I was standing there, replaying Saturday morning's phone call in my head. I remember it clearly because I wrote it down afterwards so I wouldn't keep thinking on it. I remember waking up thinking, "I have to call Candy and I don't want to do this. Help me Yeshua." I made the call and as soon as she stared with her fake, 'Oh, Val, I am soooo sorry ...' I cut her off short, saying, "Candy, I don't want to hear you say that to me again. I am still pretty upset about August and I hold you responsible for my husband's death. And I would appreciate it if you would keep Ron away from me too ..." She cut in and said, "Is he bothering you?" And I said, "Not at the moment because I haven't been outside - I have been keeping a deathbed vigil at my husband's side ever since your August visit to our home. I don't know what his problem with me is - and I don't want to know. All I know is that you stormed our front porch on Ron's behalf and my husband is dead because of it." Then I hung up the phone and cried.
For her to NOW use my own words against me in a twisted sense of self-righteousness is just plain wicked.