Friday, February 22, 2013


I still remember it as if it were yesterday. That mind picture will never leave me. I boxed it with bows and put it in my heart.

We have a chair in our kitchen. All our children have used it. Yesterday Anna finally decided that she is too big for it now. The chair is taller than a kitchen chair, and is meant to be used to aid in reaching higher places.

The chair was in the middle of the kitchen; I didn't know what to do with it. I figured if I suggested to Brent that he use it, he wouldn't. A minute later I found him gleefully pushing his chair into the middle of the room and putting the other one at his place at the table. I was delighted, mostly because it has sides and he can't escape it very easily.

But seeing Brent on the chair triggered my memory. He looks more like Kira than any of the other children. His hair is a little darker and not highlighted in blonde. His eyes are not quite so big. And, of course, his temperament is the most similar to Kira's. Naughty but quick to forgive. Ferocious but soft.

But it's the hair that got me. When she sat on the chair in the morning at our other house, the sunshine would stream into the window on her hair. I see her there in my mind...grinning from ear to ear, waiting for her pancakes.

Love that girl!


Tuesday, March 6, 2012

Wounded Trust

Wounded Trust is scheduled to be released in May 2012. A link on our website at will direct anyone interested to a purchase site. Wounded Trust will also be available on Amazon and bookstores.

Our prayer is that Wounded Trust will draw you to the Heavenly Father who is the Healer of wounds.

I plan to keep posting periodically on Kira's blog. You can also check out for more writings if you desire.

The postings on Kira's blog will continue to be sentimental, reflections of her life, things that stir up memories.

The postings on Wounded Trust will be more about me and daily ventures of living with a scar. My desire is to be an encouragement, reminder of the power of the cross, and bring praise to God.

Monday, February 27, 2012

The Act of Pretending

To pretend means to give a false appearance of being, possessing, or performing.

It is three years, one more year than last year, and one more year of life without Kira. One year closer to heaven for me. Frankly, for me three years means the amount of time I was blessed with her presence and the amount of time I have not been are now equal. If I were to weigh in a balance the three years...the sunshine on the right side is full of happiness and crazy times. The monster of grief on the other side is way down and feels dark and sad. Ironically though, the right side wins because it is up, even if unbalanced. Up is drawing, pulling, inviting. We envision ourselves going up to heaven. Jesus ascended upward. I want to continue to go up out of this grief, of muddling in this pit.

"Wherefore gird up the loins of your mind, be sober, and hope to the end for the grace that is to be brought to you at the revelation of Jesus Christ." 1 Peter 1:13

Girding up the loins refers to the Roman people when they were about to run a race or work really hard. They tucked up their long flowing garments around them, removing any impediments to running or the tendency to trip. The final act was drawing the garment together at the waist and knotting it.

Girding up the mind is very essential in the grieving process. The balance of feeling the grief still three years later (which I am told is not very long but feels like eons) and not letting it trip up my mind is easier said than done, literally. Some days feeling grief really gets me. The way to the pit is easy...all one must do is think this is so hard. Other days I just feel sarcastic. Some days the temptation to pretend she is still here is strong. Maybe I just can't see her. As true as that may be, that thought is just a form of escape from grief. These loins of the mind: can they really be wound around my mind and tied together to help run this race?

Yes, I feel sarcastic. Could this knot take place tomorrow? I could use lots of other words to describe the frustration I feel inside, but instead I will stick with the mere word "sarcastic."

The Bible also talks about "running the race" with patience. Patience does not describe the word sarcastic, or happening tomorrow, or the temptation to use lots of other words. I am told and have experienced the desperate need for patience in the grieving process. But why does this have to be a race? And why does it have to be in the end that we see the revelation of the grace of Jesus Christ? On a more positive note I am fascinated that more grace is to be revealed in the end. God has given me immeasurable grace in the last three years.

So why do I have to pretend that is doesn't hurt anymore? Why does it matter if some days I like to pretend that she is here and I just can't see her. The fact that we pretend Kira now has her own room in our new house should really not bother me. We even pretended that Kira was here for her birthday party. Maybe I should say I did. If it is all fake, who am I to say? And if I really believe that there is more grace then God will meet me there in my sarcastic pretending too. Why pretend when God can take care of grief if we just remember to ask and admit we cannot do this on our own.

But really if this is a race, pretending has got to flee. A race requires intentional behavior. Racing requires hours of intensive training, dedication to the goal, but mostly a belief that participation will be worthwhile. If the race isn't worthwhile, why would I bother? The mystery of this fascinates me. This race we are running is largely unspoken, except for three strong defining factors. These factors have been a very strong part of my life in this race of grief. The Holy Spirit, the Bible, and the people around me. Without these three I would still be back at the graveside in total denial.

