Posted in Uncategorized

Misha

Another year goes by and I have not seen justice for my daughter. Four years ago on Jan 31, 2010 my daughter was killed when she got out of her car to try to help a car she saw struck on highway I-10 in Louisiana. She was driving home from work in the early morning hours and saw a car get hit. She pulled her car over and ran to knock on the window to see if the woman driving was ok. As she was knocking on the window another car entered the highway from an exit ramp and hit that car again, my daughter was thrown to her death.The girl she tried to help drove away and called 911 and never mentioned my daughter. The guy who hit her kept driving. Her body was on the side of the road for hours until the morning traffic started and someone called in to the police to report seeing her laying there. Pieces of his car were left at the scene. He was caught within 2 weeks because the body shop he took his car to, miles away, called to report a car being fixed as per law in Louisiana. They found my daughter’s DNA on the car. He was arrested and remains free four years now on bail. He is from a wealthy New Orleans family and there are a million questions I want to ask about that night, and why after four years there has not been a trial.

Question number one: “Why did you call 911 and not mention my daughter?” this to the woman who drove away and left my daughter dead, she gave her life trying to help you.
Question number two: “Did you know Misha?” I can not imagine my intelligent daughter getting out of her car on an interstate without knowing the person, however she had a kind heart so this could be possible, but she was a mother of a 2-year-old. I still can not fathom her putting her life at risk because she loved her daughter with all her heart and soul.
Question number three: “Did you and the man who killed my daughter know each other and her also?” I have found the whole story of her death so full of holes. It is a constant thought in my mind. “Did they all know each other?”
Question number four: “Does the prosecutor plan on bringing into the trial that the county coroner who handled my daughter’s autopsy is the defendant’s relative?” I found out that they are related. I would think this would be prejudicial, to say the least.
Question number four: “Will this trial actually go forward on March 17th as told to me by the victim’s advocate assigned to this case?” Four DAMN YEARS! I am sorry but I am angry! Why? People lose memory in that amount of time. I keep being told to back off, to let it go, to not hurt the case. “Louisiana law is different, we have the Napoleonic code.” I say “This is my daughter my child, the mother of my granddaughter, she deserves justice!”
Question number five: “Why is this defendant getting to live his life normally, like he never killed a daughter, sister, mother?” He acts like he did nothing, his family has money “is he buying his way out of being prosecuted?” Seriously? 35,000 bail for taking a life? I think he should have been in jail until the trial, not living a life while my daughter is dead. Perhaps if he was in jail we would have seen a trial by now!
Question number six: “Am I going to see the woman who my daughter tried to help testify, what is her name, please PLEASE let me find out why she did not call in my daughter’s death and let her lie on the road for hours, dead!” I want to look at this woman while she testifies about that night. I want to get the image of my daughter dead on that road out of my mind, but it is there with me everyday. A story on the internet had a photo of Misha dead on the interstate, taken after she was found. I hate that she lay there for hours. It is devastating to me.
Question number seven: “Will this trial actually take place in March?” The trial has been postponed twice due to the defense posturing. Makes me wonder who is being paid off. Just saying.
Question number eight: “Can little old me make a difference in this injustice?” I say yes! I need help with those who follow my blog to make noise if I do not see a trial in March for her death.

This is my request. I ask all of you to remember Mikel Cara Carson from this day forward in your thoughts and prayers. Whatever you believe, just think about her, about her daughter she left behind, her brother who still grieves so greatly he is never going to be the same. Remember that when something like this happens people are affected. WE are never the same, but we continue to live because we have no choice but to go on with this unfathomable grief in our hearts. We deserve to see justice in this case, it has been four years. We have waited long enough. Please share this blog with your friends and family. I am just sharing one story of injustice in this great world, but it is so necessary for me to see her get her day in court . If the trial is postponed yet again I will write another blog with the District Attorney’s address. We can all write him, and we can share this to news outlets, to twitter, to Facebook. We can make a difference. All I ask for is a trial. Just a trial. Let it happen for my daughter who gave her life trying to help someone that night on Jan 31st 2010.

The trial is scheduled to start on March 17th. Here is a link to the story published in the Sun-Sentinal: http://articles.sun-sentinel.com/2010-02-17/news/fl-louisiana-hit-and-run-20100216_1_deerfield-
If they postpone this trial once again, I will be calling on everyone to help me make this injustice public. I leave you with two photo’s. One is of Misha (Mikel Cara) before her death, and the other is her daughter Amaya. Amaya turned 6 this month. She is a lovely child who was just two years old when her mother was killed.
Florida and blog photos 006

Misha

Posted in Uncategorized

Things That Happen in the Night

This blog is about life, my life in Colombia. Sometimes I bring in the past, sometimes I am in the present time. I have a lovely home here in the mountains of Colombia. I had no idea when I invested here that Colombia would be moving into its own as a major economic presence in South America, nor that Colombia would be featured in Forbes as a wonderful place to retire(http://money.msn.com/retirement/best-countries-to-retire-to-in-2014-1). My friend and author John Lundin is writing a book that is in development to be a movie that will be filmed here in beautiful Colombia (http://www.prlog.org/12270412-sundance-is-colombia-the-new-hollywood.html). I do know that I have really settled into my life here in South America while enjoying myself everyday photographing nature, making video’s for all to see in real time on my Facebook page (www.facebook.com/VillaMigelita) and living amongst the world’s happiest people according to recent article’s written about Colombia. These polls say the people of Colombia have a 75% happiness rating. I would rate it higher, because of my own experiences, but I will definitely agree that this is the place to live and be happy!

Alas, in my last three blogs I shared unhappy stories of recent life experiences, which can happen to anyone in any place. Life is not always beautiful photo’s and happy postings on Facebook. Real life is a mess sometimes. That is why I really give thanks for my surroundings in this beautiful land of Colombia and the blessings I do have. I take photo’s to document daily occurrences in my life that make me smile and hopefully make other’s smile too. I write to help me with a pain I have in my heart from losing my daughter, also the pain I have from difficult situations that can just pop up out of nowhere. I write for healing, I write for my peace inside of me, I write to help anyone who has been following my blog realize we all have difficulties in life. Most people keep the misery of life’s terrible times inside themselves without letting on they are sad, angry, tired, wanting a divorce, recovering from an illness, a lost pet, mean people, death, unkind gossip, disease, family problems, job problems, not having a job, abuse, addiction, I could keep going but you get the point. I have had most of these things at some point in my life affect me in some way but kept the façade of a perfect life to the outside world. Now I no longer want to do that, I want to be authentic to myself and to use that authenticity as a way of helping others to be authentic too. It seems this world is one without a lot of authenticity anymore, not just from people in our lives, but from products we eat, to the need to impress others with possessions we do not need, to worrying about what other’s think, to living a life we can not afford, to spending more time worrying about what other’s are doing than focusing on what we can do to make ourselves better. One thing I do love about life in Colombia, the people are unaffected. They do like drama and can go on and on about the latest community saga, but they forgive and love without reservation. This is what I strive to do. I strive to forgive all the past hurts in my life, and to use this pureness of a heart without hate to live in peace.

