The Dish by Deni

The Meaning of Friendship

August 18th, 2023

Friendship: A relationship between friends. A state of mutual trust and support.

Friendship, a tapestry of shared moments and unwavering connection, is a testament to the profound human need for companionship. There are intricate layers of being a friend, exploring the essence of caring for another’s well-being, displaying loyalty even in the face of abandonment or judgment, and extending the hand of friendship when mistakes are made.

To be a friend is to be a guardian of the heart, committed to the well-being of another. The act of caring transcends superficial interactions, delving deep into the emotions, hopes, and fears of a friend. It involves offering support, encouragement, and empathy, often without expectation of reciprocation. A true friend stands as a steadfast presence, ready to lend a shoulder in times of sorrow and to share in moments of joy.

Loyalty is the unwavering thread that holds friendships together, even as life’s winds buffet and shift. True loyalty requires the courage to stand by a friend’s side, regardless of the challenges that arise. When others retreat, a loyal friend remains, a symbol of constancy in an ever-changing world. This loyalty is born from a deep sense of mutual understanding and respect, fortifying the bond between friends.

The true essence of friendship shines when mistakes are made, and judgment is cast. Being a friend in such moments is an act of compassion and understanding that transcends the errors of the past. True friends recognize the imperfections within each other and offer a supportive hand, not to condone the mistakes, but to guide the friend toward growth and redemption. Being there for a friend during their lowest moments demonstrates a level of empathy that is rare and invaluable.

Friendship, like any relationship, faces its share of storms. When judgment rains down or others turn away, a steadfast friend remains, offering shelter and understanding. The bond between friends is strong enough to weather these storms, as caring and loyalty form an unbreakable foundation. Mistakes become opportunities for growth, and the journey toward reconciliation strengthens the friendship’s fabric.

Being a friend is a role of profound importance, requiring a heart brimming with compassion, loyalty, and understanding. Through caring for another’s well-being, showing loyalty in the face of abandonment or judgment, and extending a hand of friendship even in the wake of mistakes, we truly embody the essence of friendship. As we navigate life’s intricate paths, let us remember that being a friend is not only about sharing laughter and joy but also about standing resolute during the most challenging moments, reminding each other of the resilience of the human spirit and the power of genuine connection.

Xoxo D

Roll with it
Roll with it. Bye bye, Fancy.

June 8th, 2023

Farwell, Dear Fancy our time has passed. In the realm of trust, where friendships should thrive, a painful truth emerged, and forced my heart to divide.

“Bye bye, Fancy,” I whisper with regret. However, your deceitful ways I cannot forget.

We built a bond, or so it seemed. But, it was all a facade, maybe just a dream.

“Bye bye, Fancy,” I utter with disdain. I will untangle myself from your web of pain. No longer will I be a pawn in your game. Breaking free from your grip, reclaiming my name.

I mourn the loss of what we had. But I refuse to let your deceit drive me mad. In the ashes, oh the ashes of shattered trust, I’ll continue to rise above, in strength. You are just too dam much.

“Bye bye, Fancy,” my voice echoes clear. I am moving forward, leaving you in the rear. No longer bound by your deceitful art, I’ll find healing and peace, and will stay close to those who love and care for me with all of their heart.

In the tapestry of life, some bonds must sever. Lessons learned will stay with me forever. Bye bye, Fancy, I bid you adieu. Bye bye Fancy, best of luck to you.

Roll with it
Deni. Who Am I?

May 9th, 2023

Some days I rely heavily on coffee and my ability to ignore reality.

“Who Are You?”

I never expected my meeting with Pastor Steve Keeler to turn into a deep introspection on my identity, but that’s exactly what happened. As we discussed my struggle to come to terms with Lorick’s death, Pastor Keeler posed a simple question that stopped me in my tracks: “Who are you?”

It was a question that I had never fully considered before. I had always defined myself by my roles and responsibilities – as a daughter, a friend, a mother. But who was I beyond those labels? As I sat with Pastor Keeler, I began to realize that there was much more to me than just the roles I played.

I am a complex amalgamation of my experiences, my beliefs, and my values. I had a desire to learn about the world around me. My experiences have taught me resilience and the importance of perseverance in the face of adversity.