I believe all these things with my whole heart. Unfortunately I am still human and would actually like to pretend that it never happened, which would definitely erase the pain issue, and also my need for God. How boring is a life that I could run single-handedly?

As for the pretending, I simply feel a bit disconnected. My surroundings have changed and the former surroundings stimulated my thinking. These surroundings do not contain memories of Kira. In desperation to keep her memories alive my brain pretends things. Some of it is partly true; she might be doing this or that, or look this way or that way. But the honest-to-goodness ugly truth is that I do not know. I can only surmise and pretend. A child that doubles its age changes alot. Even when she would be 26, her life here stopped at three years and the rest is left to wonder.

So pretending might not really be wrong, just painfully unreal.


Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Day to Day

So, what happened to me? Why did I stop blogging, you might ask. The truth is that life continues. You eat, sleep, and work, and the world goes on. I can truthfully say after the trauma in my life in the last years I am starting to feel marginally normal. On the other hand, as soon as something is happening out of the ordinary I jump back into trauma mode, certain that a catastrophe is about to strike. Living like that is scary. My nerves have a lot of retraining to experience yet. In the past weeks I actually started thinking about things like going for a jog and got rather excited. Unfortunately, getting into that condition will take some work. Somewhere in the muddle of summer I broke my foot, the little toe metatarsal on the outside of my foot. So I spent the last four weeks dragging around a boot. Walking like that has a way of confining a mother to just simple daily tasks, nothing else. I have been blessed to be able to accomplish even that.

But really truthfully, what happened to blogging? Well, the baby is high maintenance, and seems to be fairly demanding about quality time with his mother. And the boy thing, wow, people told me they eat all the time. In his case it is really true. I should have known,since he's a chip off the old block. Kudos to my mother-in-law who raised four of this gender. They are definitely consumers. The other day my little eleven month old son was on the kitchen floor whimpering with his head between his knees. Goodness, must be bad! All that was wrong was that he was hungry. It had been an hour!

Truthfully, where have I been? I am running an inn. Truthfully, is that all? No, not all. I have been raising two girls. Clothing, feeding, and training them to be women.

Okay, it's hard for me to admit the truth because it involves so many changes. We are building a house, rather, my husband is building the house. I am holding down the fort.

So, back to the question "What have I been doing?" I could continue to weave around this one but I will just be out with it. Nothing I dreamed of doing, nothing I would have come close to attempting three years ago, but sometime in the next approximately two months you will see a new arrival in the book world. "Wounded Trust" will make it's appearance. Yes, I became an author. You might say "How in the world?" Basically, it was God. You might say I don't want to read a book about death. Yes, it is about death because Kira did die. But more than that it is about life in God. Hope beyond this world. The grace of God. Maybe even more than that, yet it is about the dare to embrace life no matter what your plate may hold, and to keep on trusting. The main core of the book started with the blog entries. They have been restructured, some have more reality in them, and then much more.

As I wrote the last chapter to "Wounded Trust" I felt myself being okay with my life, the happenings of the last two years. They have become part of being shaped into a woman who loves Jesus more. No, there is not so much pain there anymore, and yet just yesterday I found those crazy pelican socks I had bought for her weeks before her death. They are purple with black, white, and red penquins. I cried. I miss her just like the yesterday of February 18, 2009. I realize more than ever that this pain will stay with me for life. In 20 years when I look at these socks I will still get a lump in my throat. The pain is just going to be here. It is still mine to look at every day I live on this imperfect earth.

Marylu, Merlin, the girls, and a boy

Saturday, February 19, 2011

Mountain Top

Without the valley-there would be no mountain. It's the view from the top that makes the valley look beautiful.

Two years ago today our three-year-old lost her breath in front of me.... right here in this room. I watched, horrified - as I realized that she was not going to start breathing on her own. Panic threatened to overtake me as I frantically tried to remember how to start CPR. Seconds later I was on the bathroom floor yelling at the 911 operator to help me remember what to do and how. That horrific moment - among others - still stands out in my mind. That was only the beginning of the valley. Minutes later my neighbor (and EMT) rushed in and together we worked to revive Kira. The ambulance crew soon arrived and took over attempting to stabilize her. As I reached for the phone and called my sister I could feel my panic and adrenaline being replaced with fear as I yelled into the phone "Kira is dying". The words seemed to rush out of my mouth and chill everything around. What seemed like hours (in reality, eight minutes) later I watched through blurred eyes as the ambulance sped out of our drive and up the road with Kira in the back and her daddy in the front. Time seemed to stop as I tried to collect myself and go to the hospital. Life became a mad cycle of running to the hospital and juggling feeding the baby as I tried to stay collected the next five days. My fears became valid and I confronted them as the fifth day came and we said good bye to Kira as she peacefully slipped from this world into the next... And then this journey of relearning my trust in God.

