This video has me fired up!!
Life is short, beloveds. Get out there and live.
Cassandra
P.S. I have added a ton of motivation, love, humor, music etc to the Abba Playlist. I update it frequently with all kinds of videos etc to keep you company. Let me know what you want to see there.
Asking for A Friend…
Big bro,
I got it from here. Say hello to wombie for me. Hey, mom, dad, Earlene,… YIKES the list is really long.
I’m praying for all who need comfort for any reason. Be encouraged.
broken hearted 💔 but not broken,
Cassandra
Just stopped by, beloveds, to ask…
How are you—really?
Not the answer you give because somebody is waiting, somebody needs something, or you do not feel like unpacking the whole suitcase today.
I mean you.
Have you eaten something?
Had some water?
Taken your medicine?
Rested before your body had to submit a written complaint to management? 🤣
Have you laughed today?
Cried if you needed to?
Sat quietly without turning your quiet into another assignment?
And if the honest answer is, “Cassandra, today has been doing entirely too much,” that answer is welcome here too.
You do not have to turn a hard day into a testimony before bedtime.
You do not have to make your struggle sound inspiring so somebody else can be comfortable with it.
You do not have to explain every bruise life left where nobody could see it.
Maybe you are celebrating.
Maybe you are surviving.
Maybe you are somewhere between “Won’t He do it!” and “Lord, what exactly are We doing?” 😭🤣
Whatever you believe, do not believe, or are still figuring out, there is room for your honest answer here.
If words are too expensive tonight, leave one emoji.
If even that is too much, just know I stopped by and left the porch light on.
There is a chair for you.
There is no admission test.
You matter to me.
So tell me, beloveds:
How are you—really?
Comment with a word, an emoji, or whatever you have.
Share this with somebody who may need a loving knock on the door.
Like, subscribe, and follow so we can keep checking on one another.
🔑
Asking for A Friend,
Cassandra
#YourLifeMattersToMe
MOVIE SATURDAY WITH CASSANDRA
Beloveds,
Pull up a chair.
I have something new for us.
Every Saturday, we’re going to the movies together.
Well…
Sort of.
You don’t have to buy a ticket.
You don’t have to get dressed.
You don’t have to leave your house.
And you certainly don’t have to pay movie-theater prices for popcorn.
Every Saturday at NOON, I’m opening the doors to our little Movie Saturday with Cassandra matinee.
I’ll bring a movie.
You bring you.
That’s it.
Some weeks we’ll laugh.
Some weeks we’ll cry.
Some weeks we’ll probably holler at the screen because somebody in the movie has apparently misplaced ALL their good sense.
Some movies may make us think about family, friendship, race, love, grief, faith, disability, second chances, forgiveness, education, aging, belonging, or what it means to become somebody we didn’t expect to become.
And some weeks?
Beloveds, we may just watch a good movie.
PERIODT.
Everything does not have to become homework.
Sometimes joy gets to simply be joy.
For our very first Movie Saturday, I had two movies in mind.
And My Bestie had opinions.
I had opinions.
There may have been a tiny disagreement.
Okay.
Maybe not tiny.
But after careful consideration, extensive deliberation, and the completely scientific process known as Cassandra picked the one she wanted to watch, we have a winner.
THIS WEEK’S MOVIE:
BACK TO SCHOOL MOM
Starring Kimberly Elise and Loretta Devine.
This one gives us plenty to work with:
Education.
Motherhood.
Second chances.
Unfinished business.
Dreams that didn’t disappear simply because life happened.
And becoming.
I already suspect we’re going to have some THOUGHTS.
But here’s something important about Movie Saturday:
You don’t have to see what I see.
You don’t have to like the character I like.
You might understand somebody I absolutely wanted to fuss at.
You might notice something I completely missed.
You might love the movie.
You might hate it.
You might change your mind halfway through.
So might I.
That’s part of the fun.
Different people can sit on the same couch, watch the same story, and walk away carrying completely different things.
That doesn’t have to separate us.
Sometimes it can help us understand one another better.
And everybody gets a chair here.
Believer.
Nonbeliever.
Questioning.
Certain.
Uncertain.
Movie lover.
Person who hasn’t watched a movie in six months.
Person who comes exclusively for the popcorn.
Whosoeverwill.
Come.
You don’t have to believe what I believe to belong with me.
