrives, suffer it out. Then, stop for three days before you continue to avoid shutting down organs.)Drinking freshly squeezed lemons will help ease the herxing as well.I would list the natural methods (over hundred..) I attempted to treat myself with for my Lyme. Although you MUST remember each Lyme victim is different. I can only tell you what changed things for me. I don’t want to encourage / discourage you into becoming desperate to go out and purchase the entire list I worked at. If you can have the IV treatment, and not in late stage Lyme, you are on the right track.
I never had the luxury of having a decent LLMD that took aggressive treatment on me. My LLMD wanted to but he wanted to take years to boot. So as usual, I went my own route.
For six straight months, I took Argentyn 23 colloidal silver-three tablespoons a day, held under my tongue for thirty seconds- on an empty stomach. I drank a half gallon of purified water after each dose. Along with; I never consumed red meat during these six months, I took the much needed supplements, and I made sure to do the dry brushing with food grade peroxide hot baths. Detox is VITAL. (..natural detoxing is the only method that works in this case.)Some research will tell you that your skin will turn blue from taking the silver. I looked at it like this; Argentyn 23 has a protective ingredient from this happening, medical journals told me that is only the case if you are making it homemade and drinking it daily for over a year, I would rather be blue than dying from Lyme Disease. It’s your choice.
I know what it feels like to be tired of fighting. BUT YOU HAVE EVERY RIGHT TO TAKE IT BACK. In the end, you will be a better version of yourself than before the vampire bit you.That little histrionic tick has had enough attention. THIS IS ALL ABOUT YOU NOW.Yes, if you were misdiagnosed and untreated as I was-you will most likely have damage or another situation to deal with from the aftermath. I am now in remission from the Lyme. Treated for cancer and I have lost all my Lyme symptoms. I am working, active, clear headed, alert, & myself once again.I am anxiously awaiting your recovery story as well.Until then, kick back-drown yourself in some more blues-while you take your protocol-and researching — as well as keeping the mindset to REMEMBER the day will come where you won’t want to read about Lyme any longer.BE WELL.
Blessed many times in my health challenges and one being able to be a patient of Dr. Sri Swami in Hermitage, Pennsylvania. That genius put 5 years back on my life when he let me cry out the fear and fight I had going on with multiple sclerosis while it was a misdiagnosis all along. Dr. Swami looked at my brain MRI, repetitive bloodwork, gave me a physical, then said I was a “classic case of Lyme” at my first visit with him. Not having him long, I don’t live with regrets because without them, we wouldn’t be the iridescent and multi-dimensional being in which we are.
“Nobody can go back and start a new beginning, but anyone can start today and make a new ending.” ~Maria Robinson
Being blessed with two seasoned doctors to continue watching me after our move following some recent blood work, I’ve discovered my name is ‘red flagged’ to my genius doctor that originally found my cancer in my trachea.
I’ll tell ya, I can get orderly and obsessive compulsive about cleaning, writing and music but after far too many years of misdiagnoses the last thing this cancer and Lyme survivor wanted to believe is, I have to get on it with enduring exhausting cancer testing and a day of blood panels all over again.
And here I swore I’d never walk into a hospital again.
It’s during my birthday week after Christmas as well, and that seems like my mom is still making sure I get a birthday present.
My entire life I’ve lived with an anxiety disorder and OCD. My family will tell you I only have anxiety and I’m just one of those cleanaholics, but I assure you what you could witness all to prove my consistent need with order most certainly entails OCD. Thankfully I’m not the type that needs to turn the doorknob ten times before I walk out but I do match the medical criteria…
Extreme devotion to work that impairs social and family activities~I devote my daily routine every morning to have my house spic and span with laundry finished, car included, before I head out the door. If I have to do it the night before due to an early morning, I will before bed.
Excessive fixation with lists, rules and minor details~I am religious in staying strict with myself with bills, paperwork, files, and numerous clerical work as I access and review. Making a cd is tedious work for me not only due to the music discovery, but I will spend literal days devoted to only the sound. I grow so sick of studying the layout, I don’t listen to it again after the finished product.
