Fate's Redemption Read online

  It wasn't until February, when Harper was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis, that I decided to make the move.

  She started screaming one day at the indoor jumpy house. Finding nothing wrong with her, I took her to the hospital. They did x-rays and MRIs, blood work, and everything else. It was torture for both of us, as well as her brothers. It took a week for the doctors to come back to me with an answer. By this time, Harper couldn't bend her knee all the way back and didn't want to put her weight on it. I had been giving her Motrin every few hours with food, so it didn't eat a hole in her stomach.

  Calling my mom with the diagnosis, she asks incredulously, "Have you been giving her bone broth?"

  That made me sit back in shock. Growing up on the farm, we didn't go to the doctor very often. We didn't go to the doctor unless we had a broken bone most of the time. We had natural remedies that didn't rely on prescriptions. And so started my research on what exactly I was giving my kids.

  Sebastian was all about modern medicine, chicken nuggets and mac and cheese, the latest high tech gadget, and dressing to impress. He wanted to be as far away from his upbringing as possible, and that pushed me further away from how I was raised as well. Since his passing, I had tried to raise the kids the way he would have wanted, but found myself starting to revert back to what I thought was healthier; at least fixing real food at meals and not caring if their clothes were muddy after playing.

  In doing my research, I was horrified to learn of the pesticides that we eat with our produce and hormones in our meat. I knew that they were there, but not the effects it could have on the body. I mean, everyone eats the same thing, right? Paying attention to parents at the park and school, I heard story after story of asthma, ADHD, allergies, and skin rashes. Then, going back home, I researched how to prevent or treat those problems with herbs, gluten-free diets and teas.

  When I took the kids to the dentist and was told Jet had a cavity, I knew things needed to change. I never had a cavity until I was twenty-four. I remembered drinking cod liver oil and butter oil every single morning my whole childhood, but had never once given it to my children. And here I had a farm in my name sitting right next to my parents.

  So I called my dad and asked him what exactly was on the farm these days. He tells me there are two cows, bees, chickens, ducks, and rabbits. Not too bad. Seemed manageable. Then he said there are twelve acres of fruit, same as before, and an acre of garden space. How the hell am I supposed to deal with acres of all that? Dad tells me the money left in the accounts were for a hired hand to help. Good old Grandma Pierce had thought of everything.

  That's when I turned to my trusted friend YouTube. Since I was Trigg's age and my mom had bought her first video camera, I had been using it as my personal journal. Later, when the Internet got big, I started a blog along with it.

  As a military wife and young mother, I found that people were having a lot of the same problems I was. I would find suggestions and give advice on what worked for us. The more people that responded, the more sponsors I got. I actually started making money. It was a crazy concept, but with YouTube, people can relate to you, take your opinion and learn from it, or you learn from the people watching your videos.

  Companies would send me their products to review, cameras, kids' products, kitchen utensils, makeup, and I would give my honest opinion. If I found something I couldn't live without, I would ask the company if they wanted space on my website for their ads, they would pay me, and because of the high traffic it got, would send me more samples.

  This was crucial in staying sane with all of the time I spent alone, first in Germany and then during nine months of snow when we moved to Alaska. My husband loved it because it kept me entertained, and he could watch the kids and me on deployments. After he died, it opened up a whole new demographic. Because it’s what I’ve always done, I video blogged about my husband dying. I talked out my problems, and came up with a plan. I didn't post those until I was in the right headspace, but they went viral. Gold Star wives all over were sharing their stories and advice on how to get through such a tough time. I covered a marathon in Anchorage for the spouses of the fallen that year and every one since then, putting faces to the ones left behind.

  This new venture into whole foods and my move was just another evolution in my life. I found that people would stick with me, and if they didn’t agree, they at least keep coming back to share their opinion. I would post my videos even if I didn't make any money off of it, but at least it's given me a way to stay home with the kids and still pay the bills.

  Yes, you do get a lot of money from the government when a spouse dies, but that money was divided up and put into a high interest account so that the kids can use it for weddings, college, or to buy a house when they get older. I have continued to live off of the monthly stipend, and my own income.

  Once upon a time, all I ever wanted to do was live on a farm, with a husband of course, and our kids, living off of the land and swapping fruits and veggies with my parents for meat. I even had my husband all picked out, but that was a lifetime ago.

