Last night when I was laying in bed, I was listening to the complete silence of my house.  There was complete silence except for the “ding, ding, ding, ding” of Nica Toña’s collar.  You see, kittens are superb hiders; almost like little ninjas.   When a kitten is acclimating to a new environment it is almost imperative that they have some type of tracking device attached to them.  (Hence the bell)  You should also know that kittens are relatively nocturnal.  By nature, they hide and sleep during the day so that they can learn to hunt and play under the cloak of darkness.  Domestication of the cat has not changed these innate characteristics of felines.  Nica Toña happens to be a first generation domesticated kitten, so this nocturnal nature is extremely strong in her. DING, DING, DING, DING, DING, DING, DING, DING, DING… it is a small bell but in a quiet house during the hours of slumber, it is extremely loud.  It rings with such fervor that it mimics the rhythm of an AK-47.  I have told many people that it would not surprise me to learn that she is not a full-blooded house cat.  I believe that she is part ocelot or puma or some other type of wild Nicaraguan jungle animal.  All 3 pounds of her attack with fierce athletic ability and she is unafraid of my 22-pound tomcat.  My hands are already scarred from her navy seal approach to my every move.  Yes, I am cussing each and every one of you that made any effort to aid in the transport of Nica Toña to the United States.

There is also the matter of the cat box.  I love cats.  I really do.  They are interesting, amazing, beautiful creatures.  Their urine, however, is the vilest smelling substance on the planet.  I HATE cat boxes.  I hate cat boxes so much that I took a jigsaw to the door separating my laundry room and living room, cut a hole in it, and placed a pet door.  I also took a jig saw to the laundry room door leading into the garage, cut a hole in it and also placed a pet door as to allow my cats access to their cat boxes which are conveniently located in my garage.  My house does not smell like a cat box.  Ever.  Well, until now.  As of now, I have a cat box in my bathroom because Nica is too small to maneuver herself out into the garage.  It is disgusting.  Although I scoop it at least once a day, I can still smell it.  I hate it.  I also hate that when I step out of my shower with wet feet I always seem to find the 1 or 2 grains of scoopable cat litter that have made their way out of the box and onto my bathroom floor.  Yes, I am cussing each and every one of you that made any effort to aid in the transport of Nica Toña to the United States.

At least that was how I was feeling last night and when I got out of bed this morning.  After making the kids’ blueberry pancakes for their before-school meal, I was tending to the family catchall countertop in my kitchen.  Everyone puts everything on that counter for me to go through.  I try to do this daily because I do like a tidy house.  (My family pokes fun and calls me Kathy Clean-up because of my need for things to be just so)  The counter acts as a central location for the items that the family needs for me to take care of.  Mail, school papers, permission slips, and to-do lists… they all end up on that counter. Anyway, as I was sorting through papers I came across a holiday project that Camille had completed at school.  In one of her classes, they had made a snow globe fashioned from paper and plastic.  It was pretty neat.  It even had a picture of her inside of it.  She was smiling and waving at me through the manufactured snow globe.  I liked it and felt a twinge of guilt in my heart as I picked it up and placed it into the pile of items I was sending to the recycle bin.  (I absolutely cannot keep every single art project that she brings home.  It is ridiculous.  I just can’t do it.)  The next item in the pile was the story that acted as a narrative for the snow globe project.  It said, “If I lived in a snow globe I would make snowmen and drink hot chocolate, wear gloves and a scarf along with a jacket.  I would eat ginger bread and always say hello to my neighbors.  So I could sleep, I would live in a ginger bread house and I would have a cat named Nica who lived with me.”  

And then it was gone.  The resentment that I had for all of you that aided in the transport of that sweet little jungle-cat from Nicaragua to my home had disappeared.  I remembered that you all helped heal the broken heart of my child who was incorporating the memory of the kitten she had left behind into her schoolwork.  I remembered how sweetly and intently Camille had listened to the story of how Nica had missed her initial flight to the US and had to spend the night in Houston.  How she had felt so sorry for Nica when I told her that the kitty was so freezing when she first arrived to the airport because she wasn’t used to the cold temperatures.  I thought about how I had allowed Camille to read my blogs the day after she had arrived to find Nica on the front porch.  How she had cried when she read them. I thought about how every single time I call out for Nica in our house when Camille is home she says, “Nica is with me mom.”  That is always the answer, whether she is curling her hair in the bathroom or studying in her bedroom.  I remembered how after looking at the list of donors on the GoFundMe website she said, “Wow, mom.  I feel so…. so…. loved.” 

