Just a few months after their wedding, and a few weeks after running a 10K, a rare autoimmune disease landed Joclyn in the hospital with a failing heart. Enduring four open heart surgeries, rounds of experimental chemotherapy, a punctured lung, a lost voice, a pacemaker, an unsympathetic nurse, bedpans, and legitimately gruesome hospital food, it seemed the bad news would never end. But with the help of a top-notch medical team, supportive and loving friends and family, courage, a will to live, and a desire to just go home, they learned the true value of love, hope and life. Joclyn, an occupational therapist, Jeremy, a public school administrator, live in Sacramento, California with their dog, Ramsay. Their experience received national attention and helped facilitate legislative reform surrounding “surprise medical bills,” out-of-network bills received when a patient has done everything he possibly can to remain in-network.

    The ancient Greeks initiated the name “parricide” for the murder of a parent. Thankfully the crime of parricide is a fairly rare occurrence, but no matter how rare, parricide remains one of the most profound of all taboos in all societies. It directly contravenes a universal cultural and religious principle that children must honor their parents. To murder ones parents is the most definitive act of rebellion against society's rules and order. Every human family is a unique and complex unit. It operates and malfunctions in its own distinctive way. As a result, families can create a rich assortment of murderous motives.Seriously abused children murder their abusive parent to put a stop to the abuse. Seriously antisocial children murder their parent in order to advance their own ambitions. In these cases, the parent is a hindrance in their desire to achieving what they crave. These individuals, for instance, might murder to continue to have a relationship with a person of whom the parents disapprove, may murder to have more freedom, or to become heir to money they believe is sooner or later going to be theirs. Seriously mentally ill kids murder the parent basically as a consequence of their mental illness. Commonly made diagnoses consist of severe depression and psychosis. This book has 10 horrific true crime stories of children killing their parent(s). All of the cases profiled in this book are tragedies.This is book # 8 in the Murder In The Family Series by Sylvia Perrini, and we invite you to read this one as well as the other true crime murder stories in this series and in her other True Crime Stories series.

    His is the story the establishment doesn’t want you to read.br>Captain P. J. “Red” Riley is an ex-SAS soldier who served for eighteen years as an MI6 agent. Riley escaped internment in Chile during the Falklands war during an audacious top-secret attempt to attack the Argentinian mainland. He was imprisoned in the darkness of the Sierra Leonean jungle, and withstood heavy fire in war-torn Beirut and Syria. In 2015, he was arrested for murder but all charges were later dropped. In this searing memoir, Riley reveals the brutal realities of his service, and the truth behind the newspaper headlines featuring some of the most significant events in recent British history. His account provides startling new evidence on the Iraq war, what Tony Blair really knew about Saddam Hussain’s weapons of mass destruction before the allied invasion, and questions the British government’s alleged involvement in the death of Princess Diana. Chaotic, darkly humorous and at times heart-wrenchingly sad, Kisses From Nimbus charts the harrowing real-life experiences of a soldier and spy in the name of Queen and country.

    

    And with G-d's help, he saved not only himself but also his parents and a host of friends, relatives, and strangers from almost certain death. If Ludvik Wieder's adventures were fiction, they would seem too contrived. But everything told is the unembellished truth. At the age of 26, Ludvik had it all—health, wealth, good looks, popularity, and a growing business in one of Europe's brightest capitals. Then, one dreadful Sunday in the spring of 1943, the Nazis marched into Budapest and imposed a series of repressive measures that threatened the life of every Jew in Hungary. From that day on, all that mattered was survival. Suddenly, life hung by a shred of paper— the proper “Aryan” identification. Determined to survive, Ludvik boldly entered the black market to buy those precious scraps of false identity that might save him and his loved ones from disaster. Soon he was living a double life, outwardly forsaking his Orthodox Jewish upbringing to pose as a gentile, at the same time clinging steadfastly to his beliefs, never for a moment forgetting who he was and where he came from. Soon he became a master of deception— whether it was posing as a trusted “gentile” factory employee, disguising himself as a drunken peasant, or assuming the dress and manner of a member of the Hungarian S.S. Somehow, he had the capacity to enlist the aid of an unlikely assortment of non-Jews, who helped him at the peril of their lives—among them, a peasant woman who befriended him in prison and offered her home as his haven for the duration of the war… a Hungarian Air Force officer, who “adopted” Ludvik's niece as his own illegitimate child, lent him his apartment as a hiding place and smuggled a series of vital ID papers to him… the Skid Row derelict who saved the life of Ludvik's nephew by pretending to be the boy's uncle. The book traces Ludvik's life, beginning with his placid, essentially easygoing boyhood in Czechoslovakia. Then, in 1940, after the Hungarian takeover, he was inducted into forced labor. It describes the cruelty and black humor of the labor camp, which helped him to develop the cunning and ingenuity that enabled him to sharpen his survival skills and avoid being sent to fatal service on the Russian front. The story then focuses on the Nazi occupation, culminating in Ludvik's near-execution at the hands of his Russian liberators. Armed with optimism, unswerving faith in the Almighty, and his own resourcefulness, Ludvik never let fear keep him from doing whatever was necessary to save himself and his fellow Jews. Throughout his heart-stopping adventures —and even in the darkest moments of despair, when events propelled him to the brink of suicide—Ludvik was motivated to go on by consummate devotion to his beloved mother. He knew he had to survive, for he had promised her he would.

