MOM

I thought of you with love today
but that is nothing new

I thought about you yesterday
and days before that too,
I think of you in silence
I often speak your name

All I have are memories
and your picture in a frame.

Your memory is my keepsake
with which I’ll never part
I have you in my heart.

Hug me strongly, and carry me home

Dear Mom, one more kiss again

I thought of you today, but that is nothing new. I thought about you yesterday and days before that too. I think of you in silence, I often speak your name. All I have are memories and your picture in a frame. Your memory is a keepsake from which I’ll never part. God has you in His arms, I have you in my heart.

See more at: http://www.idlehearts.com/?p=24438I thought of you with love today

Today is the day that my Mother, Dorothy Wolkoff died on June 30th,1997. It was sudden and there was never a chance to say goodbye.
 

My mom was the strongest, toughest, most courageous, gentle, caring person I have ever known. 

Biology aside, mom's can be magical human beings. A mother's love is unlimited, it can heal us, make us feel safe, and inspire us. My mother was all that and more. How lucky I am.

She taught me much, but in particular, emphasized the importance of self pride, work/life ethics, compassion, caring, and being humble. 

In spite of her hard life, she provided for my sister and myself, by doing whatever was necessary for us to live, we never lacked for anything because of her grueling unselfish efforts. 

My mother was the only one who believed in me, particularly during my youth, and stubbornly never gave up, no matter how much I screwed up. 

Without her support during my most difficult years as a youngster, a wild acting out teenager, she ALWAYS stood up to me, for me, guided me, and refused to give in, or give up on me. It was not easy for her to do that, but she would not back down, ever.

My mother literally saved my life many times, she was one of a kind, I will always remember and love her for that. I told my mom in many different ways over the years how much she eventually contributed to my taking the correct productive path with my life all because of her. 

I spent much of my adult life making my mother proud of me, telling her how much I loved her. 

Whatever is good in me, came from my mother. 

I love and miss you mom.

61 YEARS AGO. WAS IT WORTH IT?

Samuel Wolkoff- June 6th, 1958, forever etched in my soul. 

My father was gruesomely murdered on this day many years ago, at the age of 42. I was 10 years old. 

He lost his life that day, I lost my childhood, my inner peace, and my soul. Samuel Wolkoff was MY FATHER. Tragically, I hardly remember anything about him, and almost nothing about our relationship as father and son.Today's Blog is in memory of Samuel Wolkoff, My Dad, tortured and murdered (CLICK HERE TO READ MORE).

The rest of the year, the ever present demons make sure I remember those whose memories others have tried to erase, these are my family, they were human beings who will never be forgotten by me, they lived and never deserved to die in such horribly suffering ways. 

To me it's very personal when June 6th arrives every year, a very painful day. It has now been 61 agonizing years since my father Samuel Wolkoff was brutally tortured and murdered.
But there are also extremely evil people who visit here. I suppose they come for many different reasons and I can see they are from all over the world.

I get emails frequently, mostly anonymous from others about the monster subhuman animal who murdered my father. They vary from other victims families murdered by the monster, friends of his, and entities that shall remain not named by me. 

Some of you are the cowardly, but powerfully dangerous scum bags who murdered my father, some are close murderous associates of my father, as well as those of you in the arrogant, incompetent, corrupt law enforcement systems, whose agencies knowingly covered their asses, and in doing so, betrayed your sworn oaths to defend justice, by participating in covering up the truth, obstructing justice in this capital offense, which has no statute of limitations.

My father believed in kindness, honesty, family, hard work, ethics, and his rights as a human being to reap the fruits of his labor for himself and our family.

He was a man who did not run away from the corrupt animals who wanted a "cut of his business" for themselves. 

He believed in himself and the law enforcement, legal, supposedly ethical "systems" to protect him from those that wanted the business that he had built from nothing, with his blood and sweat.


He believed in a code of personal ethics, morality, integrity that dictated honor, family, respect, fairness, loyalty, faith in humanity, and that no one is entitled to steal from another human being their right to live.


On June 6th, 1958 the world was already very evil, corrupt, his life was cheap, and scum bags took what they wanted, from who ever they wanted. That was the day they took my father's life, his business, and all of our souls.

Today, June 6th, 2019, the world is infinitely more evil, more corrupt, life is even cheaper, scum bags enjoy their lives as they take even more of what they want, from whomever they choose.