So to those of you who made an effort to aid in the transport of Nica Toña to the United States, I am not really cussing you.  What I am really doing is thanking you.  You made my daughter feel loved and showed her that dreams can come true.  You also showed her that together, people could make the impossible possible.  As for me, I have been a little overwhelmed throughout this adventure.  After 41 years of always trying to do the right thing, always trying to help others and always searching for a purpose, I was feeling a little tired.  I was feeling a little lonely.  I was feeling a little lost.  I was feeling a lot like George Bailey from It’s a Wonderful Life when he was on the bridge in the blizzard wishing it would all just end.  And then I went on a mission trip to Nicaragua and my daughter met Nica Toña.  And then my friends and family came together to help me salvage my daughter’s sense of hope. And now I feel like George Bailey at the end of It’s a Wonderful Life because all of you have made me feel so very special, too. So thank you again and again and a thousand times over. Thank you.  In the words of Camille Morrison, I feel so…so… loved.

PS- The snow globe project and story are safely tucked away with our Christmas memories to cherish. 

Something has occurred to me over the past few months while watching the news. I have seen Al Sharpton run to the rescue of the Ebola injustices. I have heard Jessie Jackson speak to the oppression in Ferguson. I have seen outrage over police brutality.  I have seen police officers murdered in their squad cars in New York and gunned down in Florida.  I have seen debate after debate on social media regarding the current state of unrest in our nation. I have attempted to cover my ears but am finding it impossible. 

We as a nation are being flooded with information that separates us into 2 groups instead of uniting us as one. 

There is no need for me to cite the history of our country to you. I am sure that you all know it well. While I can see that we have made great strides in equality in our country, I have been perplexed for quite some time regarding the reasons that we cannot bridge that final gap between Americans in regard to the color of our skin. I believe I have found the answer:

The media. 

The media loves to stir the pot. We have both ends of the spectrum being thrown at us continually.  Fox News used to be known for unbiased reporting. Now it seems they have swung far to the right. CNN reports to the extreme far left. The truth lies somewhere in between. They use key words that strike chords with us. (Black, unarmed, white, teen, unjust, loot, riot, justice, racism, father, son, mother, innocent, etc). The media survives because they suck us in. They report only what will separate and leave out what will unite. Take for instance the reporting on the recent issues in Ferguson. The media would have you believe that the entire population was looting their own community. This is not true. I know it's not. To only cover the looters is showing "white America" how dangerous and violent "black America" is. They weren't covering the business owners who have lost everything. They weren't covering the people who cannot work now because it is dangerous or because they no longer have a place to work.  The media is perpetuating a stereotype that they have created.  They do not heavily cover black police officers shooting white unarmed teens or black officers shooting black teens. They only cover what will divide. 

Racism still exists. I know it does. However, I do believe we are heading in the right direction overall as a nation. The media is doing everything in its power to prevent that.  

Unlike most people I am not color blind nor do I want to be. I am a white woman. I have a black son. I have an Asian husband. I embrace that. I love that. They are beautiful, our differences. My dream is for everyone to see that beauty. Unfortunately the media does not share my dream. 

I am tired of extremists being the only voice for people of color, all colors.  I am tired of racist Caucasians representing my voice. I believe that the majority of Americans are less polarized than we are being led to believe by the media and I have been pondering how we can change that. The answer? Change the media. Join together as a nation and make them stop.

Someone needs to stand up and hold the media accountable. They are inciting riots. They are controlling our government, our citizens, our businesses and our future with their agenda. They are targeting individuals and ruining lives. It cannot be legal. They have taken the First Amendment and twisted it into a shameful, biased blanket under which to hide from responsibility. The media has become so unethical that it is dividing a nation through misconceptions. They report information as fact and cite it as "a friend of the neighbor of the deceased has stated".  That is gossip. Not fact. 

It's just a crazy idea. You might read this and disregard my words. You might, however, find some truth to my brainstorm. I do not have a voice. I am simply a mother, a wife, and a nurse. My concern is for the future of our children. I am looking for a true civil rights leader, one to represent people of all colors. I am hoping that someone who reads this will see my point of view and help me begin to make these changes.  I am hoping that these changes will happen before my son grows into a man. 

I would like to make history happen now.  If I can’t do it myself or with your help then I will raise my son to be the one I am looking for; the one we should all be looking for.