Perfectionism that interferes with finishing tasks~I have 5 really interesting well written novels, that have been started over from scratch many times. *I am my own worst critic.
Rigid adherence to moral and ethical codes~Although I have always been open minded for others and easy going, I am old school and tend to stick to it.
Unwillingness to assign tasks unless others perform them exactly as asked~I won’t ask for help in anything, my mom or daughter are the only peeps that could do my lists and I would be okay with. A cleaning service that is hired could never live up to my expectations. I would find what they missed, every time.
Hoarding behaviors~I’m known to declutter and give quality items away. However, after my moms’ death, I kept every single item of hers down to the heart wrenching efforts of keeping her meaningless papers that lingered inside her desk. My older sister saved me with coming to my house, and verbally forced me to load truck after truck to Goodwill. Each drive I hauled felt like another chunk of flesh being ripped off my body, while also freeing me from the unhealthy hoarding and painful reminders that was born in me all due to significant loss. I also have countless record albums all the way from age 7 due to my obsessive compulsive love for music.
Anyway, as dear friends and family were immediately concerned, inquiring me with questions about my upcoming cancer testing I felt grateful for all the love and emotional intelligence that surrounds me as I floated into the realization my medical team is not in my music city, my childhood goal. Now being a flight or 8 hour drive away, it may be time to force myself to keep still, and make where almost took my life the location that takes precedence. NYC did the treatments to repair me but this particular doctor in the south saved my life, and he is still watching out for me.
Ever since my misdiagnosis to MS my daily regimen has been a different kind of survival. I don’t bore people with it, I keep it to myself, but as we all do I actually see my living the health fight of survival from the moment my eyes open until my work and chores are finished, til closing my eyes every night.
As Bobby talks about his passion for the ocean again, and our daughter longs for the town she’s known from age 3 my compulsion lingers to what makes sense.
I don’t make resolutions but maybe it’s time this gypsy does just that. #noregrets
Just as my Genesis blog shared with you, I found inspiration once again. I don’t know where this desire came from. It could be my dads creative artistic genes in me, my personality that screams aquarian, or the fact that I have been a writer for as long as I can recall. (My long term memory side of my brain is damage free, can’t say the same about the other side). I always have lived for inspiration, originality, and unique deliveries to thoughts and learning, but I’m also a criminal justice junkie. I’m not the type to watch tv, although I do follow certain cases that leave us all with questions. I found myself at that moment once again as I cried my compassionate heart out.
I was watching the Dateline case of Laci Peterson. The story we all know. One of those in which we all witnessed cruelty, loss, and of those rare types where you can’t find an enemy. The kindest of kind being unfairly and selfishly taken too soon.
Now, I know every time I take part in reading or watching details on the case I am going to genuinely suffer with listening to Laci’s mom, Sharon Rocha. I can relate to how she feels; her devotion, and her love. I am a mother as well.
Like a solider walking off a battlefield without limbs telling of the details, Sharon is a warrior. Mrs. Rocha is that beaten lamb. I watched her nervous hands rub together, and her eyes dart around in fear to trust not even her own, she has endured, survived what all mothers fear the most.
My intuition was telling me for years since my surgery and recovery, I am meant to take part in some sort of selflessness. I had to have survived what I did for a reason. No, I don’t think everything happens for a reason but when it comes to life and death, there is usually a pivotal moment for why it transpired. My dads exact words on his death bed in the hospital besides, “Please get me a weed Dondu” (a cigarette), was “People are supposed to become better from watching death and suffering”.
Anyway, it could not be writing I told myself, even with all the compliments I am truly touched to receive, I am my own worst critic. We all carry some scar buried deep from childhood to form us into the adult we turn out to be. Even though my mom praised every one of us, I do carry a beaten bat that questions every piece of art I attempt.
I pondered the incontrovertible doubt with finishing my book or any book, I continued to make money writing in the most simple way I knew. Real estate, and tourism. The work provided some light to that literal black hole in my brain while my soul still filled with the desire to perpetuate, save, or assist someone who is in need. Sharon Rocha has done that for me. She woke me up so to speak, and I understood every single word as if I was inside her as a Siamese twin. Sharon was speaking of the hope she always carried in finding her Laci, “I brought her into this world, I should be able to feel when she left it” she shared. The day that beautiful young girl washed up with her son, Sharon said she was hiding in her house because she could feel it. That day was the day.
