The Fake Twitter Girl

In the end, people will lie.

We will never know for sure their motives– whether it’s out of greed or self-preservation, assimilation or merely selfishness, or purely for the perverse pleasure of destroying someone’s faith in the world.

What we do know is this: if we are lucky, the lie will come to light, the liar exposed, and those hurt by the lie will eventually heal and be stronger for it.

Of course.

That strength always comes with a price.


If we are willing to pay it.

If we are patient and willing to work hard, the truth will rise to the top and hope will once again be abundant.

We will be set free.

*Why Am I Waxing Philosophical?*

Members of our tightly knit Milwaukee Twitter community were shaken Tuesday evening by a series of tweets from an anonymous handle purporting to be a Catfisher.

The Catfisher was, allegedly, exposing the fact that a Milwaukee Twitteree had swiped someone else’s face (pictures from Facebook) and used them to create a fictional social media character with Twitter, Instagram and Google+ accounts.

Now, I realize anonymous handles, alter egos, aliases, imposters are hardly new or particularly newsworthy on Twitter…or any other platform for that matter. It has long been known that these accounts exist (hell, I’ve gone through five generations of handles until finally becoming me as myself.).

What makes this story noteworthy is the lesson to be learned from it as applied across all social media platforms (for veterans of, and newbies to, the world of social media).

It’s a study, though not scientific, about the way friendships are built at record-breaking pace in the world of social media.

It’s a story about the way, for some reason, our traditional gut reactions, our spidey senses, and our blink factors can easily become distorted when interacting with total strangers online—especially when they seem to have credibility.

It’s a story of trust built on community…which is how social media works.

It’s a real-life story of Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s willing suspension of disbelief where people wanted to believe the best and were quick to ignore red flags.

It’s a story of how someone who must have been so empty, probably very sad, and so obviously lonely came to ingrain herself in the lives of so many for nearly three years.

And finally, it’s the story of how those of us left behind are picking up the pieces, leaning on each other, learning from the experience, and moving on as a tighter, albeit more closed, community.

As always, with full candor, I am part of this story. And the story I tell is from my perspective—and my perspective only.

Though I’ve spoken with others, I’m sure not all will agree with my conclusions. And I don’t purport to speak for them.

I got played just like everyone else did.

And it sucks.

But I’m not bitter. That’s just a waste of time.

*The Background*

In the interest of protecting her privacy, her safety and my own ass, I will not give either her handle or her real name. Though I know many of you out there know both, I’m not using my blog disseminate that information.

For this post, she’ll be called FakeTwitterGirl.

Her alias’ first name was completely vanilla. Like most people who aren’t looking for verification, she used only that vanilla first name with a personalized handle.

No red flags there.

Her profile and stream pictures always showed a bright, vibrant, and frankly Midwestern gorgeous, thirty-something woman.

Her personality had just the right amount of sass, support, and sympathy.

Before I started interacting with her on an almost daily basis, what I noticed right away was that she always seemed to be there to lend support to someone in need.

The second thing I noticed was that many of my friends not only followed her, but interacted with her. And not just interacted with her on a “oh we’ll humor you level,” but on a very genuine, mutual respect level.

Keep this in mind as we move forward.

Initially, she said she lived in Milwaukee. The city turned out, she complained, to be too overwhelming. So she picked up and moved “home” to Elkhorn.

For those she interacted with privately, her life story changed slightly from person to person.

*The Evolution*

For me, my private interaction started with her mundane tweet that she was nervous about a first date.

We started direct messaging. She said that she had been married to a man who abused her and that she was super nervous about dating again. It was a decently long conversation as Twitter messaging goes.

The next day I followed up to ask how things went. It wasn’t like we were instant friends. But we did continue to message from time to time.

I can’t even say when the ice broke, but I can tell you why. FakeTwitterGirl started telling me about her friendships with my friends. If they let her in, I felt that I could relax a little more with her than I typically would with someone I genuinely didn’t know at all.

It was then that I started to let her in—never all the way or even most of the way, but enough that I felt comfortable (something that happens rarely).

She jumped with me through four different handles. She seemed like a loyal, funny, sweet person. I genuinely liked her—again, not something that happens with a lot of people.

But as with a lot of people one interacts with on Twitter, I didn’t meet her in person. At the time this was all happening, I was extremely stressed and working more than seventy hours a week. I didn’t have time to meet up with anyone really. And frankly, meeting someone you get along with on Twitter can sometimes be super awkward. With my time so limited, I didn’t even ask to get together.