Portions of this blog were taken from a letter that I wrote to Kevin Jackson, a leader in the black community and a member of the Tea Party.

 When I heard that first meow, I knew we were doomed. My daughter loves animals. My daughter loves turtles. My daughter loves dogs. She loves anything that breathes. Her weakness, however, is a cat. Any cat. Fat, skinny, black, yellow, smelly, soft; it really doesn't matter but if you add the word "kitten" to your description of a feline, Camille will lose her mind. I remember when she was about 2 or 3 we were at my sister's house who had assumed responsibility of a feral cat and her kittens. She had trapped them, taken them for spaying/neutering and kept them current on their shots. She always had food on the porch for them and did what she could to keep them healthy and happy. What she was unable to do was tame them. One evening while searching for our little toddler Camille, we found her on my sister's porch. She was surrounded by the cats. They were climbing on her and sitting in her lap. She was speaking to them softly and petting them. It was a heartwarming and yet bizarre scene. The cats who had no desire to have human contact seemed completely at ease with my tiny child. It was at that moment we deemed her "the cat whisperer." She is 11 now and not much has changed. She has developed into a magnificent young lady with a heart full of love and hands ready for service to others. A few years ago she created a group for environmental awareness, "Camille's Cause". It is a movement to help clean the waterways of our world. She has a Facebook page, an Instagram account and a website. She organizes community clean ups. When I tell you she's magnificent I mean it. To a certain degree she comes by this honestly. Her parents are both nurses and that in itself says a lot about who we are by nature. We recently travelled to remote Nicaragua on a medical mission. After much consideration, we decided that taking Camille along would be a wonderful opportunity for her. We were right. She was exposed to so many horribly sad and terrifically wonderful things. She helped us organize our make-shift clinics. She assisted in exams. She played with the local children. She shed tears for everything that the people of Nicaragua didn't have and felt immense joy for the things that they did have. She was touched by the opportunity to serve. She was also keenly aware that even though there was so much to be done there was actually very little we could do. She felt to a certain degree what the adults were feeling: a sense of helplessness. And then we heard the meow. It was like the shot heard around the world. (Well, her world anyway.) And then she saw her. A tiny little yellow tabby cat right smack dab in the middle of the second poorest nation in the Western Hemisphere. One scared little kitten and one infamous cat whisperer. By now it should come as no surprise to hear that a kitten who had no desire to be touched by anyone else at the hotel was immediately trusting of my daughter. Within the first 30 minutes the kitty was relaxing in Camille's arms. Within an hour the sweet little kitten had a name- Nica Toña. Within 2 hours, the two were napping in a hammock. At lunch, Camille ordered grilled chicken. Just as a parent would do, she portioned the meat and cut one half of her meal into tiny chunks for her new found friend. They posed for selfies, explored the grounds, played, and cuddled. If Camille wasn't carrying her, the kitten was bouncing behind her, elated to have found a sense of security. I could see it happening. A bond was forming and attachments were made by both. It was a classic moment in parenting. Do you allow your child to travel a path that you know will end in heartbreak or do you extinguish the behavior just to spare them the pain? I chose the first instead of the latter. I let her feel that joy. I did not intervene. In fact, I would say that a part of me experienced that joy with her. There is no greater feeling as a parent than to see your child happy; and boy was she happy. Happiness in its purest form is a precious thing. Children experience happiness much differently than adults. They do so without hesitation or reservation. As adults, we know that happiness is generally followed by a degree of pain. Whether it be due to tragedy, failure, or simply the fact that sometimes a memory just isn't enough. The knowledge of this often holds us back. But children do not have knowledge of any of this therefore they love without hesitation and live without fear. As the sun was setting on our last day in Nicaragua, dread was rising deep inside of me. I was looking forward to going to bed knowing that nothing separates us from emotion more than sleep. My hope was that Camille would retire to our room and that the kitten would find its way to her original home. I soon found myself to be the only member of our group left at the table. Camille and