Motherhood is the most powerful I have personally ever witnessed in my lifetime thus far. I remember once when my younger sister was in California as a teenager, my mom fell to her knees knowing with every fiber of her being something was happening to her. An hour later, she said “It’s okay, she’s safe”. I was bewildered beyond comprehension. My mom always said “Someday when you are mature you will have that ability with your child too”, yet I still believed her witch blood line was where it originated. Now when I question my daughters safety, I listen to myself. If I don’t feel that panic, I know she is safe. No, I’m not a witch and neither was my mom. I am now mindful as that adult she once couldn’t wait to see but missed out on, that my mom was an empath and a mother. As am I.
My daily wish until the day I pass will be to look in my moms eyes, talk with her. Now as I still travel this earth I will continue to cherish every moment I can hold my daughters hand and pray it will end the way it is supposed to end, with myself passing on to the next life first.
Even though I have always been a children’s rights advocate in marches and writing senators, I am now a proud volunteer and writer for Missing & Exploited Children Organization hoping to be of some help, all the while embracing allegiance in print and spirit Sharon Rocha and every mother who continues to find the strength to walk in her shoes.
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” – Matthew 5:4
I always speak of his talent but my mom grew up with him so naturally told it better. My dad was introverted and wise while able to tell you anything you would want to know on history and more, but a goofball and a ham as well. I loved when he would know I was watching him as he was combing his hair he’d stop and say slowly, calmly “Pretty, aren’t I?”, we laughed together every single time.
Having a music addiction my entire life, my dad was only person in my history that taught me anything about music, he could pick up any instrument while sitting at a piano and play each one beautifully. A certified hit song he whipped up would be in your birthday card along with a cartoon story of yourself. I always loved his company and he taught me 2 things in life that rattled a difference to this day.
If I had a problem my dad’s 1950’s cool cat advice, to “stand tall and talk back” usually prompted me to ask when mom would be home from work. I understood his dry humor nevertheless, all due to having a consistent, soft spoken man that was proud to be who he was while around me in childhood he always respected women in the old school gentlemanly way and romanced my mom daily. So I don’t let men talk down to me. I know how a gentleman will (should) behave, due to my dad.
Dad wouldn’t let me mow grass and that’s not easy for a tomboy that begged to, but my favorite chore was when he was a hoist operator all day to come home to ask, “Dondu this ole man is gonna take a catnap before I go play music. I need you to write down the lyrics to these songs”. I lived for it, I was honored to not only enjoy doing that for my dad but for that little girl it was a genuine burst of excitement in which blew inside of me with the dream of being a music producer someday, and that my cool dad would play the songs I prepared in a mere few hours!
I made it. I was a music producer in my young mind. Music was my daily work my entire life. In childhood, along with my music teacher, my dad was the only person that encouraged my desire to follow music as a career. When I did Elvis impersonator shows my ducktail was perfectly convincing, thanks to my ‘The Original Mr Cool’ dad. When I wanted to hear my lyrics in the instrumental format he never hesitated to sit down at the piano with me. I’m also honored to say it may be true what my mom always said about me, “She’s me from the neck up but Donovan from the neck down”, with age I notice they are within my demeanor daily. I naturally walk like him which is a cool strut for a man but not so cool for a woman when ya can’t change it. As former people in their life have cried seeing me due to resembling my mom so much, what they don’t realize my personality is more like my dad than anyone. I will always be grateful to him for many things, one being performing in his band, teaching me why Dolly Parton’s voice was more advanced than Pasty Cline’s, studying my favorite subject with him, meeting country acts signed with music labels. For example I will never forget meeting Johnny Lee (Urban Cowboy soundtrack) as he towered over me and his song was number 1 that year. My dad enhanced my obsession with music and I will never forget a second of it.You could probably pick up my excitement as I built up speaking of music. I eat, sleep, create and breathe music, while being blessed to have had such a talent not only want to hear, see the songs I wrote, most of all be a part of making me and helping in raising metobe a part of the memorable HD. One more impressive thing I must mention as my dad was on my mind a great deal recently. My dad is also the only person in my life that didn’t cuss, at all, not even ‘damn’. I’m not kidding, not even WHAT THE HELL .. no cussing whatsoever. My mom could speak like a sailor but loved how my dad always affiliated curse words to ones intellect. She was proud of that thinking of his. These little blogs pale in comparison with descriptions of Linda and Donovan.
