Tag Archives: #writing

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The Match Still Burns by Judith Mallard

Forgotten Children

Category:Child Advocacy,Foster Care,Memoirs,Non Fiction Tags : 

by Judith Mallard

Forgotten Children

I have been watching as if from afar, all the recent stories about children’s bodies being found in mass graves. Telling myself not to react, not to even feel. Because I am afraid if I do, if I let it out, even just for a moment, I won’t stop crying.

I asked myself if I would know where I would first place my anger and the answer comes pretty quickly. I would blame those that supposedly took up the reins, the responsibility to protect and rescue these children, and eventually, just ended up destroying them. I would definitely start with those.

What angers me more though, is the general disbelief that this could have even happened. How could it not happen seems more of a logical question to me. But for some, it seems easy to try and ignore the whisperings on the wind, the snippets of conversations skipping over things like child abuse, elder abuse, and racial injustices – just pick any vulnerable group and you will see the long unending historical happenings that spoke of this for decades and decades. We are ALL aware of this, if we’re willing to be honest about it.

Then one day I heard yet another hundred bodies of indigenous children were discovered. Now let that sink in for a second. Give it that moment of heart-wrenching silence that it deserves. Say it again. Hundreds of tiny children’s fragile little bodies were found buried in mass graves underneath schools run by governments who had decided they were the best ones to take the children, protect them and give them a better life. I can’t help but wonder if “indigenous” was not in front of the word children would the screams be any louder or reactions any more horrific?

But I didn’t see those headlines plastered all over the place non-stop. I saw them fly by quickly in news feeds and flashes. It’s as if we have just become indifferent to so much horror and the need to just distance ourselves from what we know is actually going on.

This is very personal for me and I won’t even bother to hide it. You’ll learn that about me anytime you peruse my philosophical ramblings or my 3 a.m. writings. I like to strive for authenticity as often as possible. Nothing intrigues me more than authentic people with authentic dialogue. Even if I don’t want to hear what you have to say but knowing perhaps I may need to hear it. If it comes from a place of authenticity and respect, then I’m all ears.

I’m currently in the process of writing my memoirs about growing up in foster care in the late 60s early 70s. It’s not an easy task and I knew it wouldn’t be. And the one point I really need anyone and everyone to hear is that my story is just one story. And if my one story shocks you, then hold on tight because it is a lot worse than one story.

In my research, these stories just seem to pile higher and higher with each turn of a page. The pain, the suffering, the abuse, and the trauma is so overwhelmingly mind-blowing.  I had to stop writing in 2020 because I felt too drained, emotionally and physically. Combined with pandemic PTSD, there were days I felt as if I was just going through the motions. But I now realize my story is more than just a story. It needs to be a call to action, and not just another five-year data modeling, document gathering exercise in futility, as to what went wrong or where did it go wrong.  For some reason, people seem relieved if they can just blame someone. As if, oh that’s to blame, or it’s their fault, we couldn’t have done anything, so now let’s move on. Because we found someone to blame and we wrote a report on it.

I swear, as mere mortals, we spend more time documenting and explaining what is wrong or how it should be fixed – than actually removing the threat or fixing what needs to be fixed.

A Broken System.

There is a picture below that I’m attaching to this post. It is a comment from the Judge that sat on the Supreme Court of Newfoundland to oversee the appeal of Mary Dinn, a woman who was accused of long-term and continuous child abuse. Now this evil wench was charged with only five cases. And just to provide a brief historical snapshot, this woman was considered a stellar foster parent by Children’s Services for over 10 years. Reports indicated that she had 46 children in her care over that time period. Which does beg the question, why only five charges?

Was this an attempt by provincial or federal agencies to placate the victims, to show, “look how we are fixing all this wrongness?” Especially in light of the horrendous scandals from the Mount Cashel Orphanage along with the Hughs Commission Inquiry that lo and behold discovered that the abuse was also running rampant in the private homes. Once again under the lovely umbrella of the government. Oh yes, I do know where to place my anger in all of this. And I think it’s pretty justified. Why aren’t more people getting angry though?

I was one of those 46 children with Mary Dinn – no one ever contacted me or called me or asked me for a witness statement. I would have loved to stand in a courtroom and face that evil incarnate. To tell her she was wrong and that I wasn’t “a worthless dirty child that no one wanted, not even your own parents.” It’s not the Justice system that I’m angry with. They can only hand out justice when a case is brought to them and I think they handled it somewhat ok. For me, it’s the government agencies that should be raked over the coals and their policies or lack of that allowed for all of this to occur. The so-called “Guardians” of the children.