    She was a New Yorker, had just turned forty, and was about to put her youngest child in college. He was pushing 50 and relishing a sabbatical from his San Francisico law practice. Opposites attracted. A few weeks later they were engaged. A year later they were honeymooning on bicycles in Burgundy, after a wedding in a chapel at JFK. And after five years in San Francisco, they sold their house, quit their jobs and moved to Paris -- “permanently,” they said. For seven years their home was in a foreign country, in a foreign culture, bathed in a foreign language, on the rue des Marronniers in the 16th Arrondissement of the most beautiful city in the world. We Always Had Paris is the story of their adventure. It really happened. It is also a love story.

     As a child, I was known as "Jessica Pelley." When I was nine, I went to a sleepover at a friend's house for the weekend. While I was away, my entire family was murdered. I would spend the next 30 years fighting, crawling, and clawing my way through the darkness. This wasn't just a national news headline, a cold case, or a true crime show. It was my family. And my life. I was the broken little girl left behind to tell this story. I am now "Jessi," in the pages of this unapologetic memoir, set free. *** JESSI - APRIL 29, 2016 April 29, 1989. A date I cannot forget. Numbers forever seared deep into my soul. It was 27 years ago, today. Jesus. Get a grip, Jessi. They’re just numbers. They don’t mean anything. You’re giving them power over you, again. That’s what I tell myself. But the numbers—those damn numbers—they haunt me. They always will. I cannot escape them. Not now. Not ever. For most people, dates are just numbers on a calendar. No big deal. Random markers of time affixed to the top left corner of small, white squares on a page to depict days filled with choices, chances, and opportunities. At least that’s what they are for the normal people. But I’m no longer one of them. For me, they serve as numeric reminders of the girl I used to be. A tragedy that would irrevocably and mercilessly alter the life of a little girl wearing dark blue jeans, canvas lace-up sneakers, and a white tee shirt, accessorized by prominent coke bottle glasses, her hair hanging in a messy bob. Her life would be forever dismantled. Gone. The moment they told me the words. The ones that I will never forget. At that moment, my life froze and shattered into pieces, splintering like bits of broken glass, dropping down onto the ground around me, like the remnants of a cracked windshield, falling fast before the spinning mind and broken heart of a wide-eyed little girl. Life, as I knew it, was over in that moment. What happened on April 29, 1989, has scarred me forever. A day that started out normally, before it became ensnared in marred memories, tucked between folds of tragedy and darkness. The lingering memories cut straight to the core of the hollow girl left behind. The darkness delivers itself to me, every year, on schedule. Steadily. Greedily. On the 29th day of April. Relentless. Haunting. It taunts the pieces of me that remain. Every single year. I try to lift myself out of the darkness. I tell myself the numbers shouldn’t matter. Not after 27 years have passed. Jessi, It’s just another day. You can do anything you want with it. Don’t slip into the darkness. But not even the voice in my head believes those lies I tell myself. Year after year, my happiness recoils, my thoughts run to a dark place filled with foggy memories and a void that swallows me whole. The door of despair opens and I’m trapped: alone, numb to the bone, emotionally deplete, void of all reality, space, and time. I hate the helplessness as I slip further into that dark place. A place that, long ago, was filled with light. A place where three little girls would sing happy songs, pick flowers, hold hands while skipping through tall blades of grass, and sit down at the dining room table, where they would bow their heads to pray before plates filled with food, in a home filled with laughter. Then it hits me—the life-defining, self-inflicted images of horror—of their final moments—dragging me deep into the darkness.

    What is it like? It is the best gift you can ever imagine, like rain falling on a dry place.This memoir is a great reunion journey, from Paris, to California, to Denmark! A coming together of a mother and son, the only two people who can answer all the questions the other one has.

    Hollywood minus the hype and hokum.

    Before sisters Sue and Linda inherit a village house in the hills they have little interest in Spain, but on travelling out to see their new possession they begin to warm to the idea of spending time there with their husbands Paul and Bill. After an enjoyable summer holiday the prospect of living in the village becomes irresistible and this book describes their transition from visitors to residents and the diverse selection of people they meet along the way. This amusing and informative memoir is an ideal read for those interested in the possibilities of expat life in rural Spain.

    From the bliss of her dramatic, romantic saga with her now husband, to the trials and triumph of her career journey as a young women, to the devastating loss of her son when he was only six months old, Jessica's commitment to follow the nudges of her heart have seen her through every season. Through her hilarious, inspiring stories and refreshing honesty, Jessica will challenge you start looking for ways to brings more joy to your life and the lives of those around you. Life lived to the fullest can only happen when you bring the joy.

    Reggie wrote his EAST END STORIES in the early 1990s, but they haven't seen the light of day until now. In the book, he recalls the close-knit East End community in which he and his brother grew up, the characters in his family and neighbourhood, and of course, the many villains he worked with. Filled with anecdotes about the area’s most outlandish personalities and notorious criminals, and offering a fascinating journey around the Krays’ ‘manor’ including their favourite haunts and business enterprises, the book paints a vivid portrait of a London that has long since disappeared.