But beyond these external factors, there is also the matter of my personality. I am introspective and analytical, always seeking to understand the deeper meaning behind things. I am empathetic and caring, often putting the needs of others before my own. And I am fiercely independent, refusing to be defined by societal expectations or cultural norms.

Reflecting on these aspects of myself has given me a newfound sense of clarity and purpose. I am not just the sum of my roles and responsibilities – I am a multifaceted, dynamic person with unique gifts and strengths.

When someone asks me the question “Who Are You?”, my first instinct is to tell them my name and a little bit about my family. I am Deni, the third child out of four belonging to Joseph and Barbara. But there is so much more to me than just my name and my family background.

I am a survivor. From my first few weeks I was born, I faced adversity. As an infant, I struggled to overcome health complications that left me weak and vulnerable. But I persevered, and I grew up to be a strong and resilient young woman.

That resilience was tested when I was the victim of a violent assault by a stranger. It was a traumatic experience that left me shaken and afraid, but I refused to let it define me. I sought out counseling and support, and slowly but surely, I began to heal.

Over the years, I have faced countless other challenges and obstacles. Each time, I emerged stronger and more determined than before.

“Who am I?”, I have no hesitation in saying that I am a determined, headstrong, and disciplined individual. These traits have been with me for as long as I can remember, and they have played a significant role in shaping my identity.

When I set a goal for myself, I don’t stop until I achieve it. I am not afraid of hard work, and I am willing to put in the effort required to succeed. This determination has allowed me to accomplish many things in life, from running marathons to excelling in other personal achievements.

My discipline is another key part of my identity. I am not the type of person to procrastinate or make excuses. When I commit to something, I follow through. This has helped me stay on track with my goals and maintain a sense of balance in my life.

As a servant leader, I am dedicated to helping others achieve their goals. I believe that true leadership is about empowering others and creating a positive impact on the world. I have learned the importance of listening, empathy, and collaboration.

I am also a problem solver. When faced with a challenge, I don’t give up or get discouraged. Instead, I approach the problem with a solution-oriented mindset. I consider different perspectives and brainstorm creative ideas until I find a solution that works. This approach has helped me overcome many obstacles in life, both big and small.

“Who am I?”

I love music. There’s something about the way that a great song can transport you to a different place and time. It’s one of my passions in life, along with photography, art, and being creative.

Another thing that I love is animals, specifically my dogs. I find them endlessly fascinating and have always been drawn to their unique personalities and quirks. But if there’s one thing that truly calls to my soul, it’s water. Whether it’s the ocean or a river, I feel most at peace when I’m near the water.

Of course, I’m not perfect. I can be a mess at times, and I know that I can be complicated to some people. But I’ve learned to accept that about myself and embrace my quirks and flaws. I’m someone who is uncomfortable in a general crowd, but I thrive when I’m around a group of like-minded people.

One of the things that I value most in life is spontaneity. I love the thrill of taking risks and trying new things. But at the same time, I’m someone who believes in the power of love and family. My three sons, Max, Jackson, and Ben, are the center of my world, and I know that I was born to be their mother.

I’m also an independent person who is capable of most things. I believe that with hard work and determination, anything is possible. And as a believer in God and Angels, I have hope for every new day. But at the same time, I’m scared of the unknown and what a new day can bring.

In conclusion, when someone asks me “Who am I?”, the answer is complex and multifaceted. I’m a lover of music, art, and creativity. I’m drawn to animals and feel most at home near water. I embrace my quirks and flaws and thrive around a group of like-minded individuals. I value spontaneity and the power of love and family. And as a believer in God and Angels, I have hope for each new day, even as I face the unknown with trepidation.

Roll with it
Gone Just Like That; Disenfranchised Grief.

April 25th, 2023
Shhhhh……… NO ONE CARES.

Losing someone you care about is always difficult. But what happens when your grief isn’t acknowledged or supported by society or the people around you? This is known as disenfranchised grief, and it’s what I’ve been experiencing since my ex-husband passed away six months ago.

Our relationship was not a conventional one. Despite our divorce, we still cared deeply for each other. I loved him deeply and was devastated by his loss. However, my grief was made even more painful by the fact that I was excluded from his family’s mourning process in just about every way.

Not being included or regarded was a painful experience for me. It felt like a harsh reminder that my grief was not considered valid. Our relationship had no value, as if it never existed. Just a figment of my imagination. Learning about his celebration of life and the scattering of ashes through social media (with actual photos of his ashes being thrown in the river) was also hurtful and insensitive.