You don’t have to agree with Cassandra to sit beside Cassandra.
That’s not what the chair is for.
The chair says:
Come as you are.
Watch when you can.
Laugh when something is funny.
Cry if something gets you.
Think if something makes you think.
Disagree when you disagree.
Change your mind if you change your mind.
And if all you get from today’s movie is two hours when life wasn’t asking something from you?
Beloved, that counts too.
❤️
Because maybe movies can do something else for us.
Maybe stories let us borrow somebody else’s eyes for a little while.
Maybe they help us recognize people we’ve misunderstood.
Maybe they remind us of somebody we love.
Maybe they show us something uncomfortable about ourselves.
Maybe they give us language for something we’ve felt but couldn’t quite name.
Maybe they make us laugh until our stomach hurts.
And maybe every once in a while, somewhere in somebody else’s story, we find a little for our own.
That’s worth pulling up a chair for.
So grab your popcorn.
Grab your snacks.
Grab your blanket.
Grab the good chair before somebody else gets it. 藍
And come watch with me.
SATURDAY MATINEE
12:00 PM
BACK TO SCHOOL MOM
https://youtu.be/XdhcIGUOpZk
You don’t have to start precisely at noon.
Noon is just when Cassandra opens the theater doors.
Come when you can.
And after we’ve watched?
Ohhhh, Beloveds.
WE’RE GONNA TALK.
What did you notice?
Who did you understand?
Who got on your LAST nerve?
Did anybody surprise you?
Did anything make you reconsider something you thought you already knew?
Did you laugh?
Did you cry?
Did you yell at your television?
And perhaps most importantly:
Did you enjoy yourself?
Because we’re building something here that has room for serious conversations AND popcorn.
Faith AND questions.
Learning AND laughter.
Different stories.
Different perspectives.
Different people.
Same couch.
One amazing community.
Welcome to Movie Saturday with Cassandra.
The theater is open.
The popcorn is ready.
And there’s a chair here with your name on it.
Come watch a movie with me.
Cassandra
You matter to me.
It’s been a day. Be encouraged .
Cassandra
Today was…
*sigh*
Whew!!
It’s not the 2nd but still…
PRE-NOTE: I have been really sick but fighting to get this to you unscathed. Pain and 🤒 won’t let go
Still, I fight on. Hours late, but here. Will have to come back to add photos. Here goes nuttin…
📫 THE CHAIR STAYS. 🪑💜
Beloveds,
I need to tell you something about the chair.
Not a chair.
The chair.
The one sitting beside me.
The one I keep putting into these pictures.
The one that might look empty if you do not know what you are looking at.
It is not empty.
It has never been empty.
That chair is there on purpose.
When I first started imagining this little world we have been building together, I kept seeing a chair beside me.
Sometimes we are fishing.
Sometimes we are sitting near the water.
Sometimes we are traveling.
Sometimes we are laughing.
Sometimes I am tired.
Sometimes I am thinking.
Sometimes I am simply looking out at this beautiful, complicated 🌎 and wondering what God is teaching me next.
But there is a chair.
🪑
And the chair stays.
Because somewhere along the way, I realized what it meant.
The chair is an invitation.
It says:
Come sit with me.
You do not have to believe everything I believe.
You do not have to look like me.
You do not have to sound like me.
You do not have to vote like me.
You do not have to worship like me—or worship at all.
You do not have to understand everything about my life.
And I do not have to understand everything about yours.
You can still sit down.
💜
That matters to me.
Because too many people have spent their lives wondering whether there is a chair for them.
Some of us learned very early what it feels like to walk into a room and wonder:
Where am I supposed to sit?
Some know what it feels like to be left out.
Some know what it feels like to be misunderstood.
Some know what it feels like to be tolerated instead of welcomed.
Some know what it feels like to have people decide who you are before you ever get the opportunity to introduce yourself.
Some have been told directly that the table was not built for them.
And some were technically allowed at the table but were made to feel every single minute that somebody wished they were not there.
I know something about wanting to belong.
And maybe that is one reason this chair matters so much to me.
I cannot fix every table.
I cannot make every room welcoming.
I cannot force anybody to see another human being with compassion.
But I can decide what happens beside me.
And beside me?
There is a chair.
🪑
For the person who believes.
For the person who doubts.
For the person who has questions.
For the person who is angry.
