I’m shutting down

March 31, 2017

I am making today my final good-bye! I have said-and done this before; today is for real.

I am shutting down Internet access to my residence; the new ‘administration’ changing laws as if they were pieces of sour fruit….the Internet privacy law being discarded?

No. I am going to keep my privacy.

I will be connected via telephone-and use the public library from time to time to catch up on emails. We have gotten caught up in all of this attachment to electronic devices.

I promise that my heart is sad for all of us. Something is going terribly askew in Washington DC and it does not seem there is a heart in our White House.

Peace

Three Silent Wounded

March 16, 2017

I confess right here-I don’t know how to put the following into perspective. I am about to tell you about three male military veterans; these three men are nearly all the same ages, 60’s will make it close enough, yet it will be more accurate to say-these three men followed the footsteps of many before them….at age 18 they enlisted in the United States Military Services to serve our country-their country-to defend the rights and freedoms of not only our citizens-also the citizens of the world. Instead….in each of their lives-military service failed to protect their rights; the dignity of serving honorably was taken from them by fellow service members-not only the dignity of serving our country, traded violently for a life long disability of being unable to stand along side others that can say they proudly served and fought the battles where being wounded was expected.

Instead….these three men were raped and instead of the culprits being convicted of the crime they were the one who had to live a life sentence of shame, guilt, and an indignity to always having to hide the truth of the time serving our country….especially when centered into a conversation with other vets-those veterans who have stories with inches to miles more valor then theirs. It is liking a lie-never being able to talk about that part of your life and trying to hide the constant fear and pain of post traumatic stress.

I personally have spoken to each of the men I am needing to describe; one of these fellows I have met in person. Each came in contact with me back when I began this blog; each had a story to tell to give account of the time the trauma occurred, never needing to give the details, we all shared the common cruelty of PTSD, and families who were traumatized by our private torture.

Trying to explain the three in detail of their independent lives is impossible. We were all different (all of us veterans surviving MST-military sexual trauma) and led lives of myriad fashion and style; sometimes things were good-many times they were not, jobs and relationships suffering the most-families, you know, the curse of the post trauma is not a suffering that just hits the victim, everyone-is a victim when the trigger blasts. The emotional trigger. We had jobs and dreams and confusions. But-we …..I say-these three-tried to live and adjust, but even that was too much to handle.

This is about these three. This is about everyone one of us-who has survived, and made it this far. Early in February-Calvin’s family contacted me by text. He passed away. No details, just the sorrowful message he had died.

During the weekend JR contacted me; his long wait for the VA to agree with his disability claim had come to a successful end. A long wait-an interesting to compare….these three veterans began their disability claim around the same time. I don’t know the outcome of Calvin’s claim.

Yesterday it was Mikes wife.

Mike was 64. His wife told me he had died-and there will be no obituary; they had been apart for a long while; like John Prine sings in one of his songs “others had forced him (Mike) to live in his head” and that way of living is alone. Melanie told me he drank himself to death in a motel. Alone. I know he abandoned his claim; it is not a part of this but yet it is, the timeline. It is important because the justice that is involved in being validated-at least-for the facts of the damages that sexual trauma inflicts, and the fact that no one cared when the crime was committed….like most-he was told to shut up. No one helped; no one  helped Calvin. No one helped JR. No one helped!

This is about three veterans! This is about three veterans multiplied many times with a countless population of many others that enlisted to willingly serve the United States, and returned home dishonored and silently wounded by ‘military sexual trauma’.

The pain is over for Calvin and Mike. The pain for guys like me-and the females surviving MST….is not-and endures. For JR, his pain too-endures; it rots our insides with anxiety and no self esteem. Interestingly….when JR contacted me years back-too; he wanted to give up-life; most of us secretly do. JR was talking suicide….and I told him to go right on and do it; I told him not to forget-he was stealing from God, but-I got the point that suicide was an easy exit to end this pain.  He changed his mind. He has no ideas on the millions of times my own misery has suggested the same idea.

April is ‘National Rape and Sexual Assault Awareness’ month! I encourage every family and individual effected by sexual trauma….any sexual contact that is unwanted-is sexual trauma! Military Sexual Trauma is equally trauma with campus rape, and children molested, and family sexual abuses….when you hear the story coming from the voice of a child; I encourage all to become involved in a community event rallying for truth and justice-and against sexual trauma. Learn how to understand; learn how important help for a victim is paramount for the survival. Less we lose more to a lonely life ending in a motel room.