Lucky for me my long term memory side of my brain works, and as far back as I canrecall my mom sung happy birthday to me at exactly midnight. Marrying at 17 and still every year the person I looked up to the most would call to sing it to me. I would sincerely give a finger up or two, to have the landline phone recorder to play the time I came home from bartending at 3 am and she was singing it to me for my birthday morning. Always reliable, consistently steadfast in every word she said with any commitment in life, my mom was the type you could trust in every decent instance or need.
A woman that shined in positivity and self reflection for any living being near her. My dad was a light of talent in every aspect.
That time when we feel the healthiest physically in our younger years, we are also living the last of our emotionally loving memories with my parents.
Both taken too soon by cancer.
My parents made the mistakes we all do in the lives of making and raising a family, but some of us need that structure that my mom was so talented with. That image in your mind of standing with family at the church on a consistent basis, knowing we should pray before we eat, grabbing books over another persons opinion, my roots are fresh.
There isn’t enough paper for the words of how many things I miss about my mom.
I remember when people are kind and empathetic enough to say “she is with you”, I didn’t believe it at the time. It was my lifelong worst fear, truly. However these good hearted people are right. My family tells me almost daily how much more I am like my parents. I’m honored is all that comes to thought as it passes through a deeply remorseful loss for any person who knew either one of them.
People are always surprised I am an ambivert, being introverted and extroverted bothbut I am. Half my mom, half my dad, literally. & Thanks to the ones who are reading this I will always be thankful for your support.
As I am still determined to make myself feel better daily, I think I’m doing really well. I feel nowhere near as I did when this all began. All the while feeling stronger than ever in my life after an analytical, gut wrenching process to thankfully face another year.
I’m blessed to have a husband and daughter that always makes my birthday a priority as we each remember to appreciate another year to celebrate.
Feeling value in this life when I awoke to lifelong friends and family remembering my birthday even without my having Facebook, feeling secure in my health progress since I feel better now than when it started while I was even younger! Don’t hold on waiting to get sick all to love your life more.
Count your blessings every chance you get, not your candles.
What I would write to my mom if she were here to read it since I know it would make her laugh and smile…
Mom.. I forgive you for always picking me up at the many Elks, and other Jamborees when I was relishing in my Urban Cowboy moment with Dad and Uncle Mike playing music, all because you said “it was dusk and I was too young.”
Mom.. I forgive you that you reminded me how you’d happily take Drew off my hands if I didn’t stop college and stop my car salesman job after giving birth to her because we were ‘blessed enough for me to be home with her.’
Mom.. I forgive you for telling dad he “should’ve killed the spider with his purse.”
Mom.. I forgive you for making me the first girl in shop class with the boys because you demanded it to the principal, after putting Ms. Goslin in her place for how she spoke to me.
Mom.. I forgive you for being appalled I didn’t have earrings and lipstick on when I checked into the hospital to give birth, as you held my hand.
Mom.. I forgive you that you didn’t want me in music because of the lonely lifestyle, so you suggested auditioning for SNL instead.
Mom.. I forgive you for calling me ‘your pumpkin’ my entire life because you pushed out this 10 pound baby naturally.
Mom.. I forgive you for being supportive, paying for a huge wedding, and giving me the option to marry the love of my life, even up to the point when I panicked in my wedding gown.
Mom.. I forgive you that as I was in awe holding my newborn Drewbabe in the hospital you said “She’s absolutely beautiful, well..this is the first day. You’ll live in fear from this day on until the day you’re gone.”