  Glancing behind me, I look past the mini U-Haul I'm pulling to the black GTO behind me. My dad flew up to drive the car back and accompany me on this trip. Love that man. The car belonged to Sebastian and will be Trigg's someday. Trigg loves that car with a passion and would be in it for this whole trip if I hadn't requested all of the kids ride with me the first day.

  I grab my camera, with the tripod still attached, and press the buttons overhead to open up the back doors of the van. The kids pile out along with our dog, Angus. He's a huge mutt. He looks to be a cross between a Great Dane and a cattle dog of some kind. He's tall with a long tail and snout, one ear up, one floppy; gray, black, and blue short hair that creates a dark salt and pepper coat, with black spots placed sporadically on his body. He's gentle and expressive, the kids love him, and he couldn't be a better guard dog.

  I set up my camera on the hood of my car with the bendable feet of the tripod and wait for my dad to park behind us. The kids are used to the drill of waiting to be directed. For us, it's not unusual to stop for a photo op. My dad pops out of the muscle car with a spring in his step that makes me smile. He may be the most excited about us moving back home.

  "Canada!" he yells, spreading his arms out wide with a smile.

  I laugh. "Dad, come take a picture with us in front of the Welcome to the Yukon sign." He walks over and stands below the sign as asked. His hair is more white these days, and he's got a belly growing on him. But he's still tall, posture straight in his plaid flannel shirt, jeans, and work boots. Still the same mustache I've always known him to have, just with more wrinkles accenting his light brown eyes.

  I did not get my looks from my father. I am the spitting image of my mom, down to our pinky toes. We both have dark brown hair, bright blue eyes, and thin builds. I lucked out with the genes. All of my kids got my darker genes, instead of their father's lighter sandy colored hair and brown eyes. I thank God for that every day. I loved my husband, but there's nothing more striking than a dark complexion with blue eyes. My kids are beautiful, if I do say so myself.

  I set the timer and jog over to the others.

  "Three pictures, ten seconds apart, smile first, silly second, smile last." I learned this from experience; the first will be stiff, the second cute, and the third genuine smiles with occasional drifting eyes. But as they get older, there's less of the drifting and more perfect shots.

  I get behind the kids, and my dad puts his arm around my shoulder for the first picture. On the second, we squeeze the kids together between us while they act like they're suffocating, and the third is all of us laughing.

  I grab the camera, and the kids ask for a snack before we get on the road. I pop the trunk and pass out the fruit salads I packed that morning. I feel my dad's hand on my shoulder and turn to look at him.

  "Proud of you, kiddo." My eyes mist and I give a small smile back before grabbing two apples and shutting the lid.
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br />   "Thanks, Daddy," I tell him quietly. I'm still my daddy's little girl, and that he's proud of me will always be something important to me.

  "Let's hit the road, Jack!" I call out.

  "Ha-ha," he says drolly. His name is Jack, and I used to say that all the time as a kid. It still cracks me up.

  When I get in the van, I make sure the dog is in the back and push the button for the doors before grabbing my iPhone to put on the special mix I came up with. I fix the camera back on the rearview mirror and press record before playing the music.

  Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On" starts playing and I hear three groans from the back as I belt out the song, complete with hand motions. I finally pause it after much groaning.

  "Oh come on, guys! I made a whole playlist of Canadian artists for Canada!"

  "Mom, this stuff blows!" I hear Trigg yell from the back.

  I yell back, "Liar!" then switch to a Shania Twain song.

  This time it's Jet. "Gross, Mom!"

  Pausing it again, I sigh dramatically and turn around. "Fine, guys, there's another one in a backpack under one of your seats. I don't remember where I put it."

  I watch the rearview mirror behind my camera as three dark brown heads bend down and pull out different bags from their seats. Zippers open simultaneously and then three gasps are heard. I put my fingers over my mouth to stop the laugh that wants to burst free.

  Trigg looks up first and I shrug. "I need B roll." This trip is huge. We're moving away from everything they remember, and going to the unknown. Trigg is like me, and is fascinated by my camera. He has it more than I do usually, so I got him one so that he can record his thoughts on this journey. He doesn’t want to move, and has been very vocal about it. I'm hoping he can find some excitement through the lens. He smiles and tears it out of the box.

