Dear Laila,You have a way with words this story brings tears to my eyes. I can raltee. I'm one of those children who lived in Langley, once upon a time. I don't recall the gift of bread per say but I do recall the poverty, abuse and the kindness of strangers.I didn't leave because we were poor, which we were; I didn't leave because most of my basic needs went unmet, which they were; I left when I was 14 years of age not only because I couldn't take my father's abuse any longer (I felt unloved, unappreciated, uncared for, used, abused, denigrated and disrespected )but also because my dad gave me permission. For the few years that I was around, it was people like you who made a positive difference in my life. Thank you for your thoughtfulness, kindness and generosity.Sincerely,Olga Radisson(AKA Radusin)PS: The name change has to do with PTSD directly ralteed to daddy-dearest. I felt I had to shed it in order to heal. It worked.
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