Mom.. I forgive you that I have yet to find you wrong on anything and everything you taught me.
Mom .. thank you for always forgiving me.
Mom, thank you for allowing me to mimic you on how to be a wonderful mother, always speaking and living 100% honest. Most of all, for loving me unconditionally.
Okay, I am completely aware that the people who follow this blog and especially the ones who personally know me will spit on their computer screen with laughter when they read this, but you may just reconsider the possibility of what I am about to share.
The common person may not know this, but in the Rock n’ Roll world, it is an inside passing comment on how to escape the industry and make yourself more money is ‘to do what Elvis did; fake your death.’ Yeah, yeah you’re thinking, ‘Oh my god she is so obsessed with that man she thinks he’s alive!’ I wouldn’t go that far. I don’t necessarily think Elvis is living, but I do question, when up late at night and tired of writing jobs, to delve deeper into the research that he more than likely finally escaped, and since I’m an Elvis connoisseur I pray to God he had done just that.
Let’s be honest. People from the 1950’s will tell you there was an enormous amount of pressure on Elvis Presley, which was expected from him until his ah hem, cough, death.
When he first came out, Perry Como and Frank Sinatra ruled the charts. Yes, black musicians were doing the blues, and Elvis loved the blues along with choir music, but actual rock didn’t get started until the ‘white guy that sounded black’ hit the scene. Elvis was never a songwriter, but all of his songs were chosen and performed in the way they were by his suggestion.
Eventually the Elvis hysteria was so out of hand, he was banned, accused of being satanic, beating his mother, a sexual deviant, a bad influence to the rise in juvenile delinquency. In those clean years one can imagine how shocking his performing, and sexual suggestions portrayed him to others. Of course, all lies about this spiritual man.
The controversy then grew to where his records were being smashed, the parents wanted him away from the eyes of the youth. He was being filmed from the waist up, his concerts were lined with police officers, ready to arrest him for simply dancing. All the while, his influence caused John Lennon to start a band with his buddies so “they could meet Elvis someday.” One influential example of far too many to list.
Finally in 1977, times were bad for him. This is all verified by close friends, his nurse, and family. Don’t worry, I don’t give a shit what the Memphis Mafia has to say since they sold him out for a book deal back then, and one of the things that inevitably led to his depression. Elvis was addicted to uppers and downers to meet his 350 day year concert schedule, his loser manager had a gambling problem, and took 50% of Elvis’ earnings for his addiction. Elvis kept him from his legacy of old school loyalty. Same goes for his bodyguards, staff of men Elvis ran with, known as Memphis Mafia. Elvis saw them as family, best friends, karate comrades. After Elvis gave them not only a job, a house, many cars and security for themselves and their families, once the so called friends were offered a book deal to sell Elvis out, they took it.
The book was released after Priscilla left Elvis for his karate companion, Mike Stone. It was a crushing, life changing time for him.
As for Priscilla, I won’t defend Elvis because I have immense respect for her. That woman has always shown the highest form of love, respect and class regarding Elvis, even though he cheated on her through their entire marriage. Nevertheless, Elvis grew into a deep depression.
As Elvis grew more quiet, it is reported he repeatedly made the comment, “I am so sick of being Elvis Presley”, as he became more fascinated with his love of Numerology. The compulsion with numerology can in fact make one become reliant on it. I have done it myself. I wouldn’t say I am at the level he was with it, but I do take to heart what my numbers tell me. Numerology will in fact teach you a great deal about yourself. Everything will ring eerily true. It’s not hocus pocus, it’s not a cult. It’s a science with numbers of your life. Here’s the spooky part, when I learned Elvis’ numbers had his numerology advising him to give up selfish possessions and live his life for another in August of ’77 some of the compelling evidence made much more sense.