During my own personal research, when I had obtained my own children services files under the Freedom of Information Act, I can honestly say nothing prepared me for reading the two-page letter that they first sent out to me where they told me quite point blank that:

“records indicate that you did become a ward of the province, where, when and under what circumstance is unknown.”

The Match Still Burns by Judith Mallard

How can any legal guardian that has supposedly taken a child to give her a better life not even be able to tell how or why they took her?

And yet some folks will wonder how so many children fell through the cracks? These weren’t just cracks, we’re talking about major sinkholes here. And I’m also willing to say that it is a lot worse than what is even being reported. Or should I say, being hidden in reports.

The Match Still Burns by Judith Mallard

This evil, vindictive woman ruined so many lives, of that I have no doubt. Yet she was government-approved and supported for at least ten years. So what does that tell you about the systems in place?

I spent FOUR HUNDRED AND EIGHTY-FIVE days with that woman. And there are broken pieces inside of me that I will never be able to heal, I just can’t. 485 days is too long a time when you’re only six years old and trying to figure out where and why your mommy and daddy suddenly disappeared. And the only person you have to give you any guidance is as the judge describes her “a sadistic, remorseless person.

This is and should be a global responsibility and a global call to action. One child abused, mistreated or neglected, is one child way too many.

There is a chapter in my book called A Broken System – it comes after I tell my story and after many sleepless nights where I often questioned why I needed to share my particular story. It was then I realized that if I, like so many others, just keep burying the truths, then how will we improve upon something that is so broken? How will we stop history from repeating itself time and time again? There are so many adults today, walking around wounded and scarred, because they carried such traumatic stories but felt they couldn’t share them with anyone. And a lot of times that pain was so deeply wrapped in feelings of despair, shame and even guilt. So they buried them even deeper, but they never ever went away. We can’t heal if we don’t share what has caused our pain and suffering. Nor will we as a society fix what is broken if we don’t accept that some things are still broken.

The Statistics are Staggering

Globally the statistics are staggering. In Canada, there are over 3,573 municipalities. In Ontario, where I lived for many years, “collected data,” in 2018 indicated there were 148,536 Child Maltreatment investigations. In ONE year. ONE province, “reported” over 140,000 abuse cases. And another interesting note, especially with all of today’s current news headlines, it was also noted in 2018 that “indigenous children were identified as a key group to examine because of concerns about overrepresentation in the foster care system. Indigenous children are approximately two and a half times more likely to be substantiated than non-indigenous children. (38.03 per 1,000 indigenous versus 15.15 per 1,000 non-indigenous) *excerpt from Ontario Incidence Study of Reported Child Abuse and Neglect – 2018*

The reports and data I’ve collected from the US are just as scary, just a lot more numbers of child maltreatment cases spread out over a lot more geographical space. But they seem to follow a similar path of “let’s just do another report.”

We have known about child maltreatment for decades. Just like we’ve known about elder abuse and racism.

So the question is – why haven’t we done more? And why is it still occurring?

Maybe the whispers need to become a roar.


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This Child

Category:Creative Writing,Lifestyle,Poems,Poetry,Writing Tags : 

This Child….Poems about children and love

 

I watched him stumble

I watched him fall,

I watched him cry

Then laugh through it all.

 

His delicate features

From his head to his toes,

Soft silky lashes

And a cute freckled nose.

 

He lights up my life

And brings me such joy,

Finds the simplest of pleasures,

In a rock or a toy.

 

So when life feels so crazy

And things run so wild,

It is then I must stop

And see the world as this child.

 

 

 © 2017 Judith Mallard

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Masking your pain

Masquerade

Category:Creative Writing,Poems,Poetry,Writing Tags : 

Masquerade

I heard you call my name today,

in the whisper of a morning breezMasking your paine

I felt your touch upon my skin,

such a gentle sweet caress.

 

But then the darkness came,

in all its’ thundering fury

Scoffing at my weakness roaring,

Love is not for one like you.

 

So I hung my head in shame,

And I trembled in its’ wake

Tears slid down my face,

No heart was left to break.

 

© 2019 Judith Mallard


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Protect our children - foster care - children's services

Keeping Promises

Category:cancer,Death and Dying,Lifestyle,loss,Writing Tags : 

Keeping Promises

I was kind of lost the last time we spoke. Somehow our positions had gotten reversed.

Protect our children - foster care - children's services

I’m not really sure when or how that happened.

You were always the strong one. You who never forgot a single birthday or any other special occasion for that matter. Christmas, Easter, even Halloween, believe it or not. And to be honest, I didn’t always understand why. Because, I wasn’t even your child, and you were not my mother.