For the person who is grieving.
For the person who has made a mess.
For the person rebuilding after the mess.
For the person who feels strong today.
For the person barely hanging on.
For the person everybody notices.
And especially for the person who has gotten used to being overlooked.
Sit down.
You do not have to perform first.
You do not have to explain yourself into worthiness.
You do not have to make yourself smaller so I can feel bigger.
And I do not have to disappear so you can belong either.
There is room for both of us.
That may be one of the most important things I am learning.
Making room for you does not require erasing me.
And being fully me does not require pushing you out of the chair.
We can be different.
We can disagree.
We can ask hard questions.
We can correct one another.
We can learn.
We can laugh.
We can occasionally get on one another’s nerves. 🤣
We can even have to repair something we broke between us.
And still—the chair stays.
🪑💜
Because belonging cannot mean, “You may stay as long as you never disappoint me.”
That is not belonging.
That is probation.
Love has to be sturdier than that.
Grace has to be bigger than that.
Community has to be brave enough for that.
And Lord knows, I am still learning how to do it.
I am learning that loving people does not mean pretending harm did not happen.
I am learning that forgiveness does not mean abandoning boundaries.
I am learning that listening does not require surrendering my own voice.
I am learning that disagreement does not automatically make somebody my enemy.
And I am learning that sometimes the bravest thing we can do after something has gone wrong is look at the chair and say:
No.
Leave it there.
We are going to try again.
💜
That is the world I want my love to keep showing.
Not a perfect world.
Not a world where everybody suddenly agrees.
Not a world where difference disappears.
I do not want that world.
I want this one.
A world full of colors.
Cultures.
Accents.
Bodies.
Abilities.
Stories.
Questions.
Faith.
Doubt.
Music.
Laughter.
Tears.
People still becoming.
People still learning.
People still getting some act right. 🤣
People still discovering that somebody else’s humanity does not threaten their own.
And wherever I am in that world—
Paris.
Chicago.
At the ocean.
At the Grand Canyon.
In a library.
On a sidewalk.
Fishing somewhere with absolutely no idea whether I am doing it correctly. 🎣🤣
There will be another chair.
🪑
Maybe sometimes somebody will be sitting in it.
Maybe sometimes it will appear empty.
But now you know.
It isn’t empty.
It is holding space.
For conversation.
For possibility.
For reconciliation.
For curiosity.
For friendship.
For somebody I have not met yet.
Maybe even for you.
So when you see that chair show itself from now on, do not ask:
Who forgot to sit there?
Remember what it means.
It means:
YOU ARE WELCOME HERE.
Pull up a seat.
Bring your story.
Bring your questions.
Bring your whole complicated self.
I will bring mine too.
We do not have to become the same person to sit beside one another.
We just have to remember that the person in the other chair is a human being whose life matters.
And Beloveds—your life matters to me.
So wherever this journey takes us next, I already know one thing.
The scenery will change.
I will change.
You will change.
We will learn things.
We will unlearn things.
We will laugh.
We may cry.
We might even have to move the furniture around sometimes. 🤣
But that chair?
THE CHAIR STAYS.
🪑💜
Asking for A Friend,
Cassandra
I have tried since after midnight to have this scheduled for 6:30. God and life had other plans. Be encouraged… RISE
#YourLifeMattersToMe
Note: One step. One step. One step. You are loved. You are ¹ alone. Keep on being…YOU!
Unapologetically His. ❤️
THE
📫 YOU WERE NEVER UGLY. 💔🌎🥹🔑
Beloveds,
Apparently somebody, somewhere, got appointed President of the International Committee of Who Gets to Be Beautiful.
Nobody remembers voting.
Yet somehow, human beings have spent generations walking around with imaginary clipboards deciding:
Too dark.
Too light.
Too fat.
Too thin.
Too loud.
Too quiet.
Wrong hair.
Wrong nose.
Wrong body.
Wrong clothes.
Wrong accent.
Wrong voice.
Wrong neighborhood.
Wrong country.
Wrong way of speaking.
Wrong way of moving through the world.
And some of us received those evaluations before we were old enough to understand that the people holding the clipboards did not actually have any authority.
I was eight years old when “ugly” became more than a word.
Children can learn very early which faces the world celebrates and which ones it mocks. They can learn who gets invited, who gets chased down hallways, who sits at the lunch table surrounded by laughter—and who learns how to eat while pretending being alone does not hurt.