God rest you guys in Peace.

 

 

 

February 23, 2017

Forty-seven years ago-yesterday, February 22 1970, I was awakened with five other men housed in detention barracks D…USN station, James River VA. We were roused up at 0430-unexpected-and were told to get ready. We were being discharged.

All of this was a surprise. Up until this moment we were expecting some sort of sentence to prison; I was told five years for my ‘case’. There was no-case.

I do not know all of the story! Oh yes….it happened to me-but there are missing pieces, many-many missing pieces. For my part-I was trying to go home to DC to wish my grandmother ‘merry crixmix’ then Christmas now crixmix and my poorly planned idea landed me in the detention barracks….AWOL due to the big blizzard of December 1969.  Every detail is written among the pages of my blog….except those missing pieces….so to expedite to reach what I really want to say this morning, 47 years ago I was discharged-freed from the two months of sexual torment endured by me in detention barracks D.

Why? Why am I writing this?

Every man and woman with a history of sexual abuse-has a story. All of us can tell about what led up to the incidents-and what life has been since the terrible time. It is complicated; some of us told, some of us hid in fear-shame-stigma of some origin in disregard for how serious the victims of sexual trauma have been injured.

Military Sexual Trauma-MST-is a further depth in injury. What happened to any victim in the military is no different than the effects of an assault is to a civilian. It is a crime-and it destroys. It is not-pleasure to the victim.  What adds to the injury of the sexually assaulted serving in the military is multiplied by the fraternity of military platoons, or company of men and woman all assigned to one group of specialized teams; privacy in keeping an assault confidential-is missing! The ‘fraternal’ history of such platoons of persons is deemed in jeopardy to be tainted; the chain of command would be involved; the treat of ruining one criminals career in military service; all among many threats to the victim / survivor. Justice is often avoided, and non-existent.

Enlisting in the military was my impression of serving my country; my era of the 1960’s was exploding with civil rights marches in the south; violent scenes. Also-equally in focus those days was the War in Viet Nam. It was easily understood that young men 18 and older were to serve in the military after graduation from high school. It was the natural thing to do!  I was proud to enlist, most all of us are. I never expected what would happen only few months from boot camp.

Today-I have friends from over the years; friends who served in Viet Nam. I am forced by shame, and embarrassment, and guilt…the guilt that I do not deserve, and yet it eats at my soul-to keep quiet about my service. I was injured in the most humiliating degradation one person-or more-can inflict on another, but-not in combat. I enlisted intending to serve.

Each one of us-survivors of sexual trauma; molestation-rape; each of us has our individual story to tell; not one is pleasant nor easy to tell about. I lived for 35 years after the date before I was angry enough to finally speak out; I know-as a man-there are many of us as silent, yet-I have a female friend who described her own story of being raped-and she kept silence out of fear longer than I, her era prohibited any such notion to be talked about.

The crime itself is disgusting enough; but-the unfairness to the victims, and injustice of so many cases, so many cases never heard because of silence from fear, so many cases silent because of a victim not even knowing the trauma is a crime. Murder is almost polite in a sense-there are answers, the crime is considered so serious….efforts are made to capture a criminal, a funeral answers everything to the  bereaved-at least of everything, they know what happened!  For those of us who understand-the disservice our rapists left us with is a troubled mind, my attackers would have solved so much more-if they had killed me. My family-to this day, my children and grandchildren, live around me in my post traumatic world….only-the do not understand what it is that makes me be the way I often am; sullen…anti social…no interest in public crowded places….alcohol and drugs of every imagination, all of these things have been or still are; thankfully-I no longer feel like being drunk, and-I managed to end hard drug use 20 years or more, back then. Never the less….sullen and fear of my phobic ways in public places still exist.

And-there is no equal justice.

Peace

 

 

 

 

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February 4, 2017

Like the song ‘Deja Vu’ from Woodstock; or like the movie favorite ‘Groundhog Day’; today is yesterday-and is yesterday-and is yesterday. Every day begins the same. The memory-the after effects….the same.  It is something that I want to go away, but instead as older sores break away new ones like a cancer grow back. The same-each one, each time. It is called post traumatic stress disorder-and I will never be able to explain how miserable it is. I definitely can not explain what triggers the blast of fear.