Over the years you watched as another foster mom would take me into the store where you worked standing behind the counter in your spotless white coat. You told me many times how you would tell your own mom how much you wanted me for yourself. I never understood that either. No one else seemed to want me, so why would a complete stranger even look at me like that. I was just a dirty welfare kid.

But love is like that, isn’t it Mom. She is not concerned with where you have come from, what you may have or how you may look. She wants to show you great things and limitless possibilities. She sits in the beat of your heart and rises in the precious air that we breathe into our bodies. She is always there and everywhere. You cannot measure or restrict the depth nor breadth of her reach. She is omnipotent.

I am so sorry it took me so long to understand how much you loved me or why. I really didn’t get it. I was so broken. My scars cut so much deeper than I had thought they ever could. But that didn’t stop you, did it? No one else had loved me the way you did. No other mom came to my rescue. Even though I spent so many years waiting for her to come riding in off the sunset, telling me it wasn’t my fault and that I was worthy of a mother’s love, of anyone’s love.

Many times I wished that you could have found me earlier. But I have you now right, so that’s all that matters. That’s all that should matter. Because regardless of how much time we were given, I got to love you and to be loved by you.

It is the quality of that love that truly matters, even though our hearts will always ache for the quantity too.

You must think I’m silly. Talking to you so much. Saying goodnight to a picture frame. If Dad is sitting next to you, he’s probably just shaking his head saying, “that’s our little girl.”

Come on now Mom, you have to see the irony in all of this. I talk to you more now than when you were alive. What’s up with that? Am I a silly human just being human or a woman who is just coming into her own.

I understand that so many of us struggle with the passing of a loved one but I find solace and comfort in honoring your life, by keeping you here with me – in as many ways as I can. Don’t get me wrong, It still hurts, very much, but in a different way. It’s a heaviness now more so at times, rather than that initial piercing through the core of one’s very being. And I’m learning to be okay with this, and in time I will be. But not just yet though.

That day I walked into the hospital to see you, was the day my heart broke in two. I cry each time I go there in my head. It makes my heart hurt so much. No more would I walk into the house on Marine Drive. Dad would have my ham in the oven, already half cooked and you would be fussing all about. Lord help us if Dad or I left something out of place. You walking around like a sentinel making sure we didn’t.

Do you remember that one time I purposely put a candy wrapper in the ashtray in the living room? I had a friend with me there that day. I told her you would catch it within seconds (laughing). And sure enough, in you came, walking through the house – and before you even had your coat off – there you were scooping the candy wrapper out of the dish. You pretended to be affronted when I first told you but I could see you holding back the laughter. You loved when I teased you like that.

But that day in the hospital room was so very different, wasn’t it? I started crying as soon as I saw you, then your niece started crying, then you began to cry, and then the other lady in the room started crying. I know they were crying because you and I were smiling ear to ear while bawling like babies. But it was beautiful wasn’t it mom. They were tears of joy and love and, and……

That was also the day I learned why your arm was hurting you so much. It wasn’t the diabetes was it? Cancer had spread to your bones. It was in your arm, your hip and even your shoulder. Cancer that we didn’t even know about. It was supposed to be diabetes remember? You said it was just your diabetes and the doctors just wanted to do more tests.

It seemed to happen overnight. Just mere months to announce a life must now come to an end. That seems so cruel, don’t you think? But then again we all live with not knowing when, don’t we? Why is it we seem to believe that death only comes to those who appear ill or frail? None of us are immune, are we Mom? The one thing none of us can escape.

I could see that it was causing you so much pain, so much unnecessary crippling pain. We come into this world kicking and screaming and sometimes it seems we must leave the same way as if it were some bad cosmic joke that none of us really gets. Is it the universe getting its wires crossed or is it just doing its own thing.

You lay there propped up in bed – looking so frail. A beautiful tiny porcelain doll in her pink cotton PJ’s with soft white lace trim. You looked so fragile, so small. How did you get so small? When did you get so small?

I sat on the bed facing you. I was very careful not to sit on you, because you know I can be a total klutz sometimes. I just wanted to scoop you up and squeeze you so tight, but I knew I couldn’t. It would cause you too much pain. So I sat next to you, gently holding your hand, trying not to break in two, trying my hardest to be a mom for you. You looked up at me with the saddest most vulnerable expression I have ever seen and asked me, “Judy, am I going to die?”

And without any hesitation, and tears sliding down my face, I whispered, “no mom you’re not, I promise.”

Maybe you have gone on to a different place or time – who knows, sometimes I can’t make any sense out of it all. Life, death – they confuse me. But as you can see – to me, you didn’t die and you never left me.

And I will continue to celebrate loving you and being loved by you each and every day.

