Joy left home at 18 with a boy her minister father didn’t approve of. Joy and Mike marry in Vegas and arrive in LA. Shortly thereafter Joy discovers she’s pregnant and before she gives birth Mike is killed in a motorcycle accident. Broke, pregnant and widowed, Joy calls home. Her father, Art, says, “You’ve made your bed. Now lie in it.” He hangs up on her.
All my mother has inspired me to do is to be as much not like her as I possibly can. So maybe she has inspired me and I’m thankful for that.
Boy, I’ll tell you, when I get home I am going to step up the exercise routine. I can’t stand the idea of getting old and weak.
I can be sympathetic and empathetic, but when people don’t do anything to take care of themselves, to take the reins of their own lives and health and well-being, then I wonder why I should help them when they won’t help themselves.
God forbid you should reimburse people who take their valuable time to assist you.
I went through Dad’s desk. He gave me copies he had of all the lab tests, etc., that have been run on him over the years, some MRI result reports. I would like to get this Dr. Sub’s records also. Maybe Sacry has those. I will ask. Yesterday I went…
When you moved away I thought I’d die
But all it meant was I gave you wings to fly