*Elvis lived in torment with survivors guilt from losing his twin brother, Jesse Garon. It was a lifetime spiritual quest for him to understand why his twin died, and he was given such an extreme life to uphold. *Elvis had a grueling time with surviving the loss of his mother. All who knew him said he never recovered or came to any peace with it. *Elvis canceled a tour, for the first time in his career, a week before his ‘death’. *(he ordered no new costumes for the tour, which was unheard of for Elvis. He was notorious for believing the entertainer shouldn’t look like everyone else. *Elvis Presley is the only known autopsy with missing pictures, tissue, and organs. (The recent AUTOPSY program regarding Elvis used medical records from his history.) *The blood type listed on the short two page autopsy papers is different from the blood type Baptist Memorial listed as Elvis’ blood type for a liver test from 1974. *Elvis’ favorite books, jewelry, and pictures of his mother disappeared. *Life insurance policies on Elvis were never cashed. *Elvis Aron Presley, his middle name is misspelled on his gravestone. (AARON is not how it was spelled on his birth certificate, marriage certificate, RCA contract, ARMY records, drivers license.) Legally, that’s not his gravestone. *The picture of Elvis in his casket was a replica of him at the age of 25, while his death certificate read 170 pounds. Elvis was an obese 250 pounds in the end from depression, and 42 years old, not his youthful 170 pound 25 year old self, as displayed in that casket. *Every passing person in his quickly handled funeral made the comment his corpse looked like a wax dummy of him with a pudge nose, arched brows and smooth hands, which he had none of the latter. *Fifteen men struggled to carry this supposed 170 pound shell while there was mention of the cool air coming from the coffin. (Air conditioning keeps wax in place.) Linda Thompson, one of only three women he lived with even made the quote, “It’s amazing what they can do with wax nowadays.”
It is well known that Elvis left everything, including Graceland, to his divorced wife Priscilla, in his will. His pig greedy manager Tom Parker and best friend, Joe Esposito, and Priscilla who would have her daughters security in place, helped him escape the curse of fame. The disloyalty of who traveled with him, depression, drug addiction, and being imprisoned in his own home.
Think about it? Colonel Parker, his manager, continued raking in the money off of Elvis until that trash carnie croaked. He was all for it. RCA recently made the statement, “Elvis has yet to be beat in record sales”. The man stopped recording in 1977! Priscilla never said a bad word about him while she and Lisa Marie prepared Graceland for the fans. It is the number one visited rock n roll destination while Elvis Presley Enterprises make a mint to this day. (One of the reasons I’m against buying all of the Elvis junk. I admire you Priscilla, but you’re rich enough.) Joe loved Elvis for who Elvis was, not what he could do for him.
SO… there’s one picture that is supposed to be Elvis from 2001. It came from a doctor that prescribed him pain meds for arthritis. This working physician, wants no interviews or money, and doesn’t want to sue anyone. However, he owns jewelry that the log listed as missing in 1977. And in a book he wrote, supposedly with Elvis’ blessing, which took me very long to obtain, holds letters “Elvis” wrote the doctor about living with guilt to leave his fans or anyone who loved him for him, heartbroken. As insane as all of this was to me, I have studied Elvis’ handwriting since I was a little girl. The letters are identical to his handwriting, and when tested by three handwriting specialists, one formerly with the FBI, all three agree they consider it an identical match. I also know Elvis had a peculiar collar bone that stood out, a broken pinky finger, many details that match this elderly gentleman WHO IS HOLDING LISA MARIE PRESLEY’S SON??!!!
Come on, does this add up?
If this were a scam wouldn’t there be pictures of the elderly man looking at a guitar, staring off into the sunset pondering life, sitting by a lit fire with a numerology novel? Nope. Just this one picture. Now the doctor won’t talk about it. The book is off the shelves, (I found mine in a Goodwill in Colorado Springs.) And the only person who can prove us wrong with her DNA? Lisa Marie. She tells every asking person to ‘fuck off.’
If it’s a facade, I agree with her. My apologies, Lisa. If she and Priscilla don’t want to mess up the payroll, I say alive or dead, he earned the right to rest in peace.
I am the product of lifelong assorted novels in the works. Amateur music producer with official background. Long time freelance writer and ghost writer. Working to tell the truths and tales to the abuse and survival of cancer, Lyme disease, misdiagnoses, adolescent marriage, narcissistic abuse, and the humor that accompanies such a diverse list.