Because mom, a promise is a promise. And you taught me that. And whenever I have any doubt I will always do what you told me to do…

“Just look in the mirror Judy.”

I will Mom, I promise, I will.

© May 12, 2019 Judith Mallard


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ALS, illness

Dear ALS, I hate you!

Category:ALS,Bereavement,Death and Dying,Lifestyle,Writing Tags : 

Dear ALS…
blogger and writer, judith mallard

Several years ago – I remember sitting with a good friend and mentor as he shared with me his own personal wisdom of the many do’s and don’ts that exists within the business world. I was just about to launch my own Recruitment Agency and I figured I could use all the help I could get.

I knew if I ever need help with anything at all – I could go to him – he would know the answer. He always knew the answer. And he was never too busy for me. He just wanted to see me succeed and that’s just the way he was.

One day in particular stands out more vividly than others. We were sipping our Tim Horton’s coffee in downtown Toronto, right at the corner of John and King, my friend was telling me about an upcoming surgery he was going to have.

The doctors think I have carpal tunnel syndrome,” he said “they figure it should help.” I remember taking his hand in mine and running my fingers along the smoothness of his skin – I told him he had baby soft skin and we both started laughing.

I could see how the muscles on his hand seemed to cave in, “that doesn’t look like any carpal tunnel I’ve read about,” I mentioned to him. We both shrugged. Maybe because we didn’t want it to be anything else. Isn’t ignorance supposed to be bliss?

Needless to say it wasn’t carpal tunnel syndrome.

“ALS (Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis) is a rapidly progressive, neuromuscular disease. It attacks the motor neurons that transmit electrical impulses from the brain to the voluntary muscles in the body. When they fail to receive messages, the muscles lose strength, atrophy and die. ALS can strike anyone at any time, regardless of age, gender, or ethnic origin. It does not affect the senses, and only rarely does it affect the mind. The average life expectancy after diagnosis is 3 to 5 years. (Excerpt from © ALS SOCIETY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA)”

Why is it for such an intelligent species, we tend to put on blinders when it comes to illnesses and dying. Why do we believe that we have all the time in the world to do whatever it is we desire. And more importantly, why are we so afraid to even talk about it. But therein is the reason, isn’t it. We are afraid. And if we don’t talk about it – it won’t be real. How’s that for naiveté.

And while we all will vehemently state “everyone has to die one day”, it is with reckless abandonment – that we try to distance ourselves from actually feeling this and the weight that often comes with it. In some childlike way, we rationalize that even though we are aware of it – it just happens to everyone else around us.

Then one day it happens. The “around us” gets closer. And we’re shaken to our core. We get scared, we get angry and sometimes we even hate.

We feel insulted when we have to go about our regular day as if everything is the same or dare I say it, normal. We want to scream and yell at the injustices – something to mark the occasion – something that brings attention to the fact that, “this isn’t just another day.

We get up the next morning; go about reviewing our same daily tasks, perhaps in between booking doctor’s visits and some other mundane appointments. Most within our circles or network of connections are none the wiser. Because you see – it is just another day. And life does not stop when you are handed a death notice. In fact – in my opinion, you are never more alive, or aware of it.

I’ll be very honest, it was hard to see my friend. I was often at a loss. I didn’t have any magic words – I didn’t have anything that could make it better. And that made me so very angry and very scared.

We chatted, as best as we could – he would get frustrated sometimes – but dear god who wouldn’t, with the battle he had before him. I couldn’t always make out what he was trying to say, which also frustrated me, because I didn’t want him to get frustrated – but between the two of us, we did the best we could With each passing week – it was harder, and I was often unsure what to do. I wanted to fix it – and I knew I couldn’t. You just feel so damn helpless.

At times, I just wanted to rip this evil thing out of him. And that is the only way I can describe it. I wanted to take away his fear when he would tell me how afraid he is, especially when he knew what his future was going to be like. I listened to him when he would tell me how much he worried about his wife and how he was so amazed at how much she actually does. He was aware of this, every single day. I smile when I think of that. She’s such a tiny lass. Yet her strength in facing such devastating adversity was simply beautiful and inspiring and so filled with love. At times it did knock her down, and even though it was not easy to get back up, she always did.

And still our daily lives go on. Emails are answered, messages are texted and appointments are confirmed.

One thing that initially caused me a wee bit of confusion with my friend, was how persistent he was in wanting to make sure his business kept moving smoothly. I’ve had to wrestle with that one, and still do at times. My instinctive reaction was, “what the hell, forget about it, how can that be important now.” But for so many of us, it is. I know his motivation was also based on watching his wife. He had to look after her, he still saw that as his responsibility – I saw that in everything he pushed himself to do. And that’s just the way it is. Life goes on – for everyone. No meanness meant or cold heartedness. Regardless of what a doctor may tell us – there are still things that have to be done. And we have families that we will worry about until the day we take our last breath. That is who we are and that is life.