No red flag there.


It was right after I jumped to my second handle (so, way over a year ago) that FakeTwitterGirl started to “crush” on me.


In the public stream.

Honestly, I found it both flattering and hilarious. She was hot. So why not flirt back? Our kind of flirting usually spawned a conversation that involved multiple other parties—it was just…fun. And we became known for that.

In private, we took the step of going offline. Still not in person, but offline. We exchanged phone numbers and started texting.

Marathon texting.

About random shit.

About random funny shit.

It was around this time, probably just about a year ago, that she said she’d gone out with another Milwaukee Twitteree and she really, really liked him.

As they started dating and through their relationship (though I have no idea if she ever really *dated* this guy or just gleaned information from his twitter stream), FakeTwitterGirl and I rode the highs and lows of her new relationship. We hashed out a lot of stuff–all via text.

One day, though, she reached out despondent. Something had gone wrong with the guy and she was beside herself. I can’t remember if I did or she did, but someone picked up the phone and called.

And we talked voice to voice.

No red flag here.


They were there.

*The Red Flags*

Hindsight is always…always 20/20, right?

This is no different.

Red flags abound.


In December, my job situation changed. I was relying on friends to get me through a rough patch, you know? And, importantly, after I’d spent the requisite two weeks hiding under my covers, I had more time.

So I started to ask FakeTwitterGirl to meet up for lunch or a movie or whatever. She always had some good excuse why we couldn’t—either the boy thought it was too dangerous for her to be on the road, or she was working with a client at her non-profit, or, or, or…but frankly, with the craptastical Wisconsin winter we had and the crap I was going through, the distance between Elkhorn and Milwaukee might as well have been from Earth to Moon.

But, she was always there for me via text. A shoulder. A kind word. Whatever was needed, she gave it.

Red flag flying there. Right there *points* do you see it?

I didn’t.


Then at some point this winter, she started following me on Instagram. It was the first time I’d seen her use a last name. (Fake, of course.).

It used to be (two jobs ago) my job to find litigants…like literally scour the web and offline sources to find someone we wanted to bring into a claim. We all leave such a trail behind us on the web, my job was usually easy.

Really easy.

But with FakeTwitterGirl and her FakeLastName, I found squat. I mean it was this circular trail with all things leading back into each other. The Google+ account pointed to the Twitter account which pointed to the Instagram account or vice versa.

I tried looking up her non-profit on the IRS’s non-profit website. Zilch.

Checked CCAP for a divorce, a speeding ticket, anything. Zero.

I checked all my other usual fall back sites. Zip.

But there was no *ah ha* moment then. As noted, I wasn’t really paying attention to much…or caring about much. And she said she was an abused wife who ran a non-profit for abused women—something that is typically under the radar.

Right. I know exactly what you’re thinking. What? Come on, Lo, just what? Really? Where was your common sense?

Didn’t have any.

Red flag waving in the winter wind. See it?


Then summer rolled around (2014). And darn it, don’t you think it’s time that we met up, FakeTwitterGirl?

Of course she said yes. But then she always begged off, or just ignored text messages suggesting a meet up. Even when I was in Twin Lakes which was like minutes from Elkhorn, she was not to be found.

Oh hai, red flag in the summer sun. How are you?


Once or twice she’d posted a picture of herself (a picture swiped from RealTwitterGirl) out or celebrating or something. But mostly, she posted pictures of venues when she was out and about in Lake Geneva…


We all do that.

Don’t we?

There’s more.

But you get the point.

There were signs I should have seen, but ignored.

I mean come on.

My friends were friends with her.

*The Fall-Out*

I’ve spoken to a number of people in the last two days. It’s felt like this trickle down of confirmation that FakeTwitterGirl was actually fake.

People came to me who thought I knew her, as in met her.

I went to people who I thought knew her, as in met her.

No one ever did.

What it comes down to is this: each one of us who was taken in by FakeTwitterGirl let our guards down because we:

a) relied on our friends to give FakeTwitterGirl credibility;

b) never asked our friends how well they actually knew FakeTwitterGirl;

c) were fooled by her seeming genuine concern for others; and

d) we wanted to believe that someone like her could actually be real.

*The Emptiness*

I think this is where people might be upset with me for not being angry at FakeTwitterGirl.