But, I did not imagine our relationship. We had a deep connection, and our love for each other didn’t end just because we weren’t married anymore. It was difficult to mourn his loss without being able to share my feelings with his family, who were an important part of his life.

This is the pain of disenfranchised grief. When we lose a loved one, we often rely on the support of family and friends to help us through the grieving process. However, when that support is lacking, it can make the experience even more painful. It can be especially challenging when your grief is not acknowledged by society or the people around us.

As I have come to understand, disenfranchised grief is a common experience, particularly when the relationship between the mourner and the deceased is not seen as conventional or “normal.” It’s okay to feel angry, sad, and frustrated, and to seek out support from other sources if the people around you aren’t able to provide it.

In the end, what helped me the most was finding ways to honor my ex-husband’s memory on my own. I found comfort in writing about my feelings and sharing my story with others who have gone through similar experiences.

If you’re grieving the loss of a loved one and feel like your grief is not being acknowledged or supported, know that your feelings are valid and important. You deserve to mourn the loss of someone you loved, regardless of the circumstances of your relationship. I hope that sharing my story will help others going through similar experiences feel less alone and more understood.
The Boston Marathon; I am a Mother Runner.

April 14th, 2023
“If the hill has its own name, then it’s probably a pretty tough hill.” – Marty Stern

Heartbreak Hill has been both a challenge and a triumph for me. I have cleared the infamous incline five times. For those who have followed my journey from the start, you may recall my first marathon, the Marine Corps Marathon in 2011. With a finish time of 3 hours and 37 minutes, I qualified for the 2013 Boston Marathon. At the time, I had no idea that I had the potential to achieve such a remarkable feat. But I persevered and proved to myself that I was capable of reaching new heights.

I prepared for my chance to run in the Boston Marathon. I approached my training program with determination to enhance my running performance. I made sure to mix up my workouts, from cross-training to specific track exercises aimed at boosting my speed. I knew that I was going to the biggest stage of them all, and I took it very seriously. This was the Boston Marathon after all, and I was determined to give it my all.

The Boston marathon is world-renowned and first commenced in 1897, making it the oldest annual marathon in the world. As a result of its history, along with its reputation as one of the most challenging, it is on many runners’ bucket lists, making it the most sought-after race in the world. Boston is unique in that it’s a qualified race. In other words, to register for the race, you must have already run a marathon at a particular (relatively fast) pace.

The 2013 Boston Marathon would be my third time running a marathon. I was ready and felt stronger than my previous 2 marathons I had run.

At this point in my life, I was still married to my first husband, and we had once lived on Martha’s Vineyard, MA. We had moved to Beaufort, SC. We drove from South Carolina to Martha’s Vineyard with our three young sons and stayed at my father’s home on the island for a few days before the marathon. I planned on leaving for Boston the day before the marathon, which always takes place on the third Monday of April, Patriots Day. My husband and sons would drive up on Monday morning and take their place along the route with the rest of the amazing spectators. There is truly nothing better than seeing your children cheering for you as you run along the route.

Unfortunately, just a month before the Boston Marathon, a close friend of mine and my husband’s passed away. We knew him from our Martha’s Vineyard days. As we lived in SC, our friends decided to hold the memorial service for Stu while we were on MV. I told my husband that it would be okay for him and the boys to stay on the island and not come up to Boston to watch me run. So, they stayed behind, and I was left to face the marathon on my own.

I’m never really on my own, I’m fortunate to have a supportive community of running friends from all over. During the Boston Marathon, I stayed with my friend Meredith from New Jersey. We met at the Marine Corps Marathon in DC through a mutual friend and have stayed in touch since then. To make things easier for the Boston Marathon, we decided to share a hotel room at the Copley Square Hotel, which was conveniently located just a block or two from the finish line. The hotel was also in close proximity to the Back Bay area of Boston, which was the place to be the night before the race.

On April 14th, the night before the marathon, I had dinner with other mother runners and reconnected with a good friend from the Vineyard who was living in Boston. We stayed out a bit longer than we should have, considering we were running a marathon the next morning, but the excitement of Marathon Monday was infectious. Despite our late night, Meredith and I said goodnight to our fellow runners and headed back to the Copley Square Hotel for a good night’s sleep.