There were times when I thought there was such cruelness afoot, some bad cosmic influence. How can one be expected to go about their day when given such horrible news? But people are doing this every single day. They get up each morning – put one foot in front of the other – when possible, and they face their day. Because they know what the alternative is, and they choose to live first and foremost, as painful and as difficult as that can be. To me they are true heroes, they are the magical markers in our lives.

And the first thing that we should do, is applaud them – recognize them – and help whenever we can. And never, ever, dismiss the obvious elephant in the room. Some things cannot be hidden, nor should be.

I didn’t know how to tell my friend how much I hated his ALS and how it made me angry. It confused me in ways that I can’t really explain, even to myself. So I would tell him how much I love him – I would make him laugh, he would make me cry – and we would also make each other strong. I never say, it’s not fair. I understand – it just is. Once you realize this, it’s then that you can try to make a difference, no matter how big or how small. You help out, you listen and you try not to get caught up in thinking that you have to fix something that can’t be fixed.

I don’t see my work day like I use to. I don’t see any day like I use to. Is it my maturing age, or is it in the fact that too often I see my friends and family just not being there anymore. What we do each day, work or otherwise, is supposed to be a choice and not a chore. We can find joy and choose joy. Even amidst the pain, the trauma and the not so fun parts. It’s also a day where we should never forget to reach out and let others know they are being thought of. I try not to take anything for granted. I cannot reiterate enough, that life is so short, but you can do a lot with the one you have, you truly can. Just open your eyes.

“Understand your WORTH. Value your LIFE. Appreciate your BLESSINGS. Be GRATEFUL.”

As much as there is sadness afoot, there is also an abundance of love and joy around us. You have to believe this. No job placement or new business will ever replace that. And it is with that humility and gratitude that everything else just falls into place, and begins to make sense.

If I could wish anything for anyone – it would be to find that balance.

I sincerely believe we all do have a purpose and that we all can make a difference, no matter how big or how small. It is up to each and every one of us to choose to make that difference.

For myself, I find that I am no longer searching for those definitive answers to “why this or why that happens.” As corny as it may sound….”it just is.” I’m actually astonished that I find peace in such three simple words.

I remember an interesting passage I once read in a book, called Laws of Attraction, it makes more sense to me now.

” If contrast were to cease, so would expansion. We need expansion for eternity. Without it there wouldn’t be more. There wouldn’t be us.”

And I am so thankful for “us,” in whatever shape or form.

Even when I am angry and even when I hate.

© 2018 Judith Mallard


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LinkedIn Profile – Do’s & Don’ts

Category:career profile,career tips,job search,linkedin,Writing Tags : 

Your LinkedIn Profile Picture – The Do’s & Don’ts

online profile pictureI’m not writing this article to point out emphatically what is right or what is “more” wrong. I can only write it from a perspective that I have nurtured and grown over the years based on my experience in the Recruitment industry and hopefully it may provide you with some additional insight.

As you can see – my own LinkedIn profile pic has somewhat of a business casual flair (moreso than a night out with my buddies at the local watering hole). However I have to be honest, I’ve never been a fan of sitting in front of the camera. Ask any of my friends and family who have tried to take my picture over the years and it’s close to impossible. But I really do believe it can make a difference, especially when you are out there trying to promote yourself.

This particular picture for me was an accidental snapshot – which ended up being my profile pic. Because to me – it does represent that this is how I feel when I am doing what I am passionate about. And yes – that is running my own recruitment agency. If you ever want to see a real life sample of that passion – just ask me about my company.

And that is how I determined which profile picture to use when presenting myself in the business world. 
Which one makes “me” feel comfortable.

Don’t put up one because someone tells you that you have to, or you will just end up grabbing the first one you can think of, which may not always be the best route to take. You have to be motivated by presenting YOU. A picture truly can “paint a thousand words“. Not to mention it’s also a good exercise for you to practice putting yourself out there with confidence.

I’ve also spoken to both friends and colleagues about their views with respect to the infamous profile pic. One colleague gave me a very interesting story. She said she would never post her profile pic because she fears judgment based on her skin color and her personal style.

I didn’t like hearing that.

But she had a point – and it really bothered me that she did.

Regardless of how open and diversified we may think we are – there will always be judgement based on personal bias.  Yes – even in the business world.  There are just more places to hide it.

I can only hope that with an awareness of this, that “ we the people,” will perhaps hesitate in passing immediate judgement.