I mean I was pissed initially. Last night I was uh-ang-ree. Beyond so.

But I’m not anymore.

Anger takes so much energy.

I don’t feel violated either—at least not in the creepiest sense of the word. The things I shared with her, I shared willingly. And as I said before, I never let her in all the way.

I never let anyone all the way in.

Granted, I didn’t have a clue FakeTwitterGirl wasn’t a real person and I wouldn’t have shared anything *obviously* had I known…but that’s my fault.

There were red flags.

I ignored them.

What I do feel is this strange sense of remorse. But not for the friendship. And not for not doing my due diligence and asking my friends what they actually knew about FakeTwitterGirl.

What makes me feel bad is that someone could be so empty inside herself that something totally snapped. And that the something snapped so violently that whoever she really was disappeared completely.

I feel bad that someone who appeared to be so lonely and sad felt the need to shut down her own personal social media handles, swipe someone else’s face and pictures, and re-invent herself as a whole new person, someone completely fictional.

To me, it’s nothing but tragic.

You are, of course, free to disagree.

I expect many of you will.

*What’s Left*

What we’re left with in the wake of FakeTwitterGirl is a violation of the Milwaukee Twitterees’ trust. Our little community of friends feels like we should have known better…or at least should have known.

But we didn’t.

A few of you are out there kicking yourselves for not taking action sooner.


The reason we failed to question FakeTwitterGirl wasn’t just that we trusted each other.

We failed to question because when someone is that desperate to disappear, they actually believe themselves that they are someone else.

To wit, she couldn’t have been as convincing as she was if she didn’t believe she *was* FakeTwitterGirl.

But what I’m getting from the community tonight, aside from some stray bits of anger, is people pulling together to support one another as we all sort through this baffling mess and that feeling of what the hell was that shit?

We are tighter tonight than we were yesterday.

More jaded, too, perhaps.

But that will fade.

It always does.

I think as a whole, we’ll all be a little smarter when some new person tries to become part of the crew.

And that’s okay.

As long as we don’t shut everyone out.

No longer will: Oh, I met that person on Twitter be enough to satisfy us that someone is a good and decent person…or a *real* person for that matter.

But, and again, maybe it’s just me, it feels like taking a little bit of technology out of intra-personal relationships is probably a good thing.

Meaning, we should meet our supposed online friends face-to-face much sooner.


I can’t speak for any of the rest of you who were taken by FakeTwitterGirl.

None of you actually.

I only know that I feel stronger tonight than I did when I heard that FakeTwitterGirl wasn’t real yesterday.

I feel like there are more important things to worry about than whether FakeTwitterGirl was malicious, or mentally ill, or just <insert your own word here>.

I got played.

I was pissed.

I panicked.

And then.

I realized that it really didn’t matter.

My mom is sick. She’s been in and out of the hospital since last week.

What the fuck do I care if I got played by some lonely person who was funny and only wanted friendship (at least from me)?

There are bigger things to worry about.

I’ll leave you here by saying this: if you got played and you’re pissed, be more careful next time. I’m sorry if you trusted my judgment in bringing FakeTwitterGirl into your world. I trusted other people’s judgment, too. But I’m also here for you while you sort through your feelings, heal, and move on.

We’re all responsible.

We’ll all be okay.

All my love,





The Pain Eater and the Shield

I am a Pain Eater. And I am still learning.

I am a Pain Eater. And without knowing it, you offer your pain to me to be taken away, to be swallowed by me and lifted from you.

I am a Pain Eater. My life is filled with turbulent waters, often not of my own stirrings, often having nothing to do with me. Your earthquakes rise to the surface of my life. My cracks are created by the pain I ingest. Your pain.

I am a Pain Eater. You seek me out. Often, you don’t even know me. But you find me—in the line at the grocery store, at a social function, at a crosswalk. You find yourself telling me things you haven’t told other people, people who know you, people who love you. You say you don’t know why you’re telling me this thing or that thing. You instinctively know that I will take your pain and let you breathe again.

I am a Pain Eater. I am connected to you. Sometimes I don’t want to be. Sometimes I will withdraw and ignore you. Sometimes I just can’t.

But I am a Pain Eater and you are drawn to me.

I am a Pain Eater. I am most powerful when we touch. Really touch. I replace your pain with newness. Your heaviest darknesses melt away. You feel free. You feel safe. You feel hope.