April 15, 2013, it was time to shine! Meredith and I made a plan to get our coffee fix from the Boylston St. Dunkin Donuts shop, which was close to our hotel and the finish line. She and I were decked out in our 2013 Boston Marathon signature blue and yellow with unicorn runner jackets. Meredith wore a bedazzled headband, and I wore a red headband that simply said “Mother Runner.” We clutched our D&D coffee, walked over to the finish line, and said to it, “We will see you later!”

In 2013, 26,839 runners lined up in Hopkinton to journey 26.2 miles to Boston. That is a lot of people.

Meredith and I joined hundreds of other runners at Boston Common and watched as an endless line of school buses arrived to transport us to the Athletes Village in Hopkinton, the starting point of the marathon.

For those who haven’t run a marathon and are curious about what happens in the Athletes’ Village while waiting to start the 26.2-mile course, I’ll tell you – you spend a lot of time in line for the port-o-potties. The lines are long, and once you finally get your chance, you end up back in line again. It’s an unbelievable urge to pee every 5 minutes!

To organize the large number of runners, most major marathons have start waves. The first wave is reserved for elite runners who finish long before the rest of the pack. Meredith and I were in the second wave out of four. Each wave has 8 corrals, and your assigned corral is based on your qualifying time. I was in Wave 2, Corral 6, while Meredith was in Wave 2, Corral 8. After sharing a final hug, we headed to our respective corrals and awaited the starting gun. And then…on your mark….GO!

For the first half of the marathon, I prefer not to listen to music. I want to soak in everything: the cheers of the spectators, the sounds of street music, and the chatter of the people around me. Running with a herd of people is different from running solo. It can be tricky to navigate the crowded course, with the risk of tripping, getting pushed, or elbowed. The water stations are every 2 miles, and I always make a point to stop and hydrate. It’s a tricky maneuver, though. I don’t really stop to drink the water; instead, I do a run, grab, and go, trying not to slip on the smushed cups scattered on the wet ground.

I had trained extensively and felt confident on race day. The notorious Newton Hills, which include Heartbreak Hill at mile 20, posed a challenge, but I was able to power through them while maintaining my pace. As I ran past Fenway Park, the cheers from the crowd gave me an extra burst of energy, and I sprinted towards the finish line. Finally, after 26.2 grueling miles, I completed the 2013 Boston Marathon in 3 hours and 27 minutes, a personal best by 5 minutes. The feeling of accomplishment was indescribable – I had achieved my goal of finishing one of the world’s most prestigious marathons at the age of 41, as a mother of three. It was an incredible runner’s high that I will never forget.

Here’s something non-marathon runners may not know: when you finish running 26.2 miles, the race is not quite over yet. You still have to walk what feels like another 5 miles to get through the finishers’ line. After receiving your medal, a bag with water and food (which you’re usually not hungry for), you have to search for the UPS truck that has your participant bag with the items you’ll need when you’re finished (like your phone, wallet, and hotel key). Once you’ve retrieved your bag, you have to navigate your way to find a cab or some other form of transportation to get back to where you need to go. All of this can be quite the ordeal.

As for me, I made it through the long line and collected my belongings, only to realize that I had to walk back towards the finish line and all the way to my hotel. It was a long, slow trek, but I was grateful to have completed the race and to have the satisfaction of knowing that I had pushed myself to my limits and accomplished something truly remarkable.

My friend Chantel from Martha’s Vineyard was a spectator on Bolyston St. She was a runner too but did not qualify to run Boston that year. She traveled up to Boston to support and cheer me and another good friend on. We had spoken the day before and agreed to meet up once I was done, but I was done. I did not have much energy left, and I missed my boys. It was time for me to say goodbye to Boston and head back to MV. I called Chantel as I was walking back to the Copley, telling her I had a change of plans and was going to head to South Station and catch a bus to Woods Hole (Woods Hole is where one would take the ferry back to the island). She completely understood, and we both said, “see you back on the island.”

Chantel then decided to change her location. She was still waiting for her other friend and thought she would have a better chance of seeing her if she moved closer to Fenway Park. Due to this fortuitous decision, Chantel unknowingly put herself out of harm’s way. At that time, it was roughly 2:30 p.m., and little did anyone know that in just 20 minutes, everything was about to change.