Trying to explain this-the post traumatic stress disorder -PTSD-to anyone who has no clue is a fairly mute point. I’m being honest, I can’t hardly figure it myself. There are times when things are perfect and it seems all of life is surrounded by rainbows with a pot of gold at the end of each one. And then-boom….a black hole of misery attacks the peace.  It does-me.

This time last year-one of my sons family was affected by a sexual crime. His father in law….it is just-bad. He did plead guilty this past July; he is serving 12 years in the state prison.

I knew the man, and his wife, and the children-one the victim-only by casual if only by brief “hello”….nothing else.  It is how this man did what he did all the time thinking of himself, and-no one else. He is in prison. His wife-in shock; his adult children-in shock. It is beyond shock! It is devastating how his vile actions are whittling away the love of what remains.

Me too! I am hardly someone the man may have considered waving to as often as he never stopped by my house to say “how’s it been”….hundreds of times; easily-but it never happened, but even then-I could hardly care. There is something about some persons; he had something.

It made me sick. I explained this to my son. I am not a victim in his deviance, however-to have known somebody who has done this to a child so close in the family; to know somebody that has done this to a child-anywhere….but this being so immediately in our family circle (more so my sons….they all attended church together). Anyway-the point I’m trying to make is how this one man being a demented criminal has emotionally destructed an entire family of good people.

Those of us who have endured the unwanted; we know how the world crumbles around us after the perpetrator is gone. A few years ago at a sexual assault awareness rally I spoke at the open mike portion of the program; I told the crowd that murder is more polite than rape. At least in a murder case the family and friends know the obvious answers…what happened. With rape-and sexual trauma-our personalities hide; mine-has been joined by disassociated behavior – much to the confusion to everybody close to me. Unless we have told anyone, usually we do not, the confusion of what is wrong-can last in a family for the rest of your life; it has mine. Deja vu…..good morning, good morning, good morning, good morning…..

Peace

January 29, 2017

I do not want to be an alarmist…but-there is a buzzer going off in my head.

First…I am honest about this everyday-I do not understand politics; if a man tells me something, I listen, and then wait until there is proof.

Looking back at the last nine days I have seen enough to worry me.

I know the MST-veteran. I know the PTSD that is attached. I know the shame; and-the guilt. What I do not know is what will become of the willingness to report a sexual attack while on active duty; or after military discharge….now!

My term for those of us who are living with the post-trauma of military sexual trauma is “the Silent Wounded”. We stay quiet because of the fear of reprisal from the fraternal ranks and the condemnation of ” do you know what you’re saying?” if you were brave enough to report the assault. And now-I fear-a larger threat!

I wrote my thoughts the other day-and today they seem stronger. The facts. And, alternate facts. Of course-we know-alternate facts-are fiction; worse yet-they are lies.

This is not about me; it is about all of us -the silent wounded.

More than ever-we need to speak up. Our silence can turn out to be strength and power…only if we ended it. It can be strength and power-for you, and for many. There are so many of us who are hurting inside and in silence.

I am determining on my own by looking at the past nine days that seeking justice during the new administration-or president-or who ever ends up in charge of this era of the Veterans Administration….there will be no sympathy for the sexual traumatized veteran. I fear-any active duty personnel-who by chance experience sexual trauma while in service tour country….will be silenced by  this lack of sympathy.

Peace

 

 

 

January 21, 2017-or-what’s next?

January 21, 2017

I know I am not alone in saying we as a Nation are apprehensive about the coming four years; I want to write an ‘anti ‘ article about the individual that was sworn to defend out Constitution yesterday, our 45th President. Heck…there is enough ‘anti’ about the man that there is nothing more I could add to tip the canoe  (and dump the Trump), the National Mall facing the US Capital showed everyone that-yesterday….empty in comparison to previous inaugurations.

There is-one huge concern, and that is mixed in upon another huge concern, which has trails of other huge concerns-behind the first…..sexual assault, and persons with disabilities.

This is hard to wrap myself around. I am not a political person at all. I’d rather be away from everything where it is safer. It never goes that way, but….

A long time ago when the young John McCain (AZ Senator)came home from being freed from a Viet Nam POW camp-he the person-became a hero to me. It was not on the date he returned that hero thoughts entered my head, no-it was reading his experience in that misery of POW’s.