many others had gone to bed. I was so relieved. On my way to bed I have to admit that I looked around for Nica without success. My prediction had rang true. She had gone home. My heart felt a twinge of pain but it was nothing compared to the relief I felt as I was walking to our room. I had dodged a bullet. The kitten had left on her own. We could find comfort together in knowing that the cat had used the gift of free will to move on to her next location. Thank you Jesus. When I entered my room, I found my husband and my daughter soundly sleeping. I bent over my daughter's bed to kiss her on the forehead like I do on most nights. And then I felt it. Holy crap. You have got to be kidding me. Curled up in the arms of my sweet angel was that tiny orange tabby cat. As with most people in the world today, I pulled out my iPhone to document this moment in a photograph. Neither Nica nor Camille moved one inch when the camera flashed in the dark room. They were in deep slumber, tightly wound as though they had been together since the beginning of time. As I shared the picture on Facebook to update my friends and family about the situation on social media, i felt my heart beginning to break just thinking of what the morning would bring. Almost immediately comments of support and advice started pouring in. People trying to solve the apparent problem for me. I was given a website for a pet rescue in Managua and one of my friends was attempting to arrange a plane ticket home for Camille's little Nica Toña. It was all coming together. We would be able to make this happen and my child would avoid a broken heart. I almost believed it myself. It wasn't until the finalization of plans was happening that I realized we had one very large missing component: a pet carrier. Where could we get one? It wouldn't be in Las Salinas, we would have to wait for Managua. And still, where? I was willing to chance it. We would carry her in the van and then look for a pet store. We could make this work. It was all very exciting until reality set in. What if it didn't work? We would have travelled 3 hours from Nica's home in the country to a city populated with 3 million people. If we weren't able to get her on the plane, what would we do? Where would she go? Time was not on our side and the odds were not in our favor. The dreams of taking this sweet, innocent creature out of this unforgiving environment were gone. She would stay where she was. She would have to look for food on her own, fight diseases without immunizations and eventually go on to have more kittens to perpetuate the cycle or worse, meet an untimely death. You can't criticize a culture for not caring more for their animals. Things do not come easy for humans in Nicaragua and thus animals are often on their own. I would like to tell you that Camille was not privy to the hopes I had of rescuing Nica from her homeland. No matter the parenting lesson, false hope is simply cruel. I would never do that to anyone, especially my child. As we loaded our vans, Camille and Nica remained in each other's arms. Holding on to the last few moments they would have together. I believed that somehow the kitty also knew that their time was coming to an end. She nuzzled herself deep into Camille's chest as if to become a permanent part of her. When everyone else was preparing to leave, Camille was stealing a final moment with a kindred spirit. She fed Nica some breakfast, possibly the last easy meal the cat will ever have. With tears running down her face she kissed Nica on the head and told her that she would see her next time. Hoping, but not knowing if there was any truth to that. I held my broken daughter on the 3 hour ride to Managua, crying with her and talking her through her pain. She asked if we could send monthly care packages of food and toys to her sweet friend. She explained to me that the next time we traveled with GivingMore to Las Salinas she would be prepared to bring Nica home with her. She would have the paperwork completed and her carry-on would consist of an empty pet carrier ready to be filled with the part of her heart that this time she was being forced to leave behind. As I listened to her, wiping her tears as they fell, I saw a mirrored image of what I was feeling. Sadness knowing that although I had tried to make a lasting impact on Nicaragua it wasn't going to be enough. I also saw something else, though. Something that I had not found on my own but instead had discovered in the spirit of my daughter. It was such an honest and raw existence that I myself had not been able to grasp it because of my tainted, adult view of the world. It was simple. It was hope. Maybe we can actually make a difference, just maybe. So Nicaragua, please listen closely. We will be back. We will bring hands ready for service and hearts full of love. We will bring an empty pet carrier and maybe, just maybe Nica will be there waiting for us to bring her home. 