Sometimes a child carries one careless word for decades.
Ugly.
That word can grow up with you.
It can follow you into mirrors.
Into photographs.
Into friendships.
Into dating.
Into marriage.
Into classrooms.
Into workplaces.
Into churches.
Into hospital rooms.
It can even follow you into recovery, when the body you finally learned to love suddenly moves differently, sounds differently, needs different equipment, or requires help doing things it once did without thought.
And that is why this conversation is bigger than beauty.
It is about belonging.
Because humanity has created thousands of sophisticated ways to say:
You would be easier for me to accept if you were a little less you.
Speak differently.
Straighten this.
Hide that.
Lose this.
Change that.
Fix your accent.
Lower your voice.
Control your face.
Make your body less noticeable.
Make your disability less inconvenient.
Make your Blackness less Black.
Make your culture easier for me to understand.
Make your faith quieter.
Make your doubt quieter.
Make your anger prettier.
Make your grief more comfortable.
Make yourself acceptable—
and then perhaps we will let you belong.
Nevertheless.
However.
What if belonging was never theirs to give?
🔑
What if the little girl somebody called ugly was never ugly?
What if the accent somebody mocked was never broken English?
What if the voice somebody dismissed was carrying wisdom they simply had not learned how to hear?
What if the wheelchair was not an eraser?
What if the cane was not a declaration of defeat?
What if scars were not disqualifications?
What if age did not subtract beauty?
What if different was never another word for deficient?
What if the problem was never the human being standing before us—
but the tiny measuring stick we were taught to use?
💔🌎
The world is heartbroken.
And sometimes we keep handing broken measuring sticks to one another.
That is one chain I desperately want us to break.
⛓️ You must look like this to be beautiful.
🔑 No. Human beauty was never manufactured from one template.
⛓️ You must sound like this to be intelligent.
🔑 No. Intelligence has accents.
⛓️ You must move like this to be whole.
🔑 No. Wholeness has wheelchairs, walkers, braces, prosthetics, canes, trembling hands, altered bodies and very creative ways of getting from here to there.
⛓️ You must believe what I believe to sit beside me.
🔑 No. Pull up a chair.
Believer.
Atheist.
Agnostic.
Questioning.
Certain.
Uncertain.
Still figuring the whole thing out.
Come sit.
My faith does not require me to make you smaller so God can be bigger.
I believe God so loved the world.
Not the polished world.
Not the attractive world.
Not the Christian-enough world.
Not the able-bodied world.
Not the English-speaking-with-the-approved-accent world.
The world. 🌎
And if you do not believe any of that?
You still get the chair.
Because you matter to ME.
Not because you agreed with me.
Not because you passed a theology examination.
Not because you became inspirational enough for somebody else’s story.
Not because somebody finally decided you were beautiful.
You matter because you are here.
Maybe somebody called you ugly.
Maybe nobody ever said the word aloud, but they taught it to you anyway.
Maybe they taught it through who they photographed.
Who they dated.
Who they hired.
Who they listened to.
Who they interrupted.
Who they believed.
Who they protected.
Who they mocked.
Who they called “professional.”
Who they called “articulate.”
Who they called “beautiful.”
And who they simply refused to see.
Beloved,
I cannot go backward and sit beside every lonely eight-year-old.
I wish I could.
But I can pull out a chair today.
I can tell the child.
The teenager.
The grown woman.
The grown man.
The elder.
The person staring at a body that has changed.
The person whose speech sounds different.
The person whose accent enters the room before anybody bothers learning their name.
The person who still avoids photographs.
The person who learned to make jokes about themselves before anybody else could.
The person who still hears an old insult when they look into a mirror:
That measuring stick was broken.
Throw it away.
🗑️
Actually—
put it in the recycling bin.
We are trying to be responsible citizens. 🤣🥰
Then come back over here.
We have chairs.
We have room.
We have work to do.
And we have an entire heartbroken world waiting to discover what might happen when human beings stop grading one another and start seeing one another.
I see you.
Not despite the things somebody taught you to hate about yourself.
I am learning to see you with them.
Your face.
Your body.
Your age.
Your history.
Your scars.
Your mobility equipment.
Your language.
Your accent.
Your laugh.
Your silence.
Your questions.
Your magnificent, complicated humanity.