Now-this is not to reign praise over him because of his position. It is to express-reading of the torture and broken limbs and countless inhumane miseries added. I feel my stomach turn every time I reflect on his experience.

And then in his political campaign the man who is now our ‘president’ tells Americans he does not see John McCain as a anything except someone who was captured. His statement “I don’t like people who were captured” resonates in my head…for the sake all veterans.

I have many mixed feelings about this, but if this is how the POTUS feels about a true hero-one who was there in combat-one who survived his plane being shot out from under him-and the years of torture that followed; what does he think of veterans with PTSD…and to drop us further down the chain of command, PTSD due to the psychological damages of sexual trauma.

Sexual trauma.

I am sick of people who think that the ‘sexual’ in trauma means that the trauma is not so much of a big deal to worry about; it has been said to me…”it’s just sex”, and the supposed nurturing statement…”are you still on that subject-get over it”.

I have to express how PTSD can and does effect the life of all who are injured in this way; I have fright in ways many could laugh at-but I promise-the seizure of PTSD is horrific.

I have to express  how having another person and persons over take you with fists in the face and kicks to the body and forcing things unbelievable on you….it is not….sexual. It is assault! It is trauma! It is criminal…and not fun, as those who exist that mistake it for being a good time. It is not for jokes; nor-locker room banter. There is nothing fun or funny about sexual trauma-at all.1239

It was not-and still-is not a comfortable feeling that the POTUS has the impression that he being the high power celebrity has the right to sexually assault woman because of his position. His appointee to the Attorney General has commented that “grabbing a woman’s ….” privates is not sexual assault.

Am I making sense?

And – this morning – various newspapers have told us the White House has deleted the LGBT page from their website (their?….ours!!) and also scrubbed the ‘disabilities’ page; remembering the scene during the campaign where Trump mimics a disabled journalist?

This man will never understand PTSD. This man will never understand sexual trauma!

Of course….my political view? I doubt if this man understands any of us-nor does he care about anything else, especially who WE are!

Peace

 

 

 

the photo speaks for itself

January 16, 2017

I am Jay Herron-and this is my photograph.

I am a survivor of military sexual trauma; after all these years of writing it…most of you already know. For those who do not; I have pretty much laid out my life here. But-to be point blank-I am a male rape survivor.

This blog covers several years of bmy being a victim and living a life with the stigma and the added PTSD. All of that is here. I have written about my battle with the VA…here too.

All of that-the battle for justice….I guess as far as the VA is concerned, is over. I was successful in my case, but that is about the limit.

I still suffer the PTSD. That will be forever.

Living with the after of my assault(s) has always been a struggle-it still is a struggle-even now that I am 65 years old and yet the moment of time in 1969 has frozen into a memory of haunting proportions.

I suppose none of that being said is encouraging-but it is a fact of our life. Getting used to it-is not an option, and as long as it has been imbedded in my soul-like a callous-I doubt if there will ever be a comfort zone for me.

The other day-I had to pee quite readily, only to enter the public restroom where I was shopping….another person was already there-never the less-always there; the fear made me agonize until I could find a private place (such as a tree in the woods). A constant fear.

 

All of that explained;  I became detached from writing this blog. The problem is-I began something that I have to finish. My local VA PTSD clinic sent me to speak to the DVA advocate in mmy area. It was not easy to explain in detail my story to retired US Marine red neck gunny sergeant who had only one serious comment saying “gee-you never thought homosexuals have a reason to rape each other”….and-he was firm serious.

 

There are problems for the MST (military sexual trauma) veteran. Deep-serious problems; they need to be heard and regarded as sacred private and respected with dignity; not treated with hillbilly humor.

 

Like I have said before-I am disconnected from the VA; no longer do I feel comfortable with them-for ‘health care’ when these occasions happen that are traumatic as well.

In the past years-I became acquainted with Lynn Johnson-photojournalist-specifically to use her connections and ability to raise awareness for the light of the veteran-of MST.

Yesterday we visited; an idea came to the table where Lynn recalled the Viet Nam era when the photos of the casualties of the war were published in LIFE magazine. No story line-just the photos of the young faces killed in war.

It had an impact.

We talked about doing something similar and to develop a traveling exhibit to show in VA clinics and other venues where discussion and hopes may be born. Where the knowledge of the plight of MST can be told by the faces of each of us.

