My heart might have shattered over the last ten years, had I felt some entitlement to breathe the same air as the heroes I admire. Somehow, my worship of real-life warriors was diminished by the crushing reality that I might be a freak of nature, that I have no right to the square foot I occupy on earth.

Ever mindful of the barriers and foot-falls that were strategically placed in my path to humble me, there was always the buried acknowledgement that these obstacles were gifts. God knows, and only Him, what kind of arrogance I might have called upon to become the kind of person I detest.

I was given a handful of gifts, the least of which was an awareness of my imperfections. The standard I measured myself against, was not a yardstick that I would hold up to anyone else's worth, but I have been unmerciful when it comes to self evaluation.

Now, if I was being fair, I'd have to admit that-- gifts aside, I was not given any advantages. I was raised in a home that didn't allow for my potential to flourish. My nature was such that I wanted to be a star, but in time I learned how to applaud others with passion and trade in my aspirations, leave the stage, and sit behind the foot lights. I tried not to be noticed and yet my awareness continued to increase with every shadow that offered me camouflage,

Quite honestly, I'd trade in my evaluations and understanding for the right to start over as a petite blonde with a cup size that surpassed my IQ.

It's reasonably easy to dissolve in the crowd. There are a very few basic rules, the least of which demands that you pay your own way and I have. While I fully acknowledge the helping hands that noticed me, and still can tap into tears, I still dismiss any right to happiness--whatever that means.

I'm pretty certain that life is supposed to be a joyful respite from enlightenment, a lark, an adventure, a frolic with senses, but for me, it has been a burden.

While I was alone, fighting for my humanity, I didn't take stock of the impact that my existence might create. Because the gods have a tremendous sense of humour, they honoured me with a child and from the moment he was born, I was transformed.

The protective biology kicked in and while not trying to protect him from truth, I was determined to give him an appreciation of his gifts. He is an amazing man, perhaps in spite of me or quite probably, because of me.

For those of you who have suffered with my angst and heartfelt sorrow; my son's marriage, the fall-out and repercussions, please accept my gratitude. I know, without a doubt, that although he is not an old soul, he is not fresh to this journey. I don't even remember what it felt like to breast feed, bandage his wounds, but I will always remember bubble baths and bedtime cuddles, stories and fantasies we spun as the moon scraped the sky and stars winked at our innocence.

Because of my writing, my stories crept into areas where once the pony express, once upon a time, was the only form of communication. Today, like-minded people found me and their investment in truth mirrored my own. Without a doubt, they are reading this post. I have received your hate mail and some effectively have hurt me, as was your intent, but I will repeat what I have said to Michael many times...down to the last piece of concrete, the last piece of wood, I'm there for you.

Please don't underestimate my willingness to take this to the limit. Pull in your claws before I really get pissed off. I'm only human.