Recently I had to become more independent when my partner went through a breakdown and was arrested. I was frightened to be alone, even though my life with him during the prior months had been less than ideal. However, I picked myself up like I always do, trusting myself and my determination to succeed. I used a friend as an interpreter for a month, but realized I could do OK by myself and we parted ways. I hired an outdoor worker full-time and a new maid who has organized my house wonderfully. I started making my own phone calls, I also was receiving phone calls and I realized I could speak Spanish well enough to get on with life just fine by myself. When my battery died on my truck I called my mechanic that lives in La Buitrera and he came up to start my truck, we then drove my truck to town, his wife and 9 month old son came along. He left me at the grocery store while he searched for a good price on a new battery. I had a lovely day with him and his wife, and dropped them back off at their home in the evening after we had done a lot of errands. He not only helped me get my battery but drove me to get my food for the animals and a few other things I needed. You see, this is how Colombian’s are, they do more than is expected, and show what human kindness is about through their actions. I knew after this day I could always count on him for any help I might need. I did not realize I would need his help again so soon. What happened on my short ride back up the mountain to Villa Migelita was the basis for the title of this blog.

It had just turned into night when I left his family to drive home, my mountain road was really dark. I turned on my bright lights and went very slow. We are fortunate enough in my community of El Meson to be getting a paved road right now. The construction of this road is to say the least ‘a bit hazardous’ and I am always nervous when I drive, but nighttime is very scary. I was taking deep breaths and telling myself “just go slow, you will be fine” when I went through the first area of road construction. They are building one side at a time, and the other side is left open for traffic. The road itself is really just the size of one way, and all driver’s have an unwritten rule those going up the mountain have the right of way which means those coming down have to pull over to the extreme side or even back up if they encounter another car on the way up. I got through the first area of construction ok, when I encountered neighbor’s needing a ride up near my house. They had one motorcycle with a young man driving and two women with large full sacks which they tossed in the back of my truck. I became distracted as the ladies started talking to me, and was not concentrating like I had been before. We came to another area of construction, I was on the paved side now, the other side was the rocky original road and there were large metal wires sticking out from the newly cemented road I was driving on. My truck tires are large, the paved road is very small when cut in half. Imagine half of one lane to drive on. It is dark, there are no lights except mine from the truck. I am trying to not hit the wall on one side, shadows making it appear closer than it was, so I over compensate and go a little to far towards the center and next thing I know my tire just barely goes off and then the back tire goes off and I am on those metal wires! I was smart enough to stop immediately and call my mechanic friend who said he would be right there. I get out of the car with my passengers to see where I am, and make sure my tires are alright. I look around and am happy to see I am right in front of a home with a long driveway, but as I am looking another truck comes down the opposite way and stops less than a few feet in front of my truck! I then look behind me and there are at least 6 cars waiting with headlights on to go up the mountain, along with a bunch of motorcycles! The moto’s all had stopped and they stayed to help even though they could have passed by me and been on their way. I have never seen this much traffic ever on my little mountain road, and realize it is because it is the day before New Year’s Eve and all the people who own farms come from the city to spend the holiday in the tranquility of the beautiful mountains. I become very overwhelmed, and just a bit dramatic myself! I guess being in a Spanish country has affected me a bit, as I was speaking Spanish and talking with my hands “Lo siento, esto fue un accidente!” Everyone is out milling around and talking about what they can do to get my truck into the driveway without hurting the tires. No one is mean, no one honks their horn, no one thinks it is my fault. The guy who is driving the other truck speaks some English and talks to me to calm me down. He gets behind the wheel of my car, as my outdoor worker arrives on his bicycle to help too. There are at least 20 men helping at this point. The women are holding my hand, and telling me all is “tranquila”. I watch as these men get hammers and hit the wires down and into the ground, then place a board under my tires and start backing up and going forward little by little. I wonder where the hammers, the board the tools they use come from? This is the way of Colombian men, they have everything and can do anything. It was harrowing, it was unbelievable, it is my life in the mountains of Colombia. Slowly they get my truck backed into the driveway of the house, but then we have his truck that is right there blocking all of the traffic that needs to go up the mountain. Again, very slowly he got his truck into that driveway too, by backing up with the other men helping. Whew. Done. Now I stand there as all those cars drive by, feeling foolish. Do you know every single one said “Happy New Year” and greeted me nicely? Not one person was annoyed or angry.

After the traffic left, my mechanic gets in my truck and drives me home. His brother and the wives are on the motorcycles or in the truck with me and everyone follows me home. I have a car full of groceries and big bags of food. My worker is in the back of the truck with his bicycle along with the original passengers who I had given a ride to. Everyone is smiling, talking and laughing. We all are happy to have gotten me out of that situation without damage to my tires. When we arrive at Villa Migelita, it reminds me of a procession or a parade. Moto’s and my truck all laughing and festive. we enter and everyone pitches in to unload my truck. Then before they leave my mechanic told me he would pick me up for New Year’s Eve if I wanted to stay with his family for the celebration. I say I will call, but know that I want to spend New Year’s alone because of the loss of my dog Taz. I could never celebrate not knowing what had happened to him. So although this is not a Disney movie, I want to say I had a very happy ending that night. I also learned to appreciate that things that happen in the night can also bring new friends into my life and perhaps I should not drive again when it is dark. That my new life in my small pueblo of El Meson has heartache just like my life did in the USA, but I acknowledge all I am learning about myself and the people who live here. Mostly, I enjoy that I am able to use my writing to tell the world of just how sweet it is to live and discover a new culture, a new language and new simpler lifestyle. May God Bless all of you with a very blessed 2014 and may we all have a joyous year with new beginnings and happy endings.

let the new year go 006

The photo above is me burning the 2013 calendar. This is a tradition here to let go of all the bad things of the past year. In an update to my past blogs, my ex-partner is recovering and I have forgiven him. He has been diagnosed with Bi-Polar disorder and is taking medicine that has changed his life. He has been ill for several years, and started using drugs to self-medicate. He is grateful to have his life back, to feel good, and to rehabilitate. We are friends again, and will see what the future holds by taking things one day at a time. My sweet dog Taz was run over by a car. I am still grieving him but at least I know what happened. I am working on trying to forgive the woman who let him go out into the streets of Cali, Colombia on Christmas Eve.