I crave touch and I despise touch. If we touch, touch very closely, it is because you, not your pain, are emblazoned on my heart. You are in the book.

It is not your problem how I feel. But you should know I am still learning.

When I take your pain, sometimes it wrecks me. I cannot believe the unbelievable suffering of my fellow man. It gets trapped in my head and my heart echoing against the walls of each. Each reverberation is a piercing arrow of pain searing through hope. Burning it. Destroying it.

It’s still so new–the recognition that what I’m feeling, those feelings, the hurt, the destruction, they are not mine.

Sometimes I miss it. Miss the sign. Miss the realization.

I am destroyed, but it was not my destruction. It was yours.

Sometimes I need to be rescued from your darkness. It does not always shed easily from my existence. My soul remains embattled and steeped in ugliness…freeing it is sometimes impossible to do alone.

My soul is rescued by a Shield. He draws out the darkness, holds it at bay, and forces it to dissipate into light. He sets us both free.

If not for him, I would surely sink into the abyss.

I am a Pain Eater.

He is a Shield.

Do You Miss It?

Do you miss it?

Without a doubt, this is the most often asked question I get–from family, friends–when they find out about my disease.

The question isn’t mean. There’s no malicious intent behind it.

But it does hurt. Because what they are really asking is: Do you miss your life? Do you miss being you? Do you miss all the things you used to do?

And what they really mean is: Are you okay? How are you dealing with this?

But what their eyes say is: Thank God it’s not me (or some variation thereof).

We all do it, look at another person who is in some less than desired position in life–whether it’s unemployment, illness, some state of relationship hell–and say to ourselves: Thank God it’s not me.

If you don’t, you’re either better than the rest of us or less grateful. I’m not sure which.

But the point isn’t to judge people because they say this, or feel it, or even ask it.

The point is to understand that when you ask this of a specific person, you are asking so much more than: “Do you miss it?”

You’re asking the person to relive the things she’s already been (or still is) processing. You’re telling her that you’d have a hard time coping in her position. You’re telling her, in a way, that you feel sorry for her.

Regardless, here’s my answer:

Yes. Of course, I miss it.

My life has been amazing. The physical talents I was given were all used, and used well, used often, and not squandered (although, God may say differently, I feel pretty good on that point.).

Although a lot of my friends can say it, not many people in the general population can say they were a professional anything related to sports. I can.

Not many people can say they were 3rd in the Nation in anything. I can.

Not many people can say they skied 30 days in one season in Colorado. I can.

Not many people can say they’ve snow skied on two continents, lived in Europe, traveled abroad, acted in a movie, loved to camp, crashed an ATV…twice,
been a triathlete, been on skis–snow and water–since they were four, been a ski instructor, run long distances and loved sprinting, hiked in the mountains in three states, lettered in swimming, medaled in diving, was a certified sailing and windsurfing instructor, was a cheerleader, played on a softball team, did ballet and modern dance, was a figure skater (though not a good one), did synchronized swimming, got to cliff jump in the Smokies, loved kayaking and cross-country skiing, held her own on a bike, took some mad spills in the pipe on a snowboard (thank God for helmets), could flip, roll, and spin on a wakeboard, centered a four-tier pyramid, could spin a 1080 on a swivel ski, played drums in a band, played tennis, was a lifeguard, learned to golf, and got to a purple belt in tae kwon do before the body gave out

But it’s different now…Everything is different.

I’m so grateful for the opportunities, the experiences…the total riot my life was.

Being grateful and missing it, though, are things that can, and do, co-exist.

With no words of wisdom or comfort, my answer is very simply: I do miss it. All of it.

All my love,

Slow Down Lady

*Open Letter to the Far-Too-Old-To-Have-Long-Platinum-Blond-Hair-Slick-Silver-Ford-Escape-Lady*

Dear Lady,

Perhaps you didn’t realize that it’s December 20th, just 4 days away from Christmas Eve. And that parking lots in malls would have actual people walking in them.

And perhaps you didn’t realize that it’s 30 degrees outside, raining, and we’re in the middle of an ice storm. And that parking lots are ice covered, making pedestrians walk more cautiously and slowly.

Or perhaps you were only worried about yourself and your time.

Maybe you were late getting somewhere. I don’t know.

But here’s what I do know:

Today you won the lottery. Today you were unbelievably lucky. Today God smiled on you…hell, today God smiled on me.