Once I left Copley Square, I was on the hunt for a cab ride to South Station. I walked towards the Westin Hotel, which was a block off of Boylston St. and close to the finish line. I stood for a few minutes trying to wave down a cab, and then finally one stopped for me. The cab was more like a station wagon, and the driver asked me if there were others joining me. I told him no and that I really wanted to get to South Station. He was reluctant because it was just me, but he said, “Okay.” I don’t remember his name. He had a Jamaican accent. I got into his cab, shut the door, and we drove away for 2 seconds. Then it happened. The first explosion. I felt the car move. I looked to the sky, an instant response because of what happened on 9/11. The radio in the cab stopped working, my cell phone stopped working. Then, the second explosion. That seemed worse than the first. I think it was my mind understanding that whatever this was, it wasn’t good, and we were uncertain of what was going to happen next. I started to panic. We couldn’t go anywhere because instantly the streets were blocked. Blocked with people running around cars and cars not moving. I kept thinking, “What do I do?! Should I get out and run away like everyone else? Fuck! I just ran 26.2 miles, now I have to run in jeans with luggage to who knows where?!” My cab driver started shouting, “A bomb! A bomb! We are being bombed!” This did not help to calm me.

I immediately tried to call my family and friends, but the cell phone towers were overwhelmed, and I couldn’t get through. I felt stranded in a city that was under attack. I tried to stay calm and collected, but my mind was racing with fear and confusion.

Finally, after several attempts, I was able to get my dad on the phone. I gave him a quick brief and asked him to put the news on and let me know if anything was being reported. Just as he turned the TV on, our connection was dropped. I kept one hand on my luggage ready to bolt out of the cab if I needed to.

My phone rang, and it was my dad. He said, “Deni! Get out of Boston as fast as you can. Bombs went off at the finish line, people are dead, injured, they are calling this a terrorist attack. Please get to safety.”

I finally arrived at South Station, but the journey was far from smooth. I had been in the cab for over an hour, when it should have only taken 10 minutes. Walking through South Station was surreal, and announcements on the loudspeakers were urging people to report any suspicious bags. Everyone around me seemed to be in a state of shock, many of whom had also been at the marathon. None of us knew what had happened, and the atmosphere felt like something out of the Twilight Zone.

I safely made it to Woods Hole and on the ferry back to my family and friends by 9 p.m. that evening. It certainly was a long day full of many emotions. It’s been 10 years since the attack, and I have returned to the Boston Marathon several times. In 2014, 2015, 2016, and 2019, I crossed the finish line once again.

This Mother Runner is not done yet. I’ll be back to Boston and plan on crossing that finish line for the 6th time.

As the years have gone by, the memories of Martin Richard, Krystle Marie Campbell, and Lü Lingzi still remain fresh in my mind. Their lives were tragically cut short. It’s also important to remember the hundreds of others who were injured and impacted by the events of that day. The Boston Marathon bombing was a senseless act of violence, and my heart goes out to all those affected by it.
Gone Just Like That; Pennies & Feathers

April 8th, 2023
I admit that my weirdness is above the national average, but I’m comfortable with that.

I said I would stop counting days. I stuck to that. I guess I couldn’t really keep up with day counting anyway. So, let me just wreck my brain and count by months. Oh, that seems like a great idea! Not to keep anyone who may be reading this in suspense, it’s been five months now. Specifically, it’s been five months since Lorick passed away.

I believe that our loved ones who pass away leave behind a unique energy or vibration. I often receive signs from Lorick. From the air tag that he gave me, which randomly chimes from the drawer where it rests, to pennies from 1970, hawks perched on umbrellas, shattered glass, and even a cool breeze that brushes against me when I’m in my backyard.

Recently, as I was walking towards my office, I noticed a white feather lying in my path. I remembered hearing or reading somewhere that white feathers, or feathers in general, could be a spiritual message from a loved one or an angel. Hoping that it was a sign from Lorick, I picked it up and placed it on my desk.

Over the next five days, I encountered more white feathers in various locations. While I knew they were not from Lorick, I wondered who they were from and what they were trying to tell me. Could it be my friend Jennifer, who passed away too young? She was a hairdresser, and the feathers could be related to her. I felt as though I was trying to solve a mysterious puzzle.