Posted in Uncategorized

Missing Taz

I lost an important connection to my deceased daughter on Christmas Eve. Taz ran away and a piece of my heart left with him. I was visiting the home of my friend’s brother and left him in the care of his mother while I walked to the grocery with my friend, his brother and his little daughter. I was told not to bring Taz as the store would not allow him in. I wanted to bring him, I could have had one of us stand outside with him. I will never forgive myself for not doing this, this is a moment I replay constantly in my mind. I probably will for the rest of my life, as this was the last time I saw Taz. He was sitting next to my friend’s mother, looking happy. I know I did not fear danger for my little Taz, but my inner voice spoke to me and I did not listen. Apparently the wife of the brother is an evil person who became enraged when her older daughter called and said a dog was in the house. She rushed home to her house and deliberately opened a door to her outdoor patio which had a decorative fence, but Taz could get through the slats and he took off. I really never even got a good look at this woman because we had not even been inside the house for more than 5 minutes before we left for the store, we were gone 20 minutes total. I was going to the store to buy the family some snacks and a bottle of booze for the evenings celebration. I wanted to be hospitable. Imagine how I felt when I found out what she did. I was in such distress and anguish, I went crazy with grief in the middle of the street. All the neighbors came outside and the woman will forever have to live with the knowledge that her neighbor’s knew what she did to an American. In Colombia they call this “chisme”, the talk of the community about others. They will talk chisme about her forever, and they all knew Taz was my connection to my deceased daughter because my Spanish is pretty good now, and I made that clear when I was crying in the streets “why would you do that to my innocent dog?” So they will think she is cursed also because of Taz’s connection to my daughter who is dead. She will get her karma but I will not get Taz back unless there is a miracle. We immediately left to go looking for Taz all over until the early morning hours. We never found him. I have continued looking for him still, using flyers, the internet and walking the streets and talking with people in the area. I have had no luck, and fear I will never see him again. Thinking of this makes my chest ache with pain, and my eyes fill with tears. He was no ordinary dog, and to me the single most important association to my daughter left in this world.1277577_542696502463087_1822762204_o

My daughter and I found Taz in the mountains of Tennessee on her 16th birthday. We were shopping, getting our nails done, having a special Mother/Daughter day. She had a summer birthday so she never really had parties with her school friends and we always spent our summers in the mountains. Her birthday celebrations were always small for the most part, and the time that we spent together during the summers go hand in hand with each year she grew older. Taz is a wonderful memory of those times. Taz became part of the celebration of her life. Looking back I realize she only had 4 more years of life to live from that day forth and Taz never was the same after her death just like I will never be the same. That is why I need to write this down. I mourn Taz like I mourn her.

We brought Taz back to our RV that day, having found him in a local store that had puppies from their Rat Terrier in a small kennel on display. It was just someone who needed to give those puppies to a good home. Misha fell in love with Taz, he was such a cute little thing and turned out to be super smart too. He had a little Chihuahua in him, and Misha and I thought he would turn out small and we could take him everywhere with us. We started taking him in my purse everywhere we went. Taz always knew to be quiet, he would lay quietly inside and not make a sound. Misha had him sleep with her and he developed a habit of pulling back the comforter with his paws and snuggling underneath really close to her legs every night. By the time the summer was over and we returned to South Florida he was trained and also knew many tricks which she taught him.

The year she was 16 is closely connected to Taz. She would come home from school to find him waiting anxiously for her. He would sit next to her as she had a snack and watched TV. This is when he learned his most fun little mannerism, the high-five. She would take a bite then offer Taz a bite after he would give her five. I have fond memories of the two of them sitting in front of her TV having their afternoon snack, Taz always on his hind legs, front legs in the air, paw reaching out towards her hand. As the year progressed Misha grew up and so did Taz. He was not a real small dog, like we thought he would be, but he still came everywhere with us. Misha would have friends sleep over and Taz was always in the spot under the covers at night laying next to her legs.

We went to the mountains one more time after Taz came into our life, the year she turned 17. I remember we took two cars to Tennessee that summer, Misha, Taz and I in one, and my ex-husband, my son with my two Collies along with the RV being pulled by the other car. It was a fun drive with Taz in Misha’s lap the entire time, Misha and I laughing and singing to CD’s she had made for the trip. Taz always was with her, she would carry him and he would put his little front paws on her forearm and hold on like a person. That summer was the last summer of really good times as life took over and things changed. Misha’s senior year was full of drama that only a teenage girl can bring into a home, and my ex and I split for the first time during that year. Taz remained steadfast in her life and was her constant companion until she got pregnant after her senior year was done, and then she moved out. Taz stayed with me, and has never been apart from me since. Misha came in and out of his life after she had my sweet granddaughter, and my granddaughter always asks for Taz when I am with her or I talk with her on the phone. I have photo’s of Taz looking at Amaya on the bed when she was just a baby, he knew Amaya was Misha’s and therefore loved her like he loved Misha.

When Misha passed I know Taz knew, because my granddaughter would visit without her. My granddaughter would come stay with me and he would follow her around and always be near wherever Amaya would be playing. Taz showed his feelings through his eyes. When I moved to Colombia and brought him on the plane in a crate, he never made a peep and just was happy to have me near, his eyes shone with happiness that wherever I was going he was going too. He has enjoyed his almost 3 years here in Colombia, the freedom he has had of running in the mountains with my other dogs, the life on my farm, chasing tarantula’s (yes Taz has a knack for digging up spiders or finding iguana’s), or any small creature. Rat Terrier’s are farm dogs, he actually killed some of my ducklings when I had my first hatchlings. I remember finding them, and Taz hiding from me because he knew he did wrong. He did what his genetics told him to do, and I forgave him and kept my ducklings safe from him after that.