Today, when I looked at my two Defiance braces, I picked the one that despite not being broken in and not quite the correct fit, provides the better knee stability of the two.

Today, I decided that my Newtons were the better option over my UGG boots as the boots don’t have very good traction.

Today, and everyday, while I am no longer physically able to train as a ninja at JKLee, the reflexes and all that I’ve learned remain and can be recalled without thought.

Today as I was crossing the parking lot at Brookfield Square and you were waiting to turn, I noticed your hair and the fact that you had too much make up on. I noticed that you had brown eyes and were wearing a black wool coat. I noticed the car you were driving.

Today as you were in a hurry, you did not see me in my bright pink and lime green hat, or my neon pink gloves with neon blue shoes (and light grey hoodie and jeans).

Today as I watched you turn your slick silver Ford Escape in my direction, I thought surely you saw me. The lady behind you did. In the split second that I made eye contact with her, her face registered horror…the kind that hits someone’s face as they are about to be an unwillingly witness to something gruesome and awful.

Today as I realized you did not, in point of fact, see me…at all…my hand hit your front, driver’s side quarter panel which allowed me to push myself into the air and jump free of getting mowed down by you and your slick silver Ford Escape.

Today my choice of shoes and knee brace saved my life because you didn’t.

Today if I’d had my old brace on, my knee would have buckled out and I’d have smacked my head on the pavement–same with the shoes.

Today when you finally did see me, you did not stop. Even after I hit your car. But you did swerve and hit the accelerator.

Smart. Very smart.

Today, my dear woman, today you won the lottery.

Merry Christmas and God speed, Platinum Blond Silver Escape Lady. Merry Christmas, indeed.

with much gratitude and hope,

Could You Be More of Social Media Bully?


It’s a disturbing trend I’ve been catching lately on all social media platforms. Not sure where it’s coming from or why people feel this way, but as a community and brand manager for three pieces of the same puzzle, it scares me.

Social. Media. Bullying.

And I’m not talking about the overflow from high school or social circles kind of bullying — that’s horrible and writing about it in a pithy blog just isn’t cool…Of person-to-person social media bullying, I’ll say this: Fucking. Stop. Bullying. Each. Other, Assholes. <close /rant>

The bullying I’m talking about is the narcissistic, me and my needs over everyone else’s, so screw you X Corporation (celebrity, well-known person, or non-profit) kind of bullying.

Over the last few weeks, I’ve seen posts like this:

XCorporation should know better than to piss me off, I’m on social media.

Or: Companies shouldn’t piss off people who know how to use social media.

Or: Hey @<Insert Company Name> too bad for you that you pissed me off/treated me like crap, now there’s going to be hell to pay.

Or: Hey @<Insert Well-Known Person>, you better <take “x” action> otherwise you’ll be a liar and there are too many liars in this world. (Really? How about too many self-important, opinionated asshats? *coughs* Sorry.).

Or (the one that scares me the most): When is @<Insert Company or Celebrity Name> going to <insert any sort of unfiltered action> because it’s just not right what they’re/he/she/it’s doing.

To make public comments like this is to fundamentally misunderstand *social* media (and I’m speaking just of the public comments–if you want to rant under a locked handle or to your friends, great, go for it. Just be cautious.).

Here are my thoughts. As always, you don’t have to agree with me, just don’t be a dick if you don’t. Name-calling is not going to convince me you’re right.

1. We are all equals. While social media allows you to express yourself, give your opinion, and vent, it doesn’t give you an unfettered right to put your needs above anyone else’s needs…ever.

2. Why are you so important? Seriously. The next time you feel like taking to social media to publicly damage a reputation, ask yourself why you’re so important. If the company, or celebrity, or non-profit, or WHOEVER you’re pissed at has helped even two people, is it really necessary to try to “take them down” because of some perceived slight or wrong that has been done to you?

3. Why are you so damn angry? Again, seriously. The next time you feel like taking down a company that doesn’t do something you wanted it to, ask yourself why you’re so damn angry. Anger is a secondary emotion that always always follows another emotion. Figure out what that emotion is, deal with it, and then try to resolve the issue like an adult. And if you can’t, count to 10, open the refrigerator, and eat your feelings.

4. Bullying. Taking to social media to smear before trying to resolve the issue like an adult either via old school modalities or via social media makes you a bully, pure and simple. Just cut it out already.