As a recruiter I do prefer to see profile pictures when searching for new candidates and talent. But even though it is my first preference, I do not dismiss a potential applicant if their profile is strong from a content perspective. Content really is King in my business, especially in the early screening stages.

At times I have had to wrestle with my own perception of “what is right or wrong”, especially from a societal perspective. Something we are all often influenced by.

And my deciding opinion is – yes, put up a picture if you are comfortable with it. We all have that one picture where we have to admit “yes, I do look good in that one.” That one picture that makes you smile and say “that’s me.”

You can also base your picture selection on what industry you are in and/or what seniority level you are currently at.  I for one do not want to see a senior level executive seeking new opportunities, with a picture showing him or her out dancing with friends or “having a few”.  Even though I have absolutely no issues with either social function, I do believe there has to be some level of decorum.

Keeping in mind, I would also have no problem seeing a profile pic that reflects a funky kick ass illustration, if I happen to be looking for a 3D artist.

My final recommendation – is whenever possible – try and put your best picture forward and particularly one that reflects who you are and maybe even what you do. Find a balance that best supports both aspects.

  Remember, first impressions can be lasting.

 © 2018 Judith Mallard

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mother nature's little children

It’s the simple things…

Category:Animal Lover,Blogging,Mother Nature,Nature Lover Tags : 

My Caterpillar Story

the American Dagger Moth Acronicta americana

Acronicta americana American Dagger Moth
Acronicta americana
“does this concrete make me look fat”

Ok. So jokes on me. Yesterday I was outside fretting about a caterpillar 🐛 lying helplessly vulnerable on the cold barren concrete step. It’s common knowledge by now that I’m a hopeless romantic when it comes to Mother Nature and all her little creatures.

My 1st attempt at “rescuing” her from potential predators was to carefully place her in a flower pot while balancing her furry little body on a thin slab of stone. This, however, was not very successful as you can see by her hasty escape. But still being fully committed to the rescue at this point and time, I then plopped her down below the towering concrete steps into a voluptuous array of flowering plants. That was it, my job was done. I was a hero 🤔

Within 24 hours this is who showed up right back on the front step. Now how the heck did she get back up there. That had to be quite the trek for her short stubby little legs.

My goodness, what resilience and determination in one scruffy little caterpillar.

So after several minutes of deep and at times heated consultations “we” finally agreed on a compromise. She could stay on the concrete steps but she had to accept some form of leafy camouflage – which involved a much juicier hibiscus leaf.

Sitting peacefully on my front porch with my new found friend, I figured out why the little bugger wasn’t fearful of being gobbled up at all with the help of Mr. Google. It seems the birdies and other critters in the neighborhood were well aware that my bright little yellow needle sticking out caterpillar was no other than a poisonous (only mildly I think 🤔) Acronicta Americana – American Dagger Moth.

Yup. Jokes on me 🦋 I do not think that Cati P was scared at all. (I had to give her a stage name for her international online debut)

Cati P’s internet debut

And now she is officially verified and there’s even talk of getting her an agent. 🤔

But it’s like I said…it’s the little things that can make your day. You just have to keep your eyes and your heart open.


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Protect our children - foster care - children's services

Protect Our Children

Category:Foster Care,Memoirs,Newfoundland,Non Fiction,Writing Tags : 

by Judith Mallard

I’m pissed off and I’m angry. We all should be angry. Why aren’t we? Just take a look at today’s news headlines – see where the final chapter of a precious little girl’s life is finally laid to rest, stacked up against the other headline stories. It seems there is more of a kerfuffle over things such as – “Trump’s idea of buying Greenland” or “Harry and Meghan branded hypocrites for using private jets.”

Really? This is what is monopolizing headlines today?

I have never been a mom. But I have so much deep respect for all women who give everything that they’ve got to be the best possible mom they can be. I have heard countless stories of mothers working multiple jobs, raising children primarily on their own – and still never even consider giving up. I envy and admire their resilience and strength and I stand in awe of their courage and unfaltering love.

I have read that it “takes a village to raise a child” – but what happens when the village cannot – or chooses not to. What happens to those children then?

I will admit – I don’t have all the answers. In fact, I think I have more questions than answers. But maybe, just maybe if enough of us, keep asking more and more questions – than perhaps we can finally find answers that mean something other than a headline that triggers a million likes or whether or not Harry and Meghan are using a private jet – and who cares if they are. If I had access to one I would probably use it too.

As a child, I was one of many who was put into a very flawed and broken foster care system in the ’60s and ’70s on the east coast of Canada, St. John’s Newfoundland. Over the years I have heard random indications of “oh it’s because of the times, etc.,” which totally pisses me off. That’s like saying assaults against women and children is more acceptable “based on the times” – and THAT pisses me off even more.