Taz is terrified of water and thunderstorms. I feel like a mother who has lost her child, never to know again where they are. I can not sleep well, nor can I quit thinking about his fears. He is not a dog that can be friendly to someone who might try to help him. That is why I am so distraught. Taz might not allow someone to help him. He will keep looking for me, this I know. This is why I am so devastated, I was his world and he was mine. We have mourned Misha together and now he is gone too. The last time I went to Cali to look for him, all the flyers were pulled down, and no one had even seen him, and he had been cited before. I fear he is running and running looking for me, going fast to nowhere. Now I ask everyone to keep Taz in their thoughts, to send positive energy. I am trying one more thing. I have hired a guy who knows the streets, he will find Taz if anyone can. If he does not locate Taz, then I can do no more except pray Taz has a new home with lovely people who enjoy all the tricks he will show them for food. 292101_4236497676692_1013887719_n

Posted in Uncategorized

Being Myself

“There are people in your life whom you unknowingly inspire simply by being you.” ~unknown

During my two marriages and the raising of my children, I learned to be the person I am and gained the character that has sustained me to this very day. I went from being a flight attendant that traveled the world, carefree and a bit wild, to a married woman and first time mother who went through my entire pregnancy alone. This is a part of my story that needs to be shared as it is when I developed the courage and fortitude I have today. My first weeks in my new home of Colombia, South America were exciting and full of wonderful cultural experiences, but I also had a lot of time to think, and recall past times. I also had to accept that a lot of people I knew and had always called friends did not understand my move or why I left my son with his father. My daughter’s death had dealt a blow that I knew I would not survive if I did not change my circumstances. So I moved and started over. This was not the first time I had done this, and I knew I needed to start anew to regain a healthy life. There was so much hurt being thrown my way, so much negativity, I was losing my son and granddaughter in the process. Distance can heal, and I needed to stop the fighting that surrounded me constantly. I took power into my hands and left to heal the deep wounds inside me. I started meditating daily, a luxury I did not have in the States due to the constant stress I was under. I could finally let go without that foreboding that I awoke to every morning when I was going through my divorce and the subsequent death of my daughter. I began to keep a journal with recollections of my life.

My first marriage was to an older man whom I loved dearly. He was fun, he was charming and he was someone I enjoyed spending time with.I met him at my friend’s house who was dating his business partner. He spent a lot of time in Florida with his partners in a booming timeshare business. He was handsome, dressed well, and treated me nicely. He was part owner through his business of a huge yacht. I had my 26th birthday party on that yacht and he gave me a set of exquisite pearls in front of my best friends who like me lived a life of fun times while making great memories that every young person dreams of. I will never forget that party. He was 18 years older than me but had a way about him that was as free-spirited as I was. I fell for him big time. When he was back home in Newport, Rhode Island I would receive packages of fun presents. We would go on trips with my friends skiing to Lake Tahoe, Utah, Vail and also take trips to Bermuda. However, he had another life I did not know about. He was being investigated along with his partners for using money inappropriately from the banks they borrowed from. This was the 1980’s, I never thought to do a search on him, never once did I think he was being questioned by law enforcement for a crime. We got married in South Florida and I moved to Rhode Island with him. We rented a really cool carriage house on the estate of one of the mansions along the famous Bellevue Drive, and still traveled a lot including back and forth to Florida where we purchased a condominium. I continued my work as a flight attendant and he continued his work in construction and timeshare’s. We were members of the yacht club and had a very active social life. Sounds like a dream, but there was a big cloud hanging over us. After we married he dropped a bombshell on me. He had been indicted for making false statements to a bank along with the other business partners. I will never be sure if he was guilty as he was the one who ran and built the buildings,and had nothing to do with the financial end of the business so I stuck by him believing in his innocence. He went through a trial and was convicted but it was overturned on appeal, then the next trial he lost. I was three months pregnant and had to say goodbye to my husband for 18 months when he left to go to a White Collar prison.

Those months of being pregnant and alone were hard. I was young, his family in Newport were not kind to me at all, and I was worried about finances, as a lot of people were after him for money. I had never mixed my money with his, and my parents helped me. I had a Mercedes which I sold and I drove his work truck also taking over a job he had started, which was quite a learning experience in itself. I would show up on the construction site pregnant and trying very hard to keep his business going. It just did not work out, and I had to empty my 401K as I was out on pregnancy leave and needed money to live. These were tough times. I did have support from my dearest friend and her family, and she became my birth coach and strongest support system. To this day she has always been there for me. When my daughter was born, I was surrounded by the love of many people who had watched me go through a pregnancy alone and without complaint, while I stuck by my husband. My parents came up and stayed after Misha’s birth and I still remember watching them drive away looking through a window and thinking I really was on my own with a baby now, as silent tears fell from my eyes. I was responsible for this little life and I would do anything to make her world the best it could be. She became my life, and she would always be my life to the day she died at 20 years old. I went back to work after a 6 month leave and never told a soul my husband was in prison. It was strange to live this double life, but I felt it was for the best because I wanted to protect my daughter from ever having that black cloud above her when she got older.

My husband came back when Misha was 10 months old, I waited for him with great hope that we could become a family and start over. He was intent on starting another company and being his own boss, while I just wanted him to find a job with a large construction company and run jobs. He had plenty of offers as he was very good at what he did. I made a decision to leave him and Newport when I saw he would not give up on trying to start a company and was no help financially to me or our daughter. I figured I might as well be on my own if that was the way it would be, so I moved back to the Florida condominium and my wonderful parents were there to help me get on my feet again. I now realized I could go through anything and survive, and I started life anew as a single mother. My husband gave me a divorce without problems along with the condo, but I never got any support from him for our daughter Misha for years until the courts ordered him to, and by then I was re-married. I look back and wish I had forged a relationship between him and Misha even though he did not help me financially for such a long time. Misha only saw him a few times after I moved. He died unexpectedly when Misha was nine. I believe my daughter always felt abandoned by him, and wondered why he did not want her. She never got the chance to meet him and get to know him. I regret this and would offer the advice to anyone who has a child with someone, no matter how much you are unhappy with them yourself, let the child love and know them. They are part of that being, and a very important part of a child’s self- esteem.

As I wrote in my journal about this time, I realized my current ex-husband was doing to me what I did to my daughter. He was doing everything to erase me from my son’s life. It started the day I left him, and to this day he has not stopped. The difference is I really never spoke to Misha about her father except to say he was not a responsible person. However, I did not ever ask her if she wanted to see him. After I got re-married when she was four years old, I thought that another father could fix any problems she might have felt about her real biological Dad. Later in life when Misha started acting out, I am sure that this abandonment had a part in her actions.

