The photo above is the covered bridge that was an historic preservation project assigned to me several years back. It’s meaning has changed, since I documented and photographed this. The meaning behind the covered bridge still stands for strength, endurance, longevity and what American standards once stood for, historically. It also stands for what I was and what I could had been had I not been criminally abused by an attorney from Maryland, later a DOD guard and the CIA in North Carolina. They know what they did to me and should be horribly, sinfully ashamed. It will come back on them, someday and it will be than that ‘they’ will not ‘stand a chance,’ as they said to me, among other things.
I was always told that home is where the heart is. Is it, really? Well, it was, at least for me until 2005 when my life changed dramatically, forever. Reflecting back, twelve years later as a Targeted Individual in America I realize I became a victim of COINTELPRO. This is the story of my life. One that needs to be told. Countless individuals from all walks of life, and from around the country still ring out a sigh of shock upon hearing how I became a victim of this senseless crime that’s running rampid in the U.S. and abroad now. Yet, I did. It still shocks me when I think, not only how I became a victim of this horrific lethal crime-wave, but when even I think of the circumstances that placed me into the world of hidden covert intelligence and weapons unheard of, at least by me, it makes even I shutter.
It started in the summer of 1998 when I received a call from a local shock trauma hospital that my husband had been involved in an on-the-job explosion–one that ripped straight through him. By the time I arrived at the hospital that night, after neighborhoods helped me from my shock, he was hanging on to life on a 5-8% chance, downgraded by the next day to only 1-3%, yet the head doctor kept him alive. We didn’t have a living will, though we spoke of it two weeks prior to his untimely death, or I should say, murder. My late-husband was in-fact, murdered. In reality, they murdered two people that day: George and his widow; me.
This is my hero, my late-husband. It’s because of his horrific, insufferable long, death that his widow became a ‘Targeted Individual’ by her country, the United States of America. His name was George. He was a human being and an American. He loved Forth of July parades and Fireworks. He was a simple man, yet worked tirelessly just to support us, sometimes working 14 hour double shifts, 14 days straight in a row. He was a real man in every sense of the term. Known to stop on the dime for anyone needing help, regardless of the color of their skin, age, or whether it was another man, he always held doors opened for everyone. If a woman, man, the elderly, or a child were harmed in any manner, he stood-up for the person. Matter-of-fact, he did so even for those he did not like. We were both like this. Not one to remain bitter towards those who’d hurt us, we always believed in treating other’s as we’d hope to be treated, in return. Sadly, while he lay in a Shock Trauma hospital unit fighting to die on a 1-3 percent chance, relations around us were already conspiring for what he’d be worth, dead.