Protect our children - foster care - children's services

I was one of five children
and the only little girl.
I had thought that would
make me special
– but it didn’t.

When I started writing my Memoirs, The Match Still Burns – it began as a journey of healing and trying to find answers. I just wanted to try and put back together all the broken pieces that kept popping up as I grew older. As I got deeper and deeper into my writing it became so much more. As a young child growing up in an abusive and neglected environment – I never felt I had a voice. But I do have one now. And even though I could not speak up for myself then – perhaps I can find a healing space and a place of courage in speaking up for other children.

There were so many of us left unattended and forgotten. We were the lost kids. And from what I heard – it paid well too. It had all the remnants of an easy and profitable cash and grab. Get the kid, grab the money and with little or no quality checks or operational monitoring. I’m sure there were people signing up in droves.

And it was not “because of the times” but because of the individuals and organizations that failed in their tasks and responsibilities to look after the vulnerable children that came into their care – and a responsibility that should always be held to the strictest and highest standards of accountability – but it is not. Or we would not be still telling these stories time and time again.

Where is our anger? This isn’t something that should be buried in one report after another that touts of all the amazing things that can be done and should be done. This is a call to action.

And still the stories come – day after day. One more horrifying than the next. When will it be enough and why hasn’t it already been seen as such?

Last week through many of my off the wall chats and conversations I heard someone casually make mention that “oh that was back then” – as if it was most likely just because of those times. Does anyone really believe this?

Which brings me to an article that I discovered on my newsfeed today, August 19, 2019.

“Oakville woman who allowed 9-year-old daughter to starve to death sentenced to time served (The Star) – you can read the full article here – https://www.thestar.com/news/crime/2019/08/17/oakville-woman-who-allowed-9-year-old-daughter-to-starve-to-death-sentenced-to-time-served.html

I can’t begin to say how many types of wrong and who to blame is peppered throughout this article. I wouldn’t know who to shout at first. The tremendous sadness of it all just sucker-punched me right in the chest. Hours later and I’m still trying to process it. How could this happen?

Then I came across another section in this heartbreaking story:

“Baldwin had strong words in her decision for the Children’s Aid Society, pointing out that the organization was supposed to see Kaylie at least every 30 days, but at the time of her death they had not been to her home in three months.

“Despite knowing Kaylie’s medically fragile condition, and being told directly by Meredith and Kaylie’s school that Meredith was struggling, the children’s aid worker allowed Meredith to cancel five appointments,” said Baldwin.

“These canceled visits should have been alert signs that all was not going well with Meredith and Kaylie. On two occasions, Meredith canceled, reporting that Kaylie was sick. What more information could the children’s aid have possibly needed to take action in this obvious crisis?”

Baldwin said the children’s aid had a responsibility to see Kaylie and had the authority to take her to a hospital for medical care if required.

“They failed to act upon their mandate in this tragic case,” said Baldwin.”

This tragic incident occurred in 2017 and was brought to trial in 2019.

From my own personal story, the first holding home that I was placed in was with foster parents James and Mary Dinn of Mount Pearl, Newfoundland. Go ahead – do a Google search – if you don’t know what you’re looking for, you will have a pretty hard time finding out anything about them. They too are buried down in one of those infamous “what we are going to do now” type of reports.

But perhaps these next few images will give you some insight.

child protection, child advocacy
Excerpt from Hughes Commission Report
child protection, child advocacy
child protection, child advocacy
Excerpt from Hughes Commission Report

So ask yourself this question – how can a foster home go from being “an excellent home & all children placed here improve greatly” – to being closely supervised and then closed – all within a one to two-year timeframe?

As you can see in this newspaper excerpt below – where there is smoke – there is definitely fire.

Protect our children - fostercare - children's services - newfoundland

And remember to keep in mind – this woman had 46 children in her care before they decided to close her down.

When I sought further information from my so-called legal guardians under the Freedom of Information Act – I received numerous documents that had me wondering if they actually took the time to read what they were sending me.

But the one section that stood out the most that had me shaking my head in complete and utter disbelief and boldly typed on their official agency letterhead was a section that read:

“Records indicate that you did eventually become a ward of the province. Where, When and under what circumstances is unknown.

You were in the care of James and Mary Francis of 2 Norma’s Avenue, Mount Pearl from August 8, 1967, to December 30, 1968.

Why you were placed here before eventually being placed with the Nolan’s of Torbay is unknown.”

Unknown? I can honestly say that I have no response to that – even now, years after reading that two-page letter that summed up my life in five tiny bullet points. How can you not know how you took legal guardianship of a young child?

