death – Page 2 – Hummings from Paradise

Misha

Posted on February 3, 2014 by hummingsfromparadise

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.

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Missing Taz

Posted on January 6, 2014January 6, 2014 by hummingsfromparadise

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.

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.

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Revelations

Posted on October 28, 2013 by hummingsfromparadise

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.

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.

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Stretching My Mind and My Life

Posted on September 16, 2013 by hummingsfromparadise

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

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.

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 .

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!

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

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!

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My Move to Colombia

Posted on September 9, 2013September 9, 2013 by hummingsfromparadise

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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