A question was posed to me on social media that has my mind turning over ideas and answers and attempts to validate why I would be willing to allow people to raise money to fly a tiny orange tabby cat from Nicaragua to Texas.  $2000.  (Okay, it's really $1, 965 but that is close enough to $2,000 to me)

ONE THOUSAND NINE HUNDRED SIXTY FIVE AMERICAN DOLLARS. It really is a lot of money.  It is all pretty interesting considering the fact that when I arrived at DFW from my medical mission trip to Nicaragua, Uber was waiting to drive me to my home.  As I was sitting in the cushioned, leather seats feeling true comfort for the first time in days and noticing how smoothe the roads were a thought came to mind: Our lives are just silly.  Silly.  That is actually the word that came to mind.  We have all of the comforts in the world and yet we take them for granted. We are surrounded by things we don't need.  We buy, buy, buy, until our homes are busting at the seams and then we sell it all in an online garage sale or donate it to those less fortunate just so that we can make room for the constant need to buy and to have.

Silly.

And then a sweet friend of mine started a GoFundMe link to raise money for Nica Toña to come to America.  That tiny little orange tabby cat from Nicaragua that stole the heart of my 6th grade daughter.  That tiny little orange tabby cat that sparked hope in my 11 year old philanthropist.  Initially, it all seemed to be the exact opposite of that actually.  I had no hope at all that their reunion would ever happen but little by little and dollar by dollar the fund started to grow.  It is currently at a total of $1,200.

Hope is a funny thing.  I used to have a ton of it.  When I was a child I was a lot like Camille.  I always believed that good would prevail.  I believed whole-heartedly that I could make a difference in this big world.  My mother said that I have always wanted to save someone or something, from the word go. From field mice to kids of broken families, I too always had a cause.  I remember making black arm bands for myself, my sister and my dog during the military response in the Persian Gulf in the 1980's.  I have written articles for my university newspaper entitled "Bigots Should Be Burned". (Might be a little extreme but at the time my passion was running high) My point is that I thought that I could change the world.  I really did.  And then it happened.  I got a real job with real bills and real problems and real stress.  I saw children dying from starvation in Africa. I saw people dying from AIDS. I saw dear friends of mine horribly injured in work accidents.  I saw one of my friends placed on life support for months and months while her child grew inside of her only to be sent to heaven the minute that the baby was large enough to live outside of the womb. 

I am an ER nurse and have worked in one Level I trauma center or another since 1996.  I have seen a lot of things that humans shouldn't see.  I have held children while they died. I have watched people writhe in pain that no amount of morphine could cure.  I have been hit, kicked, spit on, cursed at, held hostage and countless other things while being an ER nurse.  Why did I choose this profession? I did it because I thought I could make a difference in this world.  I was holding on to that passion that I had deep inside of me.

Although it seems as though I am telling you these things for dramatic effect, I am not.  These things didn't just happen to me, they happen to all ER staff members.  I love my job.  I believe it was my calling.  It has, however, scarred me.  Coupled with the troubles that we see everyday on the news, little by little the world has stolen the very part of my soul that I prided myself in having: Hope.  I no longer consider myself an optimist.  I am without a doubt a realist.  Some people are rich.  Some people are poor.  Some people are granted life for 100 years and some die way too soon.  Hearts are broken every day and no amount of crying, drinking, laughing or shopping can take away that pain.  Your heart just gets used to it and scars over a little.

...And then there was Nica Toña and my little ray of sunshine.  The little girl that reminds me so much of who I used to be.  I try to deny it but it is nearly impossible.  Seeing her on our mission trip filled my heart with so much joy.  Camille in Nicaragua was a metaphor to my life.  There she was desperately wanting to help and not truly being able to do so.  When Cam and her kitty found each other I feel that Camille found a life that she believed she could truly help.  In her mind full of hope she could save this kitty, but in my realist mind I knew it would never happen.  

Through her tears while looking into those big blue eyes I saw a mirror image of who I used to be before I lost hope.  As a parent, we want to protect our children from the path of mistakes and pain that we have traveled.  I guess that is why I am going along with this whole Nica Toña GoFundMe thing.  In my heart, I know that this is the first chip of her heart that the world is taking from her.  There will be more of these times.  I realize this because I am a realist. 

In fact, the realist typing this blog did a little math last night.  I was thinking about the question that was posed to me: How many people could that much money feed?  This is the answer that I have.  I don't think I have a single friend who doesn't carry a designer bag. Designer bag: $300-$5,000.  (most of my friends have several of these)  Most of those friends also have designer shoes to match those bags.  Designer Shoes: $200-$800.  It is Christmas after all and most of us will receive gifts of things we don't need, spend money on parties that we don't need, buy new outfits for the season that we don't need.  Most people I know have fancy phones with expensive data plans and hefty phone bills.  Cell Phone Bill yearly: $3,600. I could go on with this but I am pretty sure you get the idea. Most of us have many things that we don't need and as we were purchasing them we did not say "How many people could that much money feed?"

...And then there was Nica Toña.  You see I no longer think of this as a purchase of something silly.  I see this as an opportunity to prove to my daughter that when humans work together we can make things happen.  Wonderful things.  When we band together we can save a life, no matter how small and insignificant some people might feel it to be.  I see this as an oportunity to prolong the theft of my daughter's hope.  I see this as a possible turning point in a young life in which I believe was born with hands made for the service of others.  The world and life might have stolen my hope but maybe I can protect my daughter enough that she will be able to keep hers.  Funny.  There it is peeking its head through the scars of my heart: Hope.  And I believe that hope is priceless.