Now I face the same situation with my son. He really has no reason to not want a relationship with me, but he has been told I am a bad person. It started during the divorce and continued after my daughter’s death. I got him counseling during the start of the divorce and it was working, but then Misha was killed and he had too many burdens for such a young kid. I can only hope with time, and my continued love for him, he will come back to me. He will realize he has a mother who loves him so much she left to stop the abhorrent actions of his father and his family, which he witnessed almost daily. It became a fight to just get him to stay with me on my visitation days. He was living at his grandfather’s house, would not come to stay with me, and this was encouraged by his father, grandfather and the new wife of my ex. I wanted him to love his father and me, I wanted him to have healthy relationships with all of the people in his life. I wanted him to see that even though I divorced his father we were different people, but we both loved him unconditionally. I wanted him to become a responsible young man. When I suggested these things to my ex-husband he would do the exact opposite, to the point of enabling my son to where he lost the ability to become an independent young man. I bought my son a car to give him when he turned 16 with conditions; he must maintain good grades, stay out of trouble and get a job to help his father pay the insurance premiums. I did this before I moved. My son did get the grades needed, but did not get a job or stay out of trouble. I found his friends to be questionable and brought this up to my ex who knew this but did nothing. Then my son’s grades went down and he did not honor my requests so I did not give him the car. He was asked to leave the Magnet school I had worked so hard to get him in and is still struggling to get a diploma from high school. All of this happened under the care of my ex-husband, who had done everything to get sole custody. I would make many trips to the USA and try to influence my son to get counseling and strive to achieve his goals. It just did not work because I did not have the united front of my ex-husband who still held such hatred for me in his heart. I am sure I am still blamed for any problems my son has, even though I gave my ex complete control in decisions and upbringing to alleviate the fighting that surrounded my son and played havoc on his psyche. I pray to this day my son will change. I know from my own experiences in life we can only change ourselves, and no matter how hard we try, other people have control over their own free will, even our own children.

So now I am living in a new country and improving myself by learning a new language, culture and lifestyle. I have evolved from my daughter’s death, and the estrangement of my son. I do not need much to make me happy. I just need to love myself, and have a few true friends who stand by me and my decisions. I wish I had gained this knowledge without the heartache I have been through, but maybe, just maybe I can help someone else as I share my stories. I know I will try my best to always be non-judgmental and forgiving. Colombia is showing me new ways to gain strength. I am still learning and growing, and everything is not perfect. I work on trying to become more independent every single day I wake up in my new adopted country. I know I will get there. I know I will someday get my son back when he has more life experiences and children of his own. I have a wonderful relationship with my granddaughter that evolved through forgiveness on my part and that of her father. I try very hard to live with a heart filled with peace now. I can only hope that my son will read this blog as I go forward and find out more about me and what I have accomplished in my life. I hope he will come to his own conclusions about the person I am without outside influences, and how I tried my very best to be a good mother to him and his sister. I want him to be himself, just like I have always been. No one is perfect, mistakes are part of life which help us learn and gain wisdom. We need to use that wisdom to improve ourselves, and that is what I strive for now.

As I live my life now, I look back on my parents and what they gave me. They gave me the self-confidence to always be me even during the most terrible of times, and to never give up no matter how much I wanted to. I hope there is a part of that quality in my son, and he discovers it as he gets older. I know I did, and I am sure my parents were very disappointed in me many times as I grew into the woman I am now. However, I like to think of them looking down at me from Heaven and seeing the strength of character they instilled inside me. I like who I am these days, and I know my past brought me to this point in my life where I can endure extreme sadness but still love myself.

Posted in Uncategorized

Revelations

It has taken me some time to write my latest blog because it is about my daughter’s final resting place and not a topic I thought I would write about, nor one you might want to read about. I have never given much thought about where I will be placed after I die, as I really loathe the thought of a graveyard, or an urn in my house that is displayed on a shelf. I prefer beloved photos set around my home that remind me of good times. I have had my daughter’s ashes for a long time, even shipping them to Colombia along with all my beloved possessions. I did throw some of her ashes in the Intracoastal waterway before I moved, along a path where we would sit and talk while taking my granddaughter for a stroll.46319_10201682425288406_520618800_n

One day my partner started becoming a little upset that I still had her ashes,reminding me that they could no longer stay in a suitcase in the basement. I know! Please understand I was avoiding the reality and permanence of doing something, anything with them. My partner reminded me of the legend that goes along with Villa Migelita, a legend repeated often by the natives of El Meson. I am the third owner of this Hacienda,the first owner is said to be still roaming around the grounds. This is an often repeated tale around my area, one that is fascinating because of the history and the folklore that are combined.

Native Indians that lived in El Meson long before the colonization buried their loved ones in the best, flattest spots they could find. El Meson is so named because it is a beautiful flat area in the mountains. La Mesa translates to the table in English. So this explains the name, we are the table in the mountains. The first owner of Villa Migelita owned all the land of El Meson, but his home was called La Casa Blanca (The White House). He started this pueblo, and was a humble man who loved his privacy. He also was innovative, as he built a basement in his home that was unheard of at the time and the main house was high to keep out insects and predators, but to also bring in the cool breeze that floats through the house like air conditioning. It is said he spent most of his time digging for gold left behind from the ancestral native Indians. They buried gold and valuable artifacts with their loved ones, in flat spots of utmost beauty. It is also repeated in the folklore that he did find some gold and used it to better his home and help the community. So, because he wanted privacy to dig and hunt for gold, he gave an area where the people of the town congregated and parked their horses and wagons a space of land to build a church. The church they used before was located on his land near the house La Casa Blanca. It was an outdoor church, very simple with an overhead structure that included chairs and an alter for the priest. The locals of El Meson gladly accepted his kind offer and he supplied money for them to build the church.

As time went on he got old and still continued his lifelong quest of the search for treasure. He dug a huge lake while looking, he made stables while looking, he continued to work on his home. It is said he died always hoping for that buried treasure, and still roams the grounds as a spirit looking for bounty.

I am sure you are wondering how this ties into my daughter’s final resting place. My partner had a suggestion, he said take the urn and bury it in a place of your choice on the property, then fill it with flowers and trees. I remember thinking “why did it take so long for me to do this, what a perfect idea!” He did not direct me to a specific spot, but it was so easy for me to find the perfect place. I have a beautiful office that looks out onto my front balcony and the mountains. I also can see the area I buried her almost anywhere from the house that looks out towards the Valle del Cauca. I see the mountains and the Valle below. It is a place of supreme beauty. I have bought all kinds of plants, flowers, and even a tree that will grow over time. I placed an angel beside the tree, and have hung a hummingbird feeder on a branch. I find a lot of comfort watering her place of rest. It brings peace to my soul. The really interesting part of this story is it is the place of the original church of El Meson, and I did not know this until after she was buried. Misha is buried in holy ground. I also know if there are any spirits at Villa Migelita, they are good, kind souls.