  Harper catches my attention as she looks up wide-eyed with her mouth open. I squee like a little girl and clap my hands, making her come out of her shock and do the same. She holds up her new Macbook Air and shouts to Trigg sitting behind her. "Look, Trigg! Look!"

  He looks up and yells back, "Sweet, Harp!" They're eighteen inches away from each other, but it doesn't matter.

  Harper is an introvert, like her dad. She holds things in. She can't seem to express what she's feeling sometimes. And she loves helping me edit my videos. I'm hoping she can type out whatever she's feeling, and the autocorrect on her computer will help her improve her spelling. I'm crossing my fingers she will edit her brother's videos, too.

  "Breaker, breaker, come in. Breaker, breaker, one, nine," Jet says, holding his camo walkie-talkie up to his face.

  There's static and then, "This is the Goat, over."

  Jet's eyes light up and he presses his button down again. "Grandpa!"

  "This is the Goat, who is this?"

  Jet squints his eyes in thought, bites his tongue then responds. "This is the White Witch. What's your position, over."

  I yell, "Hey!"

  Jet rolls his eyes at me. "Mom, he's in the GTO and it's called a goat. Why can't our white van be a witch?"

  “Why can't it be a dove?" I shoot back.

  His eyes go bright and he comes back with, "I've got it, it can be Moby's dick!"

  "Moby Dick. It's Moby Dick!" Gah, read the kid the classics, and that's what I get.

  "Fine, we can be the White Witch," I concede, but he's already shaking his head.

  "I like the dick one better."

  "Stop saying that!" I exclaim and the other kids laugh.

  "White Witch, I'm looking at your backside. You've got something sticking out. Looks like you forgot to wipe," my dad reports as my van explodes in laughter that is music to my ears.

  We all share the same sense of humor, and it gets pretty vulgar sometimes. Sebastian would hate it, but we have a lot of fun, and they know when it's appropriate.

  I tell Jet, "There's something else in there, big guy."

  He digs into his backpack and pulls out a director's clapper with a dry erase marker attached.

  He snaps it shut a few times. "So. Cool."

  "Now you can yell action and cut when we're taping. Write down your name where it says D I R, that's the director." Multipurpose; he practices his handwriting, it's easier for all of us in editing, and he feels included.

  Trigg says, "Wait a minute. You got us all movie stuff. Why is that?" Suspicious, smart child.

  I turn in my seat so I can meet their eyes. "A few reasons. I want you to have fun. You're my kids, so you enjoy this stuff. And it's going to be summer soon. Moving, we're going to have tons of videos to shoot. Things like home improvement I'm sure, daily life on the farm, cooking, canning, fishing, horseback riding at your gran's house. This is a big change for us, and our viewers might not know how to do the stuff we're going to learn to do. We can teach them."

  I’ve never done this before. I've always done it myself, with them as extras or assistants in my videos. They've never been the main person before. I'm nervous, but a lot of viewers have kids their age.

  Harper jumps on what I've eluded to. "Are you saying we get our own channel?"

  Trigg sucks in a breath, and I think he's holding it. I look back at the three pairs of eyes that mean the most to me in the world and nod. "I have conditions. Number one. If, and I mean if, you can do a good job, which I know you will. Number two. You don't tell anyone where we live. Number three, you stay on point and don't bad mouth me or each other. Number four, your grades stay up, and chores get done. Oh, I have to approve everything before posting it."

  I get yells and screams and hold up a hand for silence. "That means I have the password, not you. You show me the videos, and I'll upload them for you."

  They all eye each other like partners looking for an investor then turn back to me in unison and nod. Jet holds out his hand and I shake it solemnly before shaking the others’ hands.

  After that's done, I bug my eyes out at the camera and then press play on my phone, letting Justin Bieber bring us into Canada as the snow starts to fall.

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  About the Author

  Brandace Morrow is an Army wife currently overseas with her four small children, two dogs and badass soldier. Her addictions are Maroon 5, Rum and Coke, and books, in no particular order.

  Now that you’ve read the book check out the Pinterest idea board with all of those cool outfits, hot spots, and see what Danny and Kinley look like to the author!

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