Many of the murderers of my father, and their children are still alive. They have all done extremely well financially and live with a high standard of living for themselves, their families have all thrived in spite of their evil deeds. 


Yes, my father was a hero, he is a hero who sacrificed his life for his beliefs. Seems old fashioned, naive, for someone to believe so strongly in doing the right thing. 

Yet somehow, he who had nothing, created a thriving business, and maintained his righteousness of believing in goodness, his business associates, his relatives, the legal/law enforcement system, and that being a hard working, good person is to be rewarded.


In the end, his naive belief in the humanity of others, particularly his relatives (we know who you are) proved that he was DEAD wrong and he paid for it with his life. 

We all know each other, or about each other, you know I have hidden away safely the written confidential secret official documents with my honest law enforcement and political friends, the written proof of all documented detailed real facts that would expose the ugly truths. 

Nothing to be concerned about, it will remain buried. 

We know the deal that protects all of us, the reasons that nothing else has been done by any of us about my father's murder, the reason these documents will remain hidden, is the unspoken but very clear mutual understanding we all have forever, of don't ever again fuck with any of my family, and in return, we won't fuck with any of you by making the real truth public.

Was it worth the unimaginable pain that he felt as he was tortured slowly for 5 hours on the night of June 6, 1958? 

What must he have been thinking during those horrific hours of going in and out of consciousness as they repeatedly tightened and loosened a rope around his neck?

Samuel Wolkoff's cause of death, 5 long hours of tortured Murder By Strangulation. 

Try to hold your breath for as long as you can, then wait 40 more seconds, exhale, that will give you a tiny sense of the horrific way my father felt for 5  consecutive hours, a rope tied as a noose, was continuously alternately tightened, then loosened around his neck, while his hands were tied behind his back. 

Death, when it finally came, must have been a merciful release for my father.

Was it worth it to believe that your goodness would triumph above evil, that god would watch over you, that law enforcement would protect you, that your wife, and children would not suffer beyond imagination for the rest of our lives?

Justice not served, justice not given, nothing complicated, nothing new, an innocent, good person, a human life stolen without any remorse, it happens all the time. 

How can a loved one who dies suffering, rest in peace, ever? The answer is they cannot rest in peace because of the way they died.
Seems like a simple thing to believe and its even reduced to a short acronym, R.I.P., easy to write. I can't write it, not possible, not after all the never ending suffering of my father, and our family.

Was it worth it, my hero, my dear beloved father? 

Was it worth it?

The march of the dead continues, May/June are the saddest months for me, I dread this time of the year, horrifically gruesome memories of human, innocent lives of my family wasted. 

I am often intrigued as to why over 104,000 people as of this date have visited my Blog. 

There are many good people who come here, victims, families of victims, people seeking justice, those who are fighting against injustice, human beings who care. 

I see search terms on my blog from people who arrive looking for information about my father, a lot of other interesting search words that only "you" would know. 

There are visitors here who are criminals, murderers, organized organized crime family leaders, law enforcement, the curious, all are responsible by their actions or inaction's for the injustices that are specifically detailed in many of my different Blog posts about all the victims I write about.

For an ultra private person like me, a blog is obscenely public, personal, grossly revealing, definitely not my style, but  interestingly, momentarily cleansing, a way of coming out, being up front with unbearable realities, my reality. Mostly I do it for those that can no longer speak for themselves, who experienced unimaginable suffering that ended their lives. In this moment, my father's reality.

I do know that MY FATHER was a courageous HERO. 

Dead heroes, no matter how courageous they are, never get remembered by society for their acts of courage. They are quickly forgotten, except by those who loved them.

Was it worth it for MY FATHER, Samuel Wolkoff, to stand his ground and give up his life in such a terrifying, grotesque manner at the hands of cowardly pussy punks? 

The world did not care about his life and did nothing.

My father's fatal errors that cost him his life? He  believed in trust, in the sense of obligation to very close members of his family, by giving them a chance to change their ways.

The good deeds he did, paid back by these very same, who had him murdered. Horrifically ugly, but brutally true, and they all got away with it, no guilt, no conscience, didn't bother any of them, never mattered to them.

Today we remember my courageous father. He is not resting in peace, and he never will rest in peace, that is certain.