Have I mentioned my friend, Summer?

I know you have NEVER heard about Summer, ever on this blog because I link to her incessantly. She and I met just a few years ago in our tiny Oklahoma town after I discovered her online. We both were trying to be more green. We both homeschooled. We both were very, VERY relaxed people who didn't pick up when the other was coming over. We could happily coexist without any fanfare.

The perfect friend.

If you read Summer, you know things have been dark lately. Very dark. So dark that last Sunday I was pretty sure I had lost her forever. There are situations out there that most of us could never understand. We have a place to fall. Even if our extended family does not seem ideal ... no matter what, we would have a place to fall.

She feels like an orphan. Because she is. She has no family she can fall to. None.

So, when her love of eight years said that he was leaving her, and she has three young children ... she found herself staring into an endless hole. She has stayed at home to be the fulltime caregiver to those kids. She has him. Yes, he has family. He has a place to fall. He has support. And it's all in driving distance.

Summer has me. She has my family. She has another friend or two, and we're all out of state. She needs to stay in her state to be near her children. Yet, she currently sits in a house with no place to go, no car and no substantial form of income (we all know how small bloggers are rolling in the dough *cough*).

Last night I started to tell her of the people I had already heard from. People who care about her. People who don't know her but want to help her. It changed her. She was still in a pit. She is STILL struggling painfully. But she also didn't really understand, believe or know the truth: people care. They care about her: Summer.

She also comes from a history of trauma. Hers has not been the life of Girl Scouts and mom baking cookies for her class party and a Sweet Sixteen party. She is a survivor. She also has a shame cycle. She is stuck in deep, bone penetrating shame. Yet, read her post again. She knows it. She can say it. She can own it. It is powerful, but she is already strong enough to recognize it.

She can, and will, do something about it.

She has asked for help. She has taken help. She has absorbed it. But, as I recently said, we all need a support system. A fat, widespread support system. She is a mother who broke so much of the cycle she learned in childhood. She is the epitome of an attachment parent. She taught herself to be the kind of mom her kids need most. And now she sits ... in a house she can not afford to rent ... with nothing. Even her computer, her only source of small income, is not her own.

Nothing.

I have already started to connect her with a few people, but she is starting from scratch. She needs a jump start. I would love to move her here with me. I own a whole RV park, for Pete's sake. But she has children, and she must be where her children are. If you have any resources or connections in Oklahoma, she needs you. If you can spare $5, she needs you.

I know Summer. I have shared life with her. She is beyond frugal. She taught herself to can this year to not only feed her family more healthily but to stretch every last dollar they have. She is simple and requires very little to provide for her family. She's the real deal.

I'm going to do all I can from here. It's not enough. I need some of you who are closer to squeeze into her circle.

You can email Summer at [summerm] @ [findingsummer] .com

You can gift funds to Summer through PayPal, using the email address [sdminor81] @ [yahoo] .com

You can encourage her on Twitter @summerminor

You can love all over her on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/Summer.d.Minor

Money, words, an apartment, a car, a job, a computer, a moving van ... whatever you have to give ... give.