I recently found out I still own the church of El Meson and I am in the process of giving the church back to the community. I have donated paintings and a cross in the memory of my daughter Mikel Cara Carson. She has still not had justice in her death, and a trial is scheduled for this March with a disclaimer that it could change. It will be 4 years on Jan 31st. church 014

Posted in Uncategorized

Learning to Accept the Unknown

Growing in life is what we should all focus on. We need to accept that we can never control our lives, how it might turn out or where we will end up. I have become pretty good at just waking up in the morning and seeing what each day will bring since I moved to Colombia. I really try to put an effort into keeping my past and my future from my thoughts because the past is gone and the future is unknown. This way of living takes practice and strength. When a great tragedy unfolds in your life, whatever it may be, you can use it to gain knowledge and use that knowledge to better yourself. I have found that I can carry my sadness with me and still live a happy life. We all have sadness in our lives. I always say to people who speak about my daughter’s death and their heartache for me ” I am not the only person in this world who has suffered great loss.” We all have burdens we bear. Each morning when I awake I meditate a bit before I get on with the day. Sometimes the pain I feel from life experiences is hard, but I allow it to flow freely in my thoughts, then I let it go. Misha, Amaya and I I remember times of joy in my meditations and then I allow that joy to stay in my heart.

I have spoken in my past blogs about the spiritual connection I have felt with my daughter. It is something that happens and I never know when. As I write this blog I am in the United States to get the Visa required to live in Colombia. I find when I return it is very hard to get to the spiritual place I am in when surrounded by the beauty of Colombia. I resume the way I used to live, writing lists, running errands, meeting with my many great friends, and my peaceful morning meditations fall to the wayside. Sometimes I get a much needed reminder that Misha is with me and it stops me in my tracks. Recently this happened while I was with my granddaughter here in the States. I feel that I need to share this story with my readers because it will make you realize no matter who you are that your loved ones are surrounding you even when they leave the physical Earth. It will make you ponder your beliefs if you are a doubter or really have never given it much thought.

I recently went to Islamorada, Florida for the day with my partner’s mother, a dear friend, her son and my granddaughter. The day actually started before I even got in the car because of a post I made on my Facebook page http://www.facebook.com/VillaMigelita. I had written I was so busy that I was not finding the time to write my blog. I also said I was going to Key Largo with my granddaughter to feed the Tarpon. One of my followers has a beautiful resort there The Chesapeake Resort and was generous with an offer for us to stop for lunch and stay the night. I had never met her, but always enjoyed her comments on my flower photos, I felt a connection. I actually put her phone number in my phone and had every intention of calling her, even though I did not think I would have time to meet up. Well, life had different plans for me, the day became a wonderful journey in my life with a final message from my daughter.Amaya feeding the Tarpon

As we fed the fish my friend and I discussed where we were going for lunch. I told her that I needed to call a Facebook follower when we arrived at the restaurant because I really felt a connection with her. I don’t even know why I told Hilary this, it just came into my thoughts. We finished up and since we had brought two cars, the children came in my car and Hilary and Maria drove in front to the restaurant. As we entered the parking lot of Lazy Days I saw a woman helping an older woman walk to her car. Hilary parked next to them and I saw them all talking. I preceded to get out of my car with the rambunctious kids and walk up to them. Imagine my surprise to find out that this woman was the follower from my FB page! Hilary knew her through her husband and they quickly realized I was Villa Migelita because Hil told her she was in the Keys with her friend from Colombia. I was flabbergasted, and realized right then and there this was not a coincidence. We made plans to go down the road after lunch to her resort to let the children swim and for me to get to know Ilona.

As we entered the resort I was struck by the beauty of her spectacular place. I was already thinking why the day was unfolding this way, but I accept these things now and go with them. We all started talking about the meeting, how it was so unusual and it was like I had known Ilona for years. She asked me if Amaya was Polynesian or perhaps Hawaiian? My granddaughter has a mixed background and her slanted eyes can make someone think that. I did not know the reason for her inquiry until the very end of the day that this was the beginning of my daughter’s message to me. We continued to the pool area and went on to have the greatest time together. Ilona talked us into staying the night, with us getting up early for our drive back to Broward County. We ended up with the kids swimming and going into the hot tub and using the picnic lunch we had packed for the day as dinner. My granddaughter fell asleep on my lap while us ladies continued talking and getting to know one another. Ilona mentioned several times to Amaya that she needed to see the mermaid in the Tiki hut.Amaya

When Amaya fell asleep Ilona still was adamant that we see this mermaid. I was thinking all the time that the mermaid would be a sculpture or carving. When Amaya stirred I asked if she felt like walking over see the mermaid. My companions had decided to go the rooms to get ready for bed. As we wondered over Ilona kept saying how special this was going to be. We walked up the stairs and there she was the beautiful mermaid lit by lights, and alone in her glory. The mermaid was a gorgeous oil painting. My hair stood up on my arms as I said “this is Amaya when she is older!”. It was surreal as the day became clear to me. Misha directed me to this painting. She wanted me to know she is with me whenever I have her daughter. I could not sleep that night because I felt electricity flowing through my veins from this truly spiritual experience. I now know Misha surrounds and protects us both more than I ever did before.The Mermaid

I ran back to get Hilary and Maria. I needed them to see her. They both came without me telling them my thoughts and said the same the minute they saw the beautiful painting. It was an experience that all of us shared that day. It is one that we will always be connected by. No matter your thoughts, there is no denying that mermaid is Amaya. The same lips together half smile that my daughter and granddaughter share, the slanted eyes, the nose and shape of the face. This experience gave me so much comfort about my daughter’s death and where she is now, and much needed love that I still feel from Misha, who is always with me where ever I am.

The final blessing of the day was when Ilona knocked on the door of our suite and brought a copy of the painting to me. I have plans to frame it and place it in my office that looks out upon the beautiful mountains of Colombia and my daughter’s final resting place. I now know Amaya will be looking too, with the eyes of a mermaid.

Posted in Uncategorized

Stretching My Mind and My Life

What we think determines what happens to us, so if we want to change our lives, we need to stretch our minds.”

― Wayne Dyer

I love this quote by Wayne Dyer because before my daughter died I was not really stretching my mind like I do now. I did not believe in a lot of spiritual things, nor give the right amount of importance to what can only be referred to as our passing thoughts that occur to us on a daily basis. It is up to us to listen and be still long enough to actually hear them and to respect what these inner thoughts can actually mean to us and our daily lives. I had a premonition two weeks before my daughter passed away that she was not going to live much longer. It was a momentary thought that came to me while walking home from the beach, a path we walked together many times with my granddaughter in the stroller. I did give the thought credence because I was worried about her, she was living in another state and I was not in touch with her at the time of her death. I called my best friend and discussed the flitting of this horrible thought through my mind. We talked and came to the conclusion that I was a mother worrying about my child who had made choices that I really did not approve of. I also awoke at the exact time that her body was thrown by the car that hit her the night she died, the exact time of her death. I never went back to sleep after I was startled awake until I was called late that night about her death. I know it was her saying goodbye to me. I believe wholeheartedly in our spiritual connections to loved ones now. I have had too many other occurrences happen in the last 3 years that make me certain that we are always surrounded by our loved ones even if they are no longer on this earth. I believe my move to Colombia and the subsequent events are all in someway inter-connected with her death, and she is with me on this journey I have taken.