It was Friday, and I had been staring at my computer screen for what felt like hours. I needed a break. The weather was beautiful, so I decided to go for a walk. I plugged in my earbuds and listened to some acoustic guitar, enjoying the peacefulness of the music.

As I walked, I moved to the side of the road to tie my shoe. That’s when I spotted a penny waiting for me to pick it up. I put it in my pocket and looked up at the sky, saying a quick “thank you” for the unexpected find.

But the surprises didn’t end there. A feather floated gently in front of me and brushed against my foot before settling on the ground. This feather was different from the others I had found before; it wasn’t white and had been discovered while it was in motion.

I couldn’t help but wonder what was happening. The penny and feather felt like more than just coincidence. Was someone trying to send me a message? The mystery lingered in my mind as I continued my walk, feeling a sense of curiosity and excitement about what might come next.

As I walked along, I focused on calming my mind and being open to receiving any message that might come my way. Soon, I came across a bench that overlooked the Beaufort River, and it was the perfect spot to reflect. As I gazed at the river and the puffy clouds above, one of the clouds caught my eye. It looked just like our dear Maggie Girl, whom we had put down only a month before. I took a picture of the clouds and sat there for a few more minutes, lost in thought about life and the past few months.

As I prepared to head back to work, I gathered my penny and feather and went on my way. Later that evening, after a long day at work, I sat down to look at the pictures on my phone. When I came across the picture of the clouds, I was amazed at what I saw. It wasn’t just the cloud formation that caught my eye – it was the image of Lee Lee, Lorick’s mother, who had passed away in April 2022.

In that moment, I knew that Lee Lee had been sending me the feathers all along. There was no doubt in my mind that she was letting me know that she loved me, that she knew I loved her son, and that they were together in a peaceful place. It was a message of hope and love that brought me comfort and strengthened my belief that those we love and lose are never truly gone.
Cellar Stories: Needy

March 31st, 2023

Needy, needy, don’t be so greedy,
For the needy, you get nothing really.
The need, the desire, the seed is in your mire,
But need isn’t always dire.

Just be patient, don’t perspire,
For it is when we need, we must aspire.
For need can be a fuel for the fire,
A catalyst to reach higher.

But you do not need to put yourself in a quagmire,
Chasing after what you think you require.
Sometimes, letting go can take you higher,
And lead you to what you truly desire.

So let go of the need that’s weighing you down,
And rise up to claim your crown.
For it’s not in the need, but in the power you’ve found,
That you can truly wear your life’s gown.

Cellar Stories
Cellar Stories; Fearless Freedom

March 21st, 2023

Poems from the Island, ’99

I am free, I am fearless, I am me,
But sometimes fear has held me tight, not letting me be.
But now I’m determined to break that stubborn hold,
And let my fearless spirit take hold.

Pain, suffering, and more pain,
My mind tells me it’s all in my brain.
No room for remorse, no space for forgiveness,
I choose to fight and resist.

But I’ve learned from experience, education, and enlightenment,
That true fearlessness comes from accepting and not fighting.
So I let it seep into my brain,
And now my fearless spirit will sustain.

I won’t settle for the untold,
But will challenge myself to break the mold.
I’m fearless, because life as I see it,
Is something I can embrace with pride and spirit.

So I am free, I am fearless, I am me,
Ready to embrace whatever life may be.

Cellar Stories
Cellar Stories; Island World

March 21st, 2023

Poems from the Island ’98

On an island.

On an island, I reside, A place of peace where I can hide. But don’t be fooled by the serene view, For demons lurk within me too.

They hide behind my smiling face, Their presence I cannot erase. They whisper secrets I cannot ignore, And beg me to open up the door.

But are you out there? No, I am in here, My soul, my old soul, full of fear. I cannot outrun the pain inside, So I must settle and abide.

I’ll face the demons, one by one, Until their hold on me is done. I’ll dig deep and find the strength I need, To heal my wounds and let them bleed.

For on this island, I am not alone, And though the demons have overthrown, My spirit remains strong and true, And I’ll fight until the battle is through.

So let the waves crash and the winds howl, For I’ll rise above them with a growl. My island solitude may be my plight, But I’ll emerge stronger, full of light.

Cellar Stories
South Mountain Reservation

March 6th, 2023

Told you so! Sincerely, Your Gut.

