Heart's Journey

By Judy Nylander

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 20, 2009
• ISBN: 9781469108544

Judy Nylander

The author of this book is Judy Nylander. She lives in a small desert community in Arizona, with her husband Michael. Judy’s writing is inspired from real life experiences. She hopes to inspire, those who have survived the effects of dysfunction and loss in their lives, and risen to a higher plateau.

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Heart’s Journey

A Book by Judy Nylander

Copyright © 2009 by Judy Nylander.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

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Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

Dedication

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This book is dedicated to my children, Tonia Marie and Neal Patrick. They are my inspiration and living proof that the human spirit can truly survive and rise above all circumstances.

With Love , JN

. . . Love lost at such a cost, give me things that don’t get lost, like a coin that won’t get tossed, rolling back to you…

Words from Old Man by Neil Young

Gypsy ( jip’se ) - A wanderer, vagabond. One who moves aimlessly from place to place, with no particular purpose or destination. Someone with a strong and irresistible urge to travel.

CHAPTER 1

Starr crept quietly into the dark chilly room. She ran her hand slowly along the cold smooth wall, in search of the light switch. As she turned on the light, she was met with an all too familiar sight, a cold unfriendly room void of anything personal or familiar, The bathroom of yet another strange motel room.This had become her only refuge of privacy, over the many years of traveling around the country with her father. At that moment, Starr felt old beyond her years. At sixteen, she had faced more heartache and chaos in her young life, than most people encounter in a lifetime. For, since her mother had pass away, her life had become an endless search for something or someone to fill the empty void that she felt in her heart. Unlike her mother, Starr’s father had never been blessed with the ability to express love or anything even resembling a caring emotion for her. He had made it perfectly clear, after her mother’s death, that she was nothing more than a burden and obligation. He would often reminder her of this fact with his constant critical and judgmental remarks, as to her many faults. Starr stood in the cold, dingy motel bathroom for several minutes, hugging the old worn diary close to her chest her mother’s diary. The only possession she had left, belonging to her mother. Everything else had either been sold, given away by her father or just left behind. In a world which had become so strange and unfamiliar, Starr desperately needed to remember that there was a time, when she was loved. So, every chance she got, which was usually after her father feel asleep, she would steal away to the bathroom and quietly read her mother’s words. Starr sat down on the cold white tile floor, and leaned her back against the hard porcelain bathtub and carefully opened the diary to the first page

Entry—July 10th, 1967

Today I saw my new daughter at the orphanage. Her name is Starr. The first moment I saw her small pale face, peeking out from the old faded blanket, I knew. This child would be special. As she lies in her tiny bed, it was as if she was surrounded with an aura of peace and light. The nun’s at St. Joseph’s orphanage said she had mysteriously appeared on their doorstep, late one night. They had named her Starr for the small, star-shaped birthmark on her right ankle. Just this tiny whisper of a child, deserted in the middle of the night, without a clue as to who or why she had been so carelessly discarded.

Starr wept as she read her mother’s words. Somehow, it made her feel as if her mother were right beside her. She continued reading.

Entry—August 5th, 1967

I have signed the last of the adoption papers and am picking Starr up from the orphanage today. Finally, after all these years of trying to have a child of my own, I found Starr. All I know is that she’s mine. Just as if I had carried her inside me for nine months. Maybe God just chose a different way for her to be delivered

Starr