First photo I took of Villa Migelita, you can see the light that is an orb in this picture
First photo I took of Villa Migelita, you can see the light that is an orb in this picture

It takes a lot of courage and honesty to follow your own feelings about things. If you think of your feelings as a road map, they can guide you on this journey called life.
~James Van Praagh

When I first arrived in Colombia our friend brought his truck over to go look at the farm I was going to buy, I really was excited about this farm and moving forward in my life . That day we were to bring a few things to leave there and were almost there but a huge tree and mudslide blocked our path. Buying this farm was the reason I was able to move to Colombia quickly because I would have a place to live without a lot of work or renovation, and my house in the USA was being sold. I craved a life of tranquility. I wanted to have peace. I was sure I could find all of the above in the mountains of Colombia. It was a darling little farm. It was NOT Villa Migelita. It had very little land if you compare it with the amount I have now. It did have amazing views. However, it was super high in the mountains, and would not have been convenient to get into the main city quickly. I say all the time now “What a blessing that the mudslide happened and I did not end up at this sweet farm that was not in a practical location and without any real business opportunities for the future.” Life is always re-directing us, but we need to take notice.

1st farm I was going to buy
1st farm I was going to buy

That day I was surprised, as I had not really done the research on what could happen in mountainous regions. A valuable lesson was learned, and now I knew wherever I moved needed to have public transportation and be in a place that I would not be so isolated. Wanting peace is one thing, but to be without a real community would not have been wise nor practical. My partner’s family stepped in to find us a place to live while looking at new real estate options and we found a delightful little home in the small town of Santa Elena. It was built at the bottom of the mountains in the flat plains, and the views on my street looked up at the mountains. I was particularly sure this was the right place as the mountain that faced my area had a distinct shape of an angel. I loved going for walks with my dogs and having that angel follow along with us. I felt it was my daughter and parents sending a sign they were protecting me on my bold new adventure in a foreign country. The search for a new farm began in earnest soon after we got settled in our rental home. I looked at several farms, many around St.Elena, and even made an offer on one. However, once again something happened, this time with the paperwork and that the deal fell through. I still think Villa Migelita was waiting for me, and the first time I saw this farm I fell in love. I took photos of all the farms I looked at and the photo pictured on this blog of Villa Migelita’s property had an orb of light that can only be described as other worldly. I feel that was my daughter’s presence and love .

The Angel on the Mountain
The Angel on the Mountain

As we got settled into our new rental home, we also started doing the things that were needed for me to stay in the country. I found out quickly that I needed a Visa. I should have done this in Florida at the Colombian Embassy in Miami before I left the States. I did get my Visa but it was a lot harder than just dealing with the people in the USA, and where I now obtain my Visa every year. I discovered what it is like for anyone who moves to a new country to get the correct paperwork and what they go through to stay in a country legally. It is just as strict here in Colombia as it is in the USA. I can have dual citizenship in five years. The other thing that was important was to get my health insurance in Colombia. It is a process that also took a long time, but I did get it and have the best they offer. I learned to be persistent. I learned that Colombia is not like the USA and is very backward with things like paperwork and computers, and that the simplest things require many steps. You can not just call a place and get questions answered, you have to show up and deal with a real person who then tells you what you need. Then you have to return with those items, and sometimes it is still not right, so you have to go through the process again. I have only been living here 2 and 1/2 years and I have all I need, so it really was not a long process, but at the time it felt like it was!

The house I rented in St Eleana
The house I rented in St Eleana

During all of this time I also needed transportation. We had a small motorcycle and started looking at vehicles. The motorcycle was fun, and we enjoyed touring all the areas with farms for sale and seeing the beauty of the mountains surrounding us in the process. We did upgrade the motorcycle to a stronger one fairly fast, but finding the right car was a challenge which took months to find. Like I said the paperwork for anything in Colombia is quite complicated and needs to be done right. However, riding on the motorcycle became second nature to me and I had fun even when I did get rained on sometimes. It was all part of the adventure! I also took public transportation, something I really never did while living in the States. Everyone in Colombia takes public transportation, even the most wealthy. It is accessible, inexpensive and comfortable for the most part. I started to stretch my mind and way of thinking about a lot of my habits I had from a lifetime of living in the USA. I would see a family of three, child in the middle on motorcycles, or someone with their dog riding with them. I would see babies breastfeeding, or a child being held while sleeping. I know it sounds shocking to us from the United States, but a motorcycle here is the way people get around. They do not have the money to go out and buy a car. I learned about my new culture just by observing the new sights around me. I saw horses pulling carriages full of construction materials on the same road as the taxis, cars, trucks, public transportation and bicycles. Everyone got where they needed to go and it looks chaotic to me still. However, it is part of the charm of life in a new country.

Riding a motorcycle is fun, and it is always an adventure
Riding a motorcycle is fun, and it is always an adventure

My first months living in my small Colombian town were very busy, very fun and very enlightening. I believe that the farm that I did not buy sent me on a journey to discover the real Colombia. The Colombia I needed to live in to understand the culture. I needed the experiences I was having to make the right decision to buy a forever home. I saw all of this as the days unfolded, each one had a new discovery in store for me. I would wake up and look outside my door and see cows walking down the street or a horse grazing by my door. It was an awakening that would never have happened if I had just moved into the first farm I wanted. I was living an adventure out of a novel and I loved it!

In front of my house in St. Elena
In front of my house in St. Elena

Posted in Uncategorized

Please tell me what intriques you about my move ?

Posted in Uncategorized

My Move to Colombia

Have you ever thought to yourself “I wonder what it is like to live in another country?” I did as soon as the travel bug hit me. I went on a school sponsored trip when I was ten to Europe. I read that silly book from so long ago “Coffee, Tea, or Me” when I was about twelve and then I re-read it! I was hooked. I wanted to be a stewardess. I relished the thought of traveling all over the world. However, I did all the things my parents wanted; made good grades, graduated early from high school, going right to college when I was only seventeen with a major in journalism. The thought of travel and working as a flight attendant was always in the back of my mind. Then one day I got really sick at college, sick enough that my parents came and packed me up and I left for the Spring quarter to go home and recuperate. I was back home and almost twenty so my mother suggested (because mom’s always know right?) I get some professional photos done and submit some applications to airlines. As it turned out only two airlines hired anyone at the age of twenty, National Airlines and Delta Air Lines. I submitted to both, threw in the photo’s and had an interview with Delta immediately.

