Taylors Helping Hands is a charitable organization dedicated to the memory of Taylor E Cothran.

  2 Corinthians 1:2-4 "Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Churst, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God."(NIV)


Home Moms Blog

April 3, 2009

I knew there was a method to my madness! Being prepared is a good thing! Here I sit, after 15 hours sleeping because I am sick as a dog with allergies or cold or Taylor's dreaded Bradford Pear blooming killing season (bless your heart son, those pear trees are worse than kudzu). Brushing my teeth would be a good start. I just realized that going to Mexico means I am going on. I planned to not go on. And yet, I am doing what I did, before. Maybe it's a good thing I don't fully realize what I am doing, maybe my head won't clear up until I stand in the desert. I'm not sure I like this, moving on. My mind is still perpetually hung on October 4, the day before things changed forever. I see all the 'kids' moving on. I can't blame them, but I do. Parents who are in the exact same place I was 2 years ago- "blah, blah, college, blah prom, blah, scholarships". BLAH. I can't blame them,  but I do. So, maybe I am moving at the speed of life, but my heart is not required to go too. Just my outsides. My insides still belong to where my heart is happy. My memories, my family. My past.

This is my friend Eric, aka Chunky from the Dominican and Taylor.

I am so thankful for the opportunnity to take this trip, it reminds me of the true order of life. I'm not home yet. Click 3 times, there's no place like home. Come on Toto.

 

April 2, 2009

Well, old habits die hard. It's just hard to pack for a week in a back pack. But I can say I am about 1/3 less than normal. I may cull down some more. Instead of adding to, I'll take away.

I remember the first trip. My friend was supposed to go with me and dropped out at the last minute. I had culture shock to beat all culture shock. I cried, was so homesick. Then 2 weeks after I got back, I realized it was 'me'. So it should be Tom and Taylor too. Tara was too young, but I need the boys so see this. And like obedient soldiers, Tom and Taylor who just finished the 8th grade agreed to go. Taylor found a buddy in 17K, the community they built a church. Bloddy. The 2 of them would take off on his moped around this neighborhood and go to his house and play Nintendo. No fear and culture knew no border. He even sent Taylor a picture he drew several months later. Then 2 years later I am back in 17K for some medical clinics. I met this lady, and through talking back and forth through translators, she discovered she knew who I was. She ran home and came back with a photo- of Taylor and Bloddy- it was his mom. She said that he loved Taylor so much and he had such a good time with him that week. She still kept a photo of the 2 of them. Funny, or not haha funny, a couple years after that I asked Pam about them, Yomera was her name. She said they had moved from 17K. No one knew what or where they were. In my American, entitled, rich way- even though it was not evil, thought about the sad prospects for Bloddy. No education, the high death rate from unnatural causes, the diseases, poverty. Now here I sit. I wish I could find Bloddy now. I wonder if maybe I can get Pam find him. But people move in these squatters communities and there is no forwarding address. I hope he's ok. I'd like to tell him about Taylor.

This photo is one of my favorites, Taylor on the back of Bloddy's moped off to parts unknown! Random Fun.

 

April 1,2009

Ok. This would be the perfect day for the April Fools trick... No? Oh, you mean every day is April Fools? But the trick is that it's true. I definately see a trail of emotions since October. They say youth is wasted on the young. I agree. But knowledge  is also best looked at from the back end.  I know so much more than, 'back when I knew it all' and that just means pre Oct 07. I would rather cut off my arms and legs with a toenaail clipper than go through this again. But I do know things now. Things I don't want to know. Things I can't forget. That sentance looks like something a vet from WW1 or Vietnam would write. But you know, it kind of is. Post traumatic stress. The common thread I think is the randomness and the violence and the fear and the utter lack of control over you or anything around you (kind of a thick thread) that can take a life, and leave you wishing it had taken yours.

I really need to start packing. This is unreal. I may just be the one, who I had secretly wished I could be, the one, Steve, who takes everything he needs for a week in a 3rd world country, in a back pack. I wondered how he could do that. I wanted to be that person. Leave the 'baggage' at home, don't carry around all over the world your physical and spiritual baggage and monkey's. So, I drug my backpack, carry on, my XL suitcase popping at the zipper from here to parts all over. Never far from my 'baggage'.

I may just be Steve this year.