Thus-my photo here today.

Of course-this only just began about 15 hours ago in conversation….we are adamant that awareness and actions are paramount in a time where still-nothing proper is being done.

Would something like this-be of interest to you?

Comment-please!

Peace

 

old pop three

2017=47 years of PTSD

January 1, 2017
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Forty-seven years ago today I woke in a bunk at detention barracks D on a US Navy base on the James River-Virginia. Twenty-seven hours earlier I had been sexually traumatized.

Today is ‘new years’ day….the wee hour of early morning before the sounds of roosters. In my constant replay of this period of my life I hear the muffled sounds of sleep and snoring across the barracks…actually-my mind begins to react to waking and an inventory in my head begins; an inventory of this date-of where I am-and what surrounds me-and the thought of how I ended up in this place, now my home-my home since 1975.

The inventory is searching for the sounds…now missing excepting when I ‘hear’ them in a space only my mind occupies, also the stink of jail and a hundred men or so breathing and farting in a closed building day after day after day.

Also the fear. There is a lasting fear, an insecurity of not feeling totally safe….and-since 1975 I have lived deep in a forest on a land-bound island of sheer privacy, and yet-there is the fear.

The inventory expands when I make myself coffee-and eventually to the worse reminder, the toilet.

The toilet.

I do not require a check off sheet. I know every hard memory of he events leading up to my being taken to barracks D. I know them because huge remnants won’t even wash off in the shower. There are reminders there-too.

So…fast forward through the years of booze abuse and drug abuse and personal physical abuse….that one in particular I referred to as “damage control” because I was doing the damage-to me-and had no control; the damages were trying to relive the events on and on as if for some reason I had some other person inside of me controlling what I did with out my permission….solely to get hurt-again; for 30 some odd years I self destructed….enter the Veterans Administration Medical Center, Gainesville FL.

First thing is….I am a male. So when? When is there a time-and where is there a safe place for male rape victims to go? Who do we talk to?

For thirty-five years I kept my mouth shut-in shame-of my non-military service during an era where other kids my age where being shot at and trying to kill the enemy….not being detained in detention-FOR NOTHING!!

For all the years I had to live in silence all the time falling on my face from trying to drink the memory out of my mind.

It is still here.

The memory….they call it PTSD.

Let me be honest…all the VA wanted to do was medicate me!

That is when I had enough.

So I became an angry MST (military sexual trauma) veteran when the VA instructed me to seek validation for my ‘injury’ of post traumatic stress by sending me to my local DVA advocate to file for a disability.

Every bit of the idea confounded me…and yet I went into a world of proof of why I kept my silence in the first place!

“Gee….you never think homosexuals
need a reason to rape each other” the DVA guy said seriously.

That pretty much sealed the deal for me. Anybody that could think that-is not a person victim of this crime-and never found justice.

I began writing fiercely during the period of my filing a VA claim-hopeful to help other silent wounded to come forward and seek justice; the empowerment of many to face the VA and make the VA face the facts….MST is real and it is serious….
AND-no survivor should be handed over to a DVA advocate to further the hope for justice.
Never!

The last few years my attention to any of this was avoided-because my eventual contact with other survivors began to weigh on me. I am just a high school drop out who enlisted to serve my country. I am just a guy. I am just somebody around.
But-the injustice of it all still eats at me-on top of the memories that are everlasting. It became difficult to maintain my own sanity and then adding more of me on top of that in the words of other survivors-it became hard to assume all of the history of each experienced assault.

I still want change in the process for the silent wounded.
It should not be in the care of a DVA advocate.

The moment a veteran opens up about any sexual trauma while in military service,,,,MUST have sensitive care.
Not care from someone that concludes rape as some type of sexual misbehavior on both parts; as something humorous; as something which is the victims fault.

I am older and tired now more than ever-had a heart attack and seven hours of procedures to open an artery almost two years ago. I’m worn out. BUT-I am still pissed at the insensitive manner that the VA treated me with….and-mistreats so many others.
I hope to renew my writing and commentary  and efforts  although I have not entered a VA in over five years….I still am angry the now-still in 2017….no improvement in this has yet to enforce change.

I hope to raise that up where we can make a change; and open an easier sensitive led process to justice.