March 22, 1994.

Spring has sprung. The sun was bright. The air was warm. I was 22. My life was ridiculously easy and I was doing a fabulous job inventing hardships. Time to take a hike.

South Mountain Reservation, 2000 plus acres located in northern NJ. Hemlock Falls, an area of the reservation that many people frequented, including myself. It was calling my name that day, so I went, alone. It was 2pm, seemingly calm, nothing out of the ordinary. I sat basking in the sun reading a book. Suddenly, I felt a cold wind and noticed the trees swaying ominously. The wind was sending me a message, an alert. I did not have a good feeling. I noticed a man standing in the distance, looking my way. It was time for me to go.

I followed the stone steps that lead me down the edge of the falls. I passed a girl and her dog, we exchanged smiles. I wanted to say something to her, to warn her of potential danger, but I didn’t because she had a dog with her. Silly reason to not warn a person of danger when you think about it. I continued along the path that would take me towards an intersection of pathways ultimately leading me to my car. As I started to turn right along the path I saw the man that I noticed earlier from the rocks above the falls. His presence, his aura was evil. To avoid him I didn’t make the right turn to my car, I continued straight, not realizing I was putting myself in grave danger, deeper into the reservation and away from any help. Now he is coming to me, the man is running to me, he is chasing after me. I start to run. I am totally scared.

He catches me. He looks at me, his eyes were black and cold. I could feel his evil aura blanket the air surrounding him and now swallowing me. Why me? Please don’t hurt me is all I could think. He starts to beat me with a large stick, a heavy branch. My blood is rushing out of my head, down my face and into my hands. My heart was pounding with fear, my tears were mixed with blood as I begged this man not to kill me. My crys for mercy fell on deaf ears. He did not care about me or my tears. He was going to kill me, his mind was made up.

He dragged me by my shirt and hair into the thick woods. He continued to beat me with his branch, he forced me to the ground. He stomped on my body, beating me on my back and head. I could feel the warm blood coming out of my body. It felt like an eternity, when was it going to end? Then a brief pause. Was it over? I was able to move my head enough to look up to see what was happening. The man held a rock over his head, his eyes piercing at me, this was it, this was the moment my life was going to end. 22 years old, I was about to die in the woods in South Mountain Reservation.

At that moment a vision came into my head. It was me, my body. I was decaying, animals had been feasting on me. I had finally been found and my poor body was now part of a crime scene that was blocked off by yellow police tape. I couldn’t bare this vision of mine. This is not my legacy. NO!!!! No, I will not die today, This is not my time.

Suddenly this unexplainable strength came over me, I sprung to my feet, I started to run. I was pushing away branches and I was desperately searching for the walking path I was violently dragged off of. I found it, I was not going to stop no matter how weak I was getting. I was close to the intersection of pathways where my nightmare started. I paused to look behind me. He was coming for me but, I was a good bit ahead of him. Then he just stopped coming towards me. He looked up towards the sky. I couldn’t help but watch him, I wondered if he would retreat back into the woods. He began swinging his arms as if he was swatting angry bees away. He was yelling up towards the sky too, even covering his head. Was something attacking him? Who cares!! Go! Keep running, get to safety was what I had to do and what I did.

I made it to South Orange Avenue, a busy road most days. Can you imagine seeing a person running out of the woods along the side of the road in the middle of the day completely covered in blood. Would you stop to help or save this person? Ask yourself honestly if you would. I was this person and I still don’t know what I would do. Fortunately for me a man driving along South Orange Ave did stop. He drove me to the South Orange Police Station which followed with EMS rushing me to University Hospital in Newark, NJ. I was rushed to the OR, my head sustained 3 large lacerations. 15 staples were used to close the largest of the lacerations. I could feel each staple enter my head, it was if I was being beat all over again. The 2 lacerations in the back of my head had to wait for sutures because my neck and back had been injured. I had to have a CT scan first which meant my head had to be strapped down on a flat board. The pain was horrible, I screamed out and cried as I went through the tube. My vertibrae was fractured, my hand and fingers broken.

I was going to live. I am alive.

I did die that afternoon of March 22, 1994. I would never be the same. The innocent, silly little girl with zero real problems was forever gone.

I am now a warrior. I am a survivor.

Roll with it