My story began on August 8, 1967. And the sad thing is – even as a young child of six, I do remember how I ended up in that wicked woman’s house – I guess Children’s Services forgot to update their files.

So excuse my skepticism, if when asked if I believe that things like this still exist today, I will reply without hesitation and with a profound sadness – yes, most definitely I believe they do.

Rest in Peace Little Kaylie,
kisses & hugs.


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Discovering your Passion

Category:Creative Writing,Motivation,Non Fiction,Writing Tags : 

I think you can only discover your true passion when you take the chance and step into the light. And allow me to elaborate on that.

Though Martha Beck definitely summed it up quite well and accurately in this  quote I have posted below.

creative writing, memoirs, non-fiction, authors and writers

What do you do when you love what you actually do for a living. I’ve got the answer to that – you enjoy it. Recruitment is my passion and as I begin the transition into adding my Writing dreams onto my current career path – I’m torn between excitement and angst (more excitement than angst of course). But it only lasts momentarily as I realize the only thing that ever stood in my way or prevented me from doing the things I wanted to or achieving the things I wanted to do…was me. I read an excerpt which I posted recently (and have included below) – and it is truly the epitome and the core of my belief system (with no attempts of excluding a higher power that also hangs out in that same said universe). It’s about allowing yourself to step into the light and to be patient when also doing so.

As much as we are scared or uncertain – we have to remain steadfast and true to opening ourselves up to taking risks where risks need to be taken. But we can’t keep this to ourselves. You have to share it with others. Why? Well if you get a group of individuals staying alone in their thoughts they stay as individuals. But if those same individuals step out into that Light and collectively create a community of hope, inspiration, brain storming (and the list goes on) – then there is no stopping us. And there are no rigid rules to this “stepping out” – YOU get to choose how much and how you do it. You get to decide on what is your comfort level. Just find your balance and trust in the beauty of you. When living YOUR life you don’t have to adopt someone else’s To do List or someone else’s rules. You have more freedom and power than you realize. So here’s to living your life, taking chances and sharing the knowledge when it needs to be shared and can be shared. Peace & Love.


  • 0
New Memoir by Judith Mallard - Non-fiction

Missing Pictures – Missing Pieces

Category:Foster Care,Memoirs,Newfoundland,Non Fiction,Self Publishing,Writing Tags : 

Missing Pictures. Can you help me? 

I am writing a MEMOIR of growing up in Newfoundland as a ward of children services in foster care and I am looking for assistance in compiling pictures for a photo section within my book. I’ve started this “missing pictures” campaign, with the hope that folks who may have grown up around me or went to school with me, may have pictures that they wouldn’t mind sharing.

A Memoir by Judith Mallard - The Match Still Burns
judy nolan – judy mallard – newfoundland

One of the pictures that you see here, was an image that I found one day posted on Facebook by a childhood friend living in the United States who had actually grown up right next door to me for years in Torbay Newfoundland. This gave me hope that there could be more.

I realize many years have passed since my growing up in St. John’s, Newfoundland, people have moved and photo albums have been carefully packed away in dusty forgotten attics or hidden in cobwebbed corners. Which is why I’m asking any and all, to share this post with as many people as you can.

Back then, we didn’t have the amazing social media platform that we do today that helps keep us all connected.

I am also keeping in mind, that perhaps not every household in Newfoundland is secretly stashing an actual picture of me (smile) – but if you do find me somewhere hidden among your own buried treasures, please do share.

My gratitude goes beyond words.

I will be self-publishing “The Match Still Burns” in Winter 2019 and I will be posting updates on both my social media platform and on my website, so please do feel free to either pop back for a visit or subscribe to our mailing list.

Do you know me?

From 1961 to 1967 I lived on Howe Place close to St. Joseph’s School in St. John’s as Judy Mallard. 

From August 8, 1967 to December 30, 1968 I lived at 2 Norma’s Avenue in Mount Pearl – with James and Mary Francis Dinn.

From December 30, 1968 to 1983 I lived on Manning’s Hill Torbay – both as #judynolan and as #judymallard. 

I welcome any and all images that you may have to help me recapture these memories of my life growing up in Newfoundland. Any information about your picture submissions with respect to content and timeline would also be greatly appreciated.

There are several ways you can send me your pictures:

Via Email to: [email protected]  OR

You can also upload your digital pictures via my website Contact page at:  http://www.judithmallard.com/contact/ – there is a form with the option of attaching a copy of your picture. – I’m also including the same Contact Form below. You can even take a picture of your picture with your phone and just upload it via our website or email it; AND

You can also private message me on Facebook at – https://www.facebook.com/judith.mallard

[wpforms id=”864″ title=”false” description=”false”]


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