At that interview I was a stand out, and not in a good way. I remember walking in with a dress that had a full skirt and Chinese style jacket. It was a very disco style dress with a skirt that would twirl when I danced. I had embraced the disco phase in college, was also a hair model, and I thought everyone dressed like me! As I looked around at every one of my fellow interviewees’ and they
looked back at me, I felt a little bit anxious. They all had on blue suits and white shirts, hair pulled back and black pumps. There I was in platform heels, a hairstyle that was short, wild,stylish and a disco dress! Needless to say I amused the interviewer’s immensely with my go for it “I dance disco in contests” attitude and got through the interview at the young age of nineteen and went on to be in the next class of flight attendants. My mother had always told me to “be an original not a carbon copy” and it worked. To this day I wonder why my mother let me wear what I wanted to that interview, as she never said a word to me about my choice of attire. Maybe she was letting me be an ‘original’ which worked out for me. I started training class and they called me ‘disco’ as I and one other girl were the youngest in the class, and we were kind of the ‘mascots’. I still remember my first years of flying as some of the best of my life as I grew to love travel and grew into a responsible young woman. The years flew by and I had a family but still worked part-time as a flight attendant. Towards the end of my career I flew international, finding these flights and layovers the most rewarding in my career. I had many layovers in South America and found all the countries I visited to be warm and welcoming. I could see myself living there, as the culture was inviting and the people friendly. After thirty years as a flight attendant I was able to retire. I missed the travel and my fellow co-workers but not the job itself. A job that is very hard on the body, not from just the time changes, but long hours and hard work.

Hair model days
Hair model days

Retired life was different, as I had been employed since I was fifteen. Then the worst happened. My marriage fell apart and my daughter was killed in a horrible hit and run. I was no longer that young confident flight attendant that grew up along with her career into a mother and working woman. I became a grieving wreck who did not know what the next day would bring. I was in shock for several months after my daughter was killed. I really do not remember a lot of those months, or how I got through them. My divorce was still going on, and it was nasty! I could never really grieve as something unfathomable was being thrown at me every day by my ex-husband and his lawyer. It was like he wanted to punish me for her death. I would never have thought the father of my children could be so cruel. This was a time I would never want to go back to. I woke up every morning wondering what would be next. During the week of the funeral preparations I saw my ex and his sister drive up to my house and put a note in my mailbox. It said “you did not deserve to be her mother”. I still think about why they did that, what if felt like to them to actually write such a despicable statement down and give it to me 3 days after I learned of her death? The hateful things going on kept me from allowing myself to grieve properly and I did not get real help until I moved and found a wonderful counselor here in Colombia. I became a person who was afraid. Apprehension became part of my existence. I always had been self-assured, very social and always ready to meet new people. Now I worried about everything, my mind would race with so much anxiety and heartache. A change was needed so I started taking little steps to do just that! I knew I had to get away from such a toxic environment, I prayed and meditated for answers. Then one came to me.

Watching a horse show at a restaurant
Watching a horse show at a restaurant

Enter my companion and partner. He was friends with a nanny I used for my children while flying. He heard about the terrible tragedy of my daughter’s death. He looked me up on Facebook, asked to be my friend. He is a Colombian American, who spent his first fifteen years growing up in Palmira the area I now live at in Colombia. We got to know one another and found we had much in common. We spent hours talking about life and dreams. Dreams that were similar; wanting a farm, the love of mountains and animals, the beauty of nature and solitude. He told me let’s take a trip to see Colombia. I had never been to this country and thought “why not?”. We arrived on Christmas day of 2010 in Bogotá, a city alight with Christmas decorations in vivid colors and music vibrating around the streets that was festive and enticing. I was impressed with the beauty of the season, a day I had dreaded for my own heavyhearted reasons, became a wonderful memory for me. We spent a couple of weeks traveling and ended up at his aunt’s for New Years Eve and Day. A delightful array of Colombian traditions awaited me. A meal is served at midnight and there is always lots of salsa dancing at any fiesta! New Years Day continued with more family and meals. I found myself embraced by his family that just met me. I wanted to feel alive and happy like this for the rest of my life! It had been too long since I had really smiled. Then off we went to Palmira the city in the Department of Palmira Valle Del Cauca, the agricultural center of Colombia and where my partner grew up. We took a carriage ride through the city, we rode a motorcycle around in the mountains, we visited the tourist areas nearby. I had the most wonderful time and my sadness was replaced for a few weeks with the joy of new beginnings. I realized I could live without fear if I let myself, and that I could live my life while honoring my daughter’s memory in the process. My children spent most of their summers in the Great Smoky Mountains of Tennessee, making beautiful memories of our time there with hummingbirds, hiking, tubing and nature. When I returned to the United States, we started to plan on going back to look at real estate. In late February we returned and I actually found a farm I wanted to buy. I started negotiations with the owner and putting into place all that I needed to do to move to another country.
102 year old great-grandfather
102 year old great-grandfather

How does one move to another country? Well, I just started researching the internet and found most answers there. I realized it is best to sell all of the possession’s you have and bring minimal items with you. I started selling everything; the house, my car, furniture, everything in my house, jewelry, clothes, basically all my material things that were not of special value to me. I looked into how to get my beloved pets into another country and I just did what I had to do! I look back at that time and wonder how did I do it? I think I was so traumatized that anything that kept me occupied was good. I could think about something other than my daughter being gone. Things began to fall into place as I slowly packed up my possession’s and made the final arrangements for my move to Colombia. I look back at what I accomplished in three months and just shake my head. I had strength I did not know I had.
Cali, Colombia
Cali, Colombia

I moved to Colombia in April of 2011, pets and partner with me and not knowing any Spanish! My belongings were to follow in a few weeks by cargo ship. I did have some problems when I arrived. My two large dogs were sent on a different airplane because of their weight and I could not get them for 24 hours. My dog Colleen was twelve years old and she was hoarse from crying when I finally was able to get them through all the inspections and paperwork. I was able to see them and comfort them, the airport workers gave them food and water, but it was very unfortunate for them and me. We also found out that the farm I was going to purchase had a mudslide near it right before I came and that deal fell through, which turned out to be a real blessing! However, we needed to find a place to live with our animals because my partner’s family home was not comfortable for us or the animals. We rented a little place in Santa Elena, a small Colombian town and the adventure truly began.
Having fun driving in the mountains!
Having fun driving in the mountains!
427818_3623825840279_643596504_n
My next blog will continue my story. I hope all who read will join my blog and share it. I can be found on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/VillaMigelita. I will also write about my daughter’s accident which I am still waiting for the trial of her killer. It will be four years in January and there has still been no justice. It is a source of anguish to me, I pray for closure soon. The killer was found within a week when he took his car for repairs and is awaiting trial.