5.  Free Shit. If the only reason you’re melting down and making yourself look like the narcissistic asshat you are is because you think you’ll get either: attention, followers, or free shit, GET OFF MY LAWN. Turn in your social media card.

Things to consider when you’re out for blood:

1. Once you take it to social media, company resources have to be allocated in attempting to diffuse the situation (as unfounded as it may be). If you just said: good, I am sad. Why does your anger need to draw the community manager’s full attention away from helping others?

2. Once you take it to social media, it’s really hard to take it back. Again, if you just said good, you don’t get this world we live in. Long after your anger has dissipated and your seven seconds of self-righteous satisfaction has disappeared, that company will be dealing with your tantrum.

*Note: with crawlers on every platform, posts never go away. If you’re on twitter, do a Google search for your handle. You might be surprised what crawlers have pulled of your even seemingly innocent tweets to save forever.

3. Don’t be a dick. Seriously. If you don’t want to be treated like a dick, don’t act like one.

Understanding social media is fairly simple. It’s a way to connect with people and brands in a way we’ve never been able to do. If you’re using social media to get attention, or to make yourself feel better by putting others down or by trashing companies, go away.

That’s all. Just needed to get that off my chest.

All my love, Rory

The Elevator Encounter

So this morning.

In the elevator.

This old man gets on at the 14th Floor.

He’s dressed like a 70 year-old hippie. You know the type.

And he’s got one of those poofy jackets that makes him look like he’s got a life vest on, but if you threw him in the river it would drown him.

Anyway, we smile. I go back to looking at the floor.

He turns to me and says: Do you have heat?

Me: *a zillion thoughts race through my head, but I say:* Uhhh, whut?

Him: You know, heat…in your apartment? Does your apartment have heat.

Me (still stupid, but playing a smart person): Well, I guess it does. I don’t know.

Him: *screws up face like he’s talking to an imbecile* How do you not know if you’re apartment has heat? Don’t you live in the one bedroom on the southwest side?

Me: Ummm, I’m so used to it being cold in the apartment in the winter, I guess I didn’t notice that it was any colder than normal?

Him: With all the windows? You have all the windows in your apartment?

Me: Yeahhhhhh.

Him: How do you not know if you have heat?

Me: *thinks to self* that’s a personal question. *Says out loud* I don’t know. I make a lot of it myself…?

Him: Hrrumph. That’s ridiculous. How do you not know if you have heat? We don’t have heat. It’s cold in my apartment.

Me: Ummm, okay.

Him: There’s absolutely NO heat in this building.

Me: Okay.

*doors open at 1st floor*

Me: *thinks* Thank fucking Christ.

Him: I’m always going to remember you now. You’ll be the girl who has no clue if she has heat in her apartment.

Me: Yeah. Okay.

*Door shuts*

Me: What. The. Fuck. Was. That?


Also, what a creep turd for knowing where I live? WTF?

LiMe-On-Day for Little Dude

Hey Kids… I know a lot of you have been following Little Dude’s battle, have been sending love and prayers, and awesomesauce goodness his way. We did not expect that the cancer would progress quite as rapidly as it did. 😦

He passed away in the arms of mom and dad on Wednesday morning. 😦 😦 😦

As his dad said,  Little Dude has gone to dance with his grandmom…

He’s not in pain anymore. But he left a giant hole of it when he left. So once again, I’m asking for good thoughts or prayers for his mom and dad, sisters and extended (gigantical love-filled) family.

One more favor to ask…Little Dude’s favorite color (you can see from my avi and cover pic) is lime green. His funeral is on Monday (July 2nd); and, while I know most of you won’t be there, all of you will be there in spirit.

So I’m asking, if you can, for you to sport some piece of lime green on Monday to celebrate his life, to remember to hug your kids, and to send love to a family that has a giant hole in it.

Take a picture, upload it, tag me (@roryenvers) and hashtag it #TeamLittleDude (either here or on twitter), and caption it (if you want to).

I’ll be swiping your pictures for a memory book for them…to let them know that LittleDude’s life has touched so many that didn’t even know him…and that his living legacy will be one of effervescent energetic, lime green, love.

Thanks so much for your love and support. You are all amazing. All of you.

all my love,

Give a listen to one of  Little Dude’s fav Casting Crown songs… Praise You In This Storm–amazingly appropriate. #AGiantLimeFilledHole youtube