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Photobucket is Down - Again. Updated in August 2017.

April 17th, 2016 Sears Homes 7 comments

When photobucket goes down, all of my pictures disappear. That’s what is happening right now, and it started last night.

If one of my readers could recommend an alternative photo hosting site, I’d be very glad to know about it. One that is easy to use.

I’m currently a “paid” customer at Photobucket, so this is even more disturbing.

I’d like to post a cute picture here but that picture - like the other 5,492 pictures at this site - would not appear.

Thanks so much.

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And 18 hours after I posted this blog on April 17, 2016 (at 6:18 pm), my husband was dead from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the brain stem.

I don’t know if anyone is reading this, as it’s an old unimportant picture-less blog, but I will share this with the lone reader or two that stumbles onto this forgotten page: If you want to completely destroy your spouse, Wayne Ringer found the perfect method. Leave work abruptly, after co-workers overhear an argument with your wife, over the phone. Who cares that it’s a fight that he staged, and pre-planned. After this fight, send your wife a text that blames her for your ghastly act, and then - right before you pull the trigger - put that phone in a front pocket, so that it’s not damaged from bodily fluids, because you know that the police will check your phone and read that message and then word will spread far and wide that you - Wayne Ringer - were driven to this act by your shrew of a wife.

Leave a message with your adulteress (a woman that you claimed you loathed because she “could never keep her big fat mouth shut”) and tell that woman - over and over again - that your wife is a miserable bitch that you despise. After your death by suicide, she’ll be a very “useful idiot” and repeat that story to anyone and everyone that gives her a hearing.

That wife - that “drove you to this” - would be the wife who cooked her husband hundreds of heart-healthy meals, who slipped him fish-oil tablets, to make sure he lived longer, the wife who looked deep into his eyes during the passionate moments and said, “I love you so much that I can’t even find the words to express it.” That would be the wife who told him, “I pray God that I pass before you, because I can’t imagine living without you.”

That would be the wife that frequently told him, “You’re the most brilliant man walking this earth. Of that I am sure.”

That would be the wife who covered him in prayers every morning and every evening. That would be the wife that asked God to surround him in light and love. That would be the wife that asked God to send His angels to keep him safe at City Hall. That would be the wife who hungered for his kiss and longed for his  touch. That would be the wife that stopped gardening, cleaning, writing, cooking or whatever - and ran to the door at 5:40 every evening to greet him with a passionate kiss, because she was glad that he was home, safe and sound. That would be the wife who photographed him thousands of times in ten years, just because “you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

Since his death, I’ve struggled mightily just to face every hour. I live in 15-minute increments. I can no longer read the Bible, so I listen to hymns.

Mainly, I watch TV and most of that is violent crime shows. Pre-April 2016, I despised these very shows. Too graphic. Too violent. Too disturbing. But now, it’s like “Hurt”, the song by Johnny Cash. He sings,

I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that’s real.

Thanks be to God, I have avoided “cutting” although I well understand the temptation. I went through my drug phase and my alcoholic phase and my suicidal phase, and now, I’m in the “numb phase.” Maybe that’s why I watch crime shows. It’s my current drug of choice. It turns off my over-heated emotional hard drive. And in the shows that I watch, the bad guy loses and the good guy wins.

For most of my life, I believed in divine justice. Now I’m not sure what to believe. My deeply-entrenched religious belief system and spiritual faith has been set on fire and thrown out the front door. Now it sits in the street, a smoldering ash heap, the remnant of 50+ years of devout faith and daily work.

After Wayne’s death, I learned that he was not a faithful husband. That has cost me so much pain. Pain on top of pain on top of pain.

Every now and then, I return to this blog and think about the day that I got so frustrated about photobucket. I get so angry with myself because I should not have gotten on that plane Monday morning (April 18, 2016). God should have told me to stay home, to sneak back to the house and wait for him. I knew he was troubled. But I’d seen him troubled before, still, as a sensitive soul, I should have known. I should have stopped him. I should have canceled the trip. I should have been there. And there’s this: I lost my boarding pass that morning at Norfolk International Airport. Was that a sign from God that I should go back home? Could this have been avoided if I had not been so insistent to get on that plane to Boston?

What if he had found me in the living room that day when he came home at 10:30 am? Could I have stopped him? Or would he have killed me too? Either one of those scenarios seem like a better outcome than what I now must face every day of my life.

So, I don’t know if anyone will ever see this blog again. These old picture-less blogs get buried in the 1000+ blogs I’ve published at this site. But if you have read this, you know now the real secrets of this widow’s heart.

I’m not a writer. I’m not a historian. I’m not sure what I am. I don’t know what I am. I don’t know who I am. And I don’t know what I believe.

I really don’t know.

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Why? Why did he do this?

Why? Why did he do this?

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