Hi, I’m Jeana. I’m a mother of three, well I was a mother of three... however, my daughter Katie passed; she was killed. I took everything I had saved, borrowed, and begged. I couldn’t think of leaving her in that freezer one more day. They leave them in the freezer after they die until the family pays, and I needed to bring her back to her family where she could be buried with her family. I worked my whole life. I’m 47. I thought I did a good job. My first husband, he set me on fire because I wouldn’t sign a quitclaim deed to our house. It was my grandfather‘s house. He left it to me and the girls, not to him, but because he was my husband and he was working and I was taking care of the babies, his name was on the deed as well. So he stole our house for nothing, for crack. I was pregnant. I didn’t even know what crack was. The money was gone fast, so fast there wasn’t anything I could do. And when all the money was gone, he decided that I should be gone too. So he filled a bowl with fingernail polish remover and told me to remove the fingernail polish that was on my fingers that he didn’t like the color of. So I did that. When I stood up, I spilled it all over the front of my shirt. He told me he should just set me on fire. I wasn’t even worth being on this earth after I’d given him everything: two babies, one on the way, a home to live in that he sold for nothing, and I’ll never get it back. It was my grandparents' house. By the time I got the fire out, I had no hair. I had skin on my face, but I looked like candle wax dripping from a candle, and it hurt so bad. 22% of your body is a lot. I could’ve died very easily, but they sent me to a very good hospital, and I was lucky, and my daughter was lucky. She was born and beautiful, a little early, a little 5-pound baby, but she was perfect. I named her Hope; that’s all I had left. Luckily, my mom took my girls, the two oldest, while I was in the burn center for a year. And then after that, I had to wear the Jobst garments for a year. If anybody’s ever been burnt, they know how horrible that feels, and I’m sorry you had to feel that. Not long after that, I met a man who would love my girls as his own. After 9 years, he died from diabetes and kidney failure. And not even long after that, I got a Facebook message from an old friend from high school. He was my high school crush, and I thought, oh, this is God. He sent someone to help me, but he sent someone the devil sent to break me a little more. He cheated every chance he got. I got a chance to move to Florida to start over, to open three restaurants, and he, of course, cheated with the waitress that I hired. I should’ve known better. It was my fault. I should’ve never thought he could do better, but now thank God he doesn’t like children my kids' ages. The pain of that was horrible. The court hearing was even worse. After he was gone for a few years, my daughter Katie was killed. She was 21 and died on a cold, dirty bathroom floor. Nobody even checked on her. She was smart. Of course, they never could find the killers. They didn’t even try to look. Thanks, Crystal River. I did everything to bring her home. There’s nothing left. I have a car that’s close to being repossessed, but it’s not worth anything. It’s over 20 years old, and honestly, I probably couldn’t sell it for $600. I’ve never asked strangers for money before. I’ve never had churches or money before. I always thought God would provide if I was doing what was right. God would provide, but my work closed, and I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I keep looking for work, but nothing is working out. I don’t wanna go back to restaurant work. I don’t think my brain can handle it anymore. When you lose a child, there are things that change inside you. You can’t describe it. It’s like your brain doesn’t give it to your body, and just because your daughter’s body is gone, you can’t help but worry if they’re cold, if they’re hungry, if they’re hot, if they’re safe. It’s been that way. They are alone. I don’t know, somewhere just sleeping. I can look, and I know what they are, but those words don’t come. I don’t know what that’s about. I’m thinking it’s stress. I don’t know how I’m gonna do this. I don’t know how to be. I don’t know. I don’t know how to ask for anyone to just please help. I can’t put this on Facebook. My mom will make me take it down. She doesn’t give me money. She doesn’t care, but it’s her reputation, and she cares more about that than she cares to see me homeless, living in my car. So I’m trying the best I can to see if someone can pick this up and put it on there for me. Maybe somebody who doesn’t know me. I don’t know. I know I need help. Just enough to keep going, just enough to keep looking for a job, to keep my lights on and my rent paid. I’m not beneath hard work. If you need something done, I’ll happily do it for you with a smile on my face and thank you. God said in the Bible to take care of the people who can’t take care of themselves, and right now I’m unable. I don’t know what else to do but beg. I cry all day. I have my friends. I have no family really but my kids, my grandbabies. I need your help. Anything, please. There’s nothing I won’t do at this point. I don’t even care if it’s degrading. I do not want to live without my God. I want to keep my house, even though it’s not mine, and I know I’ll never have the house. I know I’ll never have love, but I at least need help. Please don’t let me get kicked out of my house. Help me, God, please help me.