Keep it.
All of it.
You were never required to become somebody else’s definition of beautiful before you became worthy of love.
And perhaps today one of us can find the courage to look into the mirror and tell that old word—
“You tried it.” 🤣
Then hand it its little imaginary clipboard.
Show it the door.
And get on with the holy, hilarious, difficult, beautiful business of being alive.
Because the world does not need another perfectly acceptable human being.
🌎 The world needs YOU.
And Beloved—
#YourLifeMattersToMe.
Asking for A Friend,
Cassandra
#YourLifeMattersToMe
Note: One step. One step. One step. You are loved. You are NOT alone. Keep on being…YOU!
If this found a tender place in you, pull up a chair in the comments. Share it with somebody who spent too many years believing a broken measuring stick. Like it, follow/subscribe, and come back—we are finding keys together every day. 🔑💔🌎🥹
🏆🏆 POTTY WARS: BABY, TAKE TWO TROPHIES! 🧻🤣
Beloveds,
It is NOON.
And apparently today we are going to church, therapy, physical rehabilitation, philosophy class AND the bathroom.
🤣🤣🤣🤣
Pearl clutchers:
Secure the pearls.
Because Cassandra has an announcement.
I WON POTTY WARS.
🏆🏆
Yes.
TWO TROPHIES.
One trophy did not adequately represent the level of foolishness, determination, engineering, cleanup supplies, prayer, improvisation and sheer GET SOME ACT RIGHT required for this particular championship.
🤣🧻🧽🧴🪣🪣🪣
And before somebody says:
But Cassandra, you just went to the bathroom…
👀
YOU TRIED IT.
🤣🤣🤣
There is no “just” in somebody else’s body.
That may be today’s biggest key.
🔑
Before my stroke, there were things my body did without requiring a committee meeting.
Now some ordinary tasks require planning.
Positioning.
Balance.
Equipment.
Patience.
Adaptation.
Concentration.
Energy.
Problem-solving.
And occasionally enough cleaning supplies to make somebody walking past my door wonder whether I have secretly opened a janitorial franchise.
🤣🤣🤣
🧽🧴🪣🧻
But here’s the thing:
I DID IT.
And I’m learning not to make my victories smaller merely because somebody else can accomplish the same thing without thinking about it.
That is a chain.
⛓️
And I am done polishing chains.
⚒️
The chain that says:
If everybody else can do it easily, your accomplishment doesn’t count.
⚒️💥
The chain that says:
Needing equipment diminishes the accomplishment.
⚒️💥
The chain that says:
Accepting help cancels independence.
⚒️💥
The chain that says:
Disability must disappear before somebody gets to call something recovery.
⚒️💥
The chain that says:
Bodies doing bodily things are too embarrassing to talk about.
BABY.
🤣
Hand me the hammer.
⚒️💥⛓️
Because dignity was never hiding inside physical perfection.
My dignity did not leave when my body changed.
My dignity does not disappear when I use my wheelchair.
My dignity does not disappear when I use my quad cane.
My dignity does not disappear when something takes me longer.
My dignity does not disappear when I need help.
My dignity does not disappear when my body makes a mess.
And my dignity certainly does not disappear because toilet paper entered the testimony.
🧻🤣🏆
PERIODT.
There are victories people applaud because everybody recognizes them.
Graduation.
🏆
Promotion.
🏆
Marathon.
🏆
Championship.
🏆
And then there are victories almost nobody sees.
Getting dressed.
🏆
Getting yourself something to eat.
🏆
Making it safely across the room.
🏆
Learning how to do something differently.
🏆
Using the mobility aid instead of exhausting yourself trying to prove you don’t need it.
🏆
Asking for help.
🏆
Cleaning yourself.
🏆
Getting through an exhausting appointment.
🏆
Trying again after yesterday went completely sideways.
🏆
And sometimes—
GOING TO THE BATHROOM.
🏆🏆🏆🏆🏆
🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣
Count it.
Because difficulty is experienced from inside the life being lived.
You cannot stand outside another person’s body, history, grief, circumstances, disability, resources or exhaustion and announce what should have been easy.
You don’t know the cost.
🔑
And THAT reaches far beyond disability.
Maybe somebody got out of bed while carrying grief nobody knows about.
🏆
Maybe somebody answered the phone after weeks of anxiety.