Peace017

July 17, 2015

davey and cooker 009

So…here is the easy of it! Nothing has changed!!

You all know the story-it is told here in several years of writings; PTSD and the MST that brought it on and has kept it alive…still is.

It is true that my claim against the Veterans Administration came back as 100% fully disabled; here is what that means:

I continue to live alone with three dogs as my companions; my bed sheets continually spread with sand from the two Chihuahuas that persist on being up there in comfort; my other companions are the crevice spiders; I lay down most nights praying “why can’t I be normal” and still wake everyday – meaning…everyday – taking a mental inventory of my surroundings, and my memory of the detention barrack D and the daily assault on my body. I still fear crowds and as always I have good intentions on going to art openings where I know friends will be – but my anxiety of the state of panic prevents me from going; I am so embarrassed by my absences; and – being totally void of any relationship of intimacy since 1998 is taking a toll on my spirits. I am clueless.

Yes, there is the compensation that joins with the VA 100%.

Money does not make happy. Money makes miserable. It does not meet the damage of the PTSD with any comfort. Now a days most of my compensation goes to paying my current hospital bills from a heart attack and subsequent seven hour surgery to open an artery early this year; FREE at the VA hospital….but-I so deeply fear the VA hospital….I requested the ambulance to take me to any place but there! So-I am paying for my medical care out of the compensation I receive. Next time around – I promise – I will not dial 911; I want to just lean up against a tree and watch the birds, and simply pass.

I still cook my meals on the grill-outside…there is an oven in the kitchen, only used one time by my sister in law years ago; I brew my coffee on one burner-once a day, finally – the gas company removed the cylinder due to my long periods between gas purchase since I use so little! My house? It has been tightened up better than the many years it saw too much open air; but – it is the same house since day one from its arrival to me 20 some years ago-after someone else lived in it for 20 years before.

I refuse to change living this way because the facts that led us here in 1975 are the same factors that want me to keep this place the same (the suggestions have been to bulldoze and build-are not for me) because I never want to lose the connection of why and how we came to live here; it was not easy – ever!

It was what God gave me.

Peace

Fathers Day 1970

July 2, 2015

b'nai cemetery 022   Forty-five years ago on Fathers Day I found myself homeless and yet beginning a journey; my life journey. I was 18 years old.

Nine years ago another journey began-a journey when I started writing this blog. I had to stop a few years ago; my own inability to handle my own life and fears became overwhelmed trying to load it with the struggles of others; in explanation-there were too much of me in others that I found that I had to let it go-or else!

I am still weak. I still battle the fear, and find myself in company with isolation. The worse of it is-the accurate visions of the pasts that disturb my life in the first place!

Last week on Fathers Day as I have done each year since 1970 (when possible) I return to the B’nai Israel Cemetery that gave me refuge on my first day.  Then I give thanks for the way God worked to lead me then-and guide me now! I confess-it will be a good day on the last day!

What I want to say is not so easy with out covering much of what is already told in the contents of this blog….a journal that began when the Veterans Administration (VA) and my experience with Military Sexual Trauma (MST) became entwined, sort of a circumstance of the VA expressing sympathy and offering hope and beating the shit out of me to be sure neither would be mistaken for true. It is all to deep to explain in just a few moments with a few words….but here is the easiest….1970 is my year of infamy, if only to me in private. I kept so many things quiet and hidden in my soul-then.

It is still the same-just is-the callous has gotten harder! The PTSD has kept right on going as a relentless foe. I celebrate alone four words that s written on my VA disability decision where the judge wrote “exonerated from any wrongdoing”….alone because the person I had most hoped to see them (my father) had died before they came. The liberation from blame belongs only to me-but yet-the guilt and shame still wake with me each morning as since 1970; I am trying to say “it is never over”!

It was a beautiful day walking through the cemetery. The city was just outside the walls but somehow it seemed quiet; the cemetery is slightly larger than it was in 1970 and even though it still has a quaint sense, peaceful and very private.

Birds are like signs to me; my photographs taken from my visit were just random. my eyes can’t focus the camera any more-so my pictures are a thing of chance; I was thrilled to learn a fledgling had left its nest-and landed on this tombstone when it did! Another sign from a bird…this time a baby bird just beginning life free from the nest….soon to mount up with wings to fly it through life; just like the wings God gave me.

Peace