    It covers the twenty-one years Don spent in the US Army, including six years in Airborne infantry rifle companies, ten years in special forces and five years in military intelligence. His story covers four combat tours, three in Vietnam and one in Laos and stretches from the old “brown boot” army to the new all volunteer army. The story is told in the manner you would hear it if you were sitting with the author having a cup of coffee or a cold beer and chatting about the “good” old days. This memoir covers the following assignments: Basic Combat Training | E Co. 325th AIR, 82d Airborne Division | K Co. 511th AIR, 11th Airborne Division | B Co. 505th AIR, 82d Airborne Division | E Company, 325th, 82d Airborne Division, Fort Bragg, N.C., October 1960 | Training Co., 7th Special Forces Group Ft. Bragg, NC | A Company, 5th Special Forces Group [Sept - Dec 1961] | 1st Special Forces Group, Okinawa | B Co. 5th Special Forces Group, Ft. Bragg, NC | A Co. 3rd Special Forces Group, Ft. Bragg, NC | D Co., 1st Special Forces Group, Ft. Bragg, NC | 46th Special Forces Company [Augmented] 1967 Thailand | 1st Special Forces Group, Okinawa | Super Spook Training, Ft. Holabird, MD | The Bird Cage, Ft. Belvoir, VA | 525th Military Intelligence Group, Vietnam | Counterintelligence Special Agent Course Ft. Huachuca, AZ | Defense Against Methods of Entry Course Ft. Huachuca, AZ | 801st MI Det., 5th SFG [Abn], Ft Bragg, NC June 1971-Dec 1973 | Defense Language Institute Monterey, CA | 500th Military Intelligence Group Camp Zama, Japan | Retirement 1 March 1976 Ft. Bragg, NC Some Readers Comments: “I just got through reading all of your army experiences and enjoyed it very much., Clarence J.” “Don I enjoyed reading about your adventures and about those early Army days! I was reading the parts about “Super Spook!” lol And I was thinking to myself, Hum? “ I think I've met some people like them!” I like your particular writing style. “ Dave H. “I was researching Ft Holabird when I came across part of your memoirs. Great reading...my ass is supposed to be house-husbanding & taking care of the dogs & cats while my wife is attending nursing classes...well I guess spending the afternoon reading your memoirs are worth an ass-chewing.”, Daniel M. “Ran across a couple of your chapters years ago, but for some reason never found your website until this week. Love it, you really capture the esprit de corps serving in SF was all about.”, H.C.S. “My wife’s in Reno visiting her mother. I’m supposed to be working on an exam for the State. Instead, I’m too caught up in your story. Thanks for all that you did.” Jim. F. “Top; I just finished reading your story and I had to tell you that I think that you are a very good writer. Your style of writing kept me attentive from the first paragraph.”, Bob W. “Kudos to you for Strap Hanger, and for saying it in common language of the common soldier. I called my style a barrack philosopher style, but never equaled your style of common language in a clear and concise manner. Enjoyed your writing. Congratulations on a job well done.”, Ron A.

    Moreover, he was as legendary a figure on the streets of New York as on the streets of London.Pearson persuaded the mysterious criminal leader to talk to him - and the result was a story even more extraordinary than that of the Kray twins. Here Pearson reveals the true story of the Englishman who became the adopted son of Joey Pagano, the head of one of the major New York crime families. Here the Englishman tells the story that no-one else dared to tell.

    He interviewed 82 inductees into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame ... 174 recording artists who had at least one No. 1 hit. His interviews were heard daily on radio stations around the globe during much of the late ‘70s and ‘80s, until severe bipolar disorder took full control. In One Brain Cell Left, Rosy doesn’t always paint a rosy picture of the Mega-Stars he interviewed. Some were absolute sweethearts; others were absolute assholes. And they’re not always the ones you’d expect. He’s never asked what he talked about with celebrities. People only want to know what the stars were like in person. This book answers the “What were they like?” questions about a cross-section of superstar entertainers, newsmakers and athletes that Rosy interviewed. But it’s equally about the unique and unusual life that he’s led outside the entertainment industry. He REALLY didn’t want to like Paul McCartney. He found George Harrison to be completely down-to-earth. Unfortunately, he can’t say the same about Ringo. He found Madonna to be “Queen Shit with a muffin top.” Mickey Mantle swore at him. Mel Brooks ran after him. Kareem Abdul-Jabbar intentionally treated him like shit. His first words to Lionel Richie were, “So they tell me you’ve become a real asshole since you’ve gotten all this success.” And you’ll laugh at his self-deprecating chapters “Always wear a cup when you play tennis” and “Free drinks, a blind hockey goalie and a goat.” You’ll likewise be drawn in by the poignant “I’m no Belushi, but I’ve become Joe Cocker” and the riveting “A machine gun and explosives.” His stories aren’t always pretty. But they’re always pretty interesting. And he’s got the brain cell to prove it.