🏆
Maybe somebody said no.
🏆
Maybe somebody finally said yes.
🏆
Maybe somebody left.
🏆
Maybe somebody stayed.
🏆
Maybe somebody apologized.
🏆
Maybe somebody forgave themselves.
🏆
Maybe somebody asked for help before everything collapsed.
🏆
Maybe somebody finally stopped.
✋🏿
That last one has my attention today.
Because after all my:
DEEPPPERRRR!
⚒️⚒️⚒️
FIND THE KEYS!
🔑🔑🔑
BREAK THE CHAINS!
⛓️⛓️⛓️
LOVE THE WHOLE WORLD!
🌎🌎🌎
Apparently my body convened an emergency meeting.
The agenda contained exactly one item:
BED.
🛌
🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣
And Cassandra?
Apparently I voted unanimously.
😴
No closing remarks.
No benediction.
No final post.
No “one more thing.”
Just:
🛌💤
🤣🤣🤣
And perhaps THAT deserves a trophy too.
🏆
Because I am learning that I cannot celebrate my body’s victories while treating its limits like insubordination.
WHEW.
Read that again.
I cannot celebrate my body’s victories while treating its limits like insubordination.
🔑🔑🔑
Sometimes the key is:
🥾 Go.
Sometimes:
⚒️ Work.
Sometimes:
🚪 Open it.
Sometimes:
🗣️ Speak.
Sometimes:
😭 Cry.
Sometimes:
🤣 Laugh until your stomach hurts.
And sometimes:
✋🏿 Enough.
Then:
🛌 Rest.
The key doesn’t always open a door leading outward.
Sometimes the key locks the door for the night.
🔑🚪
👀
Ohhhhh.
There’s one.
Sometimes agency means opening the door.
And sometimes agency means being the person who decides:
The door is closed. I am resting. Come back tomorrow.
✋🏿🚪🛌
That is still agency.
That is still dignity.
That is still freedom.
And that means today’s Potty Wars trophy isn’t really about a toilet.
The bathroom just happened to be where the lesson showed up wearing combat boots.
🤣🥾🥾🧻
The deeper victory is this:
My changed body and I are learning each other.
Not fighting each other.
Learning.
Listening.
Adapting.
Negotiating.
Laughing.
Resting.
Trying.
Stopping.
Beginning again.
And sometimes standing together afterward looking at the evidence like:
👀
Girl.
🤣🤣🤣
WE DID THAT.
🏆🏆
So today I am taking my trophies.
I am taking my laughter.
I am taking my quad cane.
I am taking my rest.
I am taking my keys.
And yes—
somebody please bring the toilet paper.
🧻
Because apparently around here liberation requires supplies.
🤣🤣🤣🤣
Beloveds, I want you to take your trophy too.
Not tomorrow.
Not when somebody else agrees that your accomplishment was difficult enough.
Not after you explain yourself.
Today.
🏆
Whatever your victory was.
However strange.
However private.
However ordinary.
However messy.
COUNT IT.
And if today’s victory was simply surviving today?
There is a chair here.
🪑
Sit.
If you believe in God as I do, you are welcome to celebrate His faithfulness with me.
WON’T HE DO IT! 🙏🏿💖
And if you don’t believe in God, don’t believe yet, aren’t sure, or never will—
the chair does not disappear.
🪑
Nobody has to believe exactly as I believe before I can love them.
Come laugh.
Come rest.
Come tell your story.
Or say absolutely nothing.
🥂
The celebration still has room for you.
Now I need to know:
What completely ordinary thing have YOU done that deserves an absolutely unreasonable, ridiculously oversized trophy?
🏆🏆🏆🤣
Tell me in the comments.
Let’s celebrate some victories the world forgot to count.
Share this with somebody whose invisible work deserves to be seen. Like it. Follow or subscribe. And come back tomorrow at noon.
We’ll pull out the chair again.
And apparently—
🧻
we’ll keep the supplies nearby.
🤣🤣🤣
Asking for A Friend,
Cassandra
#YourLifeMattersToMe
Note: One step. One step. One step. You are loved. You are NOT alone. Keep on being…YOU!
Unapologetically His.
Unapologetically yours.
Beloveds,
This is my voice before my stroke. Will be sharing others. I miss thesound of her….🤯🥺🥹😭😱
sad but grateful still,
Cassandra
