I Die a Little Every Day

I knew it was too good to be true…I always regret not listening to my instincts…

Since the birth of mt first granddaughter in JulyI have begun to have some contact with my children (youngest 18 as of this writing)… They have been respectful, caring, and thoughtful for the most part. I have gone to ‘Bama 3 times, on invites this year and that has given me some hope that things will get better… Well there was a glitch when I went to Troy for 5 days to only be able to speak to my son for an hour and a half, due to iPhone  failure (maybe, but I’m beginning to doubt that was the problem).

Being invited to the birth of my beautiful granddaughter was one of the happiest moments of my life.  TRULY!  Then back in October for her Mommy’s birthday was also a wonderful experience. Thanks Libby!

My eldest still won’t give me the time of day and she says I didn’t let her have a childhood…  I can’t fix that.  If I could, I would.

My folk singer/songwriting daughter has begun texting, and I love her more each day.  Will it last?  She was the one who said that this blog is “A HORRIBLE Blog about her family” and she wanted me to take it down.  I told her I would remove anything she could demonstrate was false.  So far the entire site remains up.

That leaves my wonderful youngest, Dan’. His recent actions have caused me to doubt the sincerity of anyone in my life, and my judgement is once again something I am unwilling to trust, at least for right now.  Let me tell you, it is a hard place to be where you can’t trust yourself.

I wasn’t going to write this out because it really freaking hurts, but I have received many private emails and I understand that somehow me telling my awful story is helping a lot of people cope with their own strained relations.  So I am going to tell you exactly what I am seriously depressed and heartbroken over this holiday season.

As I mentioned I was at Troy for 5 days and only saw my son for an hour and a half.  He was quiet and seemed uncomfortable.  I hugged him tight when we said goodnight, went to my room and cried a mixture of elated and devastated tears for about 3 hours and then tried to sleep… Fail of course, so I watched news all night packed and left a bit early for the airport.

During our short time I felt there was no connection made, It was an empty visit, but my love for him is strong.  He was four when our family disintegrated and he really knows me the least of all my kids. I keep forgetting that at four there isn’t much memory that will survive the next 14 years.

It is my experience that people can be shitty to people they have no connection with assuming they are the type who are inclined to be shitty to others.  It seems harder for people to hurt other people when there is a bond between them, however small.  This is my opinion and I will say that there are exceptions, however, those exceptions are usually steeped in pure evil, pure psychopathology, or pure hatred.  I do not believe that my son is evil, nor do I think him to be a psychopath, so that leaves EXTREME ANGER as the only justification I am willing  to believe is the root cause for his recent treatment of me.

What did he do that was so bad you ask?  He lied to me, a lot.  Lied about his Father and Step Mom, lied about his car, and I have learned that he is lying to everyone about his ab/use of alcohol as well.  Then when I confronted him about lying to me he fired off a letter that could only have been written out of one of those three categories above.  I still think ANGER is the culprit.  No “Loving Son” would dream of writing such mean, ill-mannered, abusive letter to a mother that s/he respected.  No way!  Before I share these scathing words with you allow me to preempt by stating unequivocally almost everything in his wicked letter is a lie he has been fed by someone in a position of authority in his life, and who harbors me ill will. The ALIENATORS. The people who felt my son should “understand these things” about me alienated us and there can be no denying of that fact.  ALMOST all of what he wrote is a lie.

This is breaking me down again



Dear Readers,

I have tried for several months to keep my personal saga off this blog mainly because my children said it hurt them.

In the past week however my ex and his new clan have begun yet another campaign of lies and painful and disturbing interferences with my recently improved mother/child relations.


I want to know if you want to hear more of my story or if you prefer my sharing resources and information not directly concerning my saga?

Please reply below.  Your advice/opinion matters to me.


Thank You,



Any human being has the potential to develop PTSD. The cause is external not internal. It is a Psychiatric Injury not Mental Illness. It is not resulting from the individual’s personality. The Whistleblower who is the victim of the retaliation is not inherently weak or inferior. In fact, any human being has the potential to develop PTSD.

PTSD caused by Legal System

Source: PTSD Mothers Entrenched in Custody Battles

LEGAL ABUSE SYNDROME (LAS) is a form of post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).  It is a psychic injury, not a mental illness.  It is a personal injury that develops in individuals assaulted by ethical violations, legal abuses, betrayals, and fraud. Abuse of power and authority and a profound lack of accountability in our courts have become rampant. Dr. Karin Huffer, author of the groundbreaking book, Overcoming the Devastation of Legal Abuse Syndrome, has devoted over 20 years to researching, diagnosing, and treating PTSD and other trauma disorders.

A Child’s Perspective

DECEMBER 5, 2015 /                     DBKERR visit Her
Daddy rages, Mommy cries,
What about me?
the little child sighs.

No home for my own
yet I have two.
Never alone
but always lonely.
Mourning for one
while with the other.
Never enjoying
without feeling guilt.

I have my spaces.
My objects surround me,
yet I can’t remember
where my teddy bear is.
Is it here or there?

I want two kisses goodnight
from two people –
not the bemused, exhausted
brush of one’s lips
on my brow.

No one asked me
when the choice was made.
I got the leftovers.

Small wonder I am scared,
so angry I want nothing more
than to strike out
at the ones I love most.
Hear me . . .
when can I speak?

yet I can’t remember
where my teddy bear is.
Is it here or there