A year ago we had a party. A celebration party of Kira's life here and in heaven. Somehow I felt God was calling me to celebrate with my whole heart. Even harder was the call to celebrate other people's children amidst the pain of losing my own. The past year had been very difficult for us and I was starting to feel like we were coming out of the gutter. Merlin had been sick for months. In August Anna sprained her ankle and I had a miscarriage. It was only the start of my downward journey. I was simply worn out. Also in August, Marlea had poison ivy and fought it off and on until finally it became systemic and her whole body reacted to it. She too was worn down physically. I was rescued from my coming crash (better interpreted a nervous breakdown) by our doctor, although I will say that the drugs are still in the cabinet - unopened. I keep them there to remind myself how close I was to an emotional breakdown. By February and the year mark we were all on the healing road. The party was good - it felt okay to celebrate Kira's heaven date. Plus the amazing support we felt from everyone that came to celebrate with us was also very healing. In the weeks that followed I continued to feel healing and a release of my own will.

Weeks later we were pleasantly surprised to realize that we were expecting a baby. We simply did not expect it. Not opposed, we both really wanted another child. Especially Marlea who had prayed fervently every day since Kira's death. The pictures on her door strongly alluded to her heart's desire. The next months were difficult for me as I grappled with grieving and being joyful about the baby. Joy and sadness seem to be at opposite ends of the spectrum. I wasn't quite up to it physically. That combined with the hot summer had me pretty much exhausted most days.

So it happened that on November 11, 2010 we welcomed Brent Jaxon into the world. It was a calm, fairly uneventful delivery (as much as childbirth can be:). Minutes later as I lay holding our son I suddenly realized that I am lying in a hospital bed holding a baby. My mind flashed back to the night at Hershey holding Kira as her heart beat it's last. Instinctively in my head I compared it to now - holding a new baby. Amazement filled my heart. Earlier the nurse had been asking about our family and I had shared a little about Kira. Now they were asking more questions. I suddenly realized I was lying in this bed all this time and didn't even think about the bed similarity until now. As I talked with them more, they shared my grief with tears and more questions. But strangely I wasn't crying. A feeling rose up inside of me, a feeling of being okay with everything. Yes, here I was - I was okay. It seemed like part of my life - a life that was mine. Weeks earlier God had told me that I would have an experience through Brent's birth that would be a mountaintop. This was my mountaintop. I could feel it, I literally felt on the top - even viewing the valley from the top. Praise filled me for the faithfulness of God. Yes, that valley; yes, this mountaintop. But it would not be a mountaintop without the valley. I gazed in gratefulness at our son, Brent - whose name means "mountaintop."

No, we didn't try to name him that because of thinking it's going to be a mountaintop. When Kira was in the womb we thought she might be a boy. To be safe, we found a boy name we liked. Obviously we didn't need it. When Anna was born we kept it on the back shelf again just in case. When we found out that this baby was to be a boy, we somewhat automatically named him Brent. We didn't even realize that the name meant mountaintop. We just liked the name.

The power of that experience carried me through the next weeks. I missed Kira tremendously. The combination of adjusting to a baby - hormonal changes that come with birth, and the Christmas season - proved to be a terrible combination for me. Merlin was also dealing with the changes except that men tend to retreat, which only made my pain worse. Many days I felt as if I could hardly go on... then the realness of my mountaintop experience would come back. It wouldn't bring me out of my sorrow, but it did convince me that sometime I will be okay again. It was the taste of the "feeling" that kept my head up.

When Brent was three weeks old he was having breathing difficulty.
I took him to the doctor and then for a chest x-ray; his chest was clear. A few nights later I awakened to the sensation that something was wrong. I jumped out of bed-paranoid. His head was cold but he was still breathing although labored. I was just downright scared. Fear came crawling into my heart that God would give us a son and then take him away again. He was better after his feeding but I held him the rest of the night. And yes, one could have guessed; it was the weekend so into the ER we went. I couldn't believe it. Us, here again. It's like God just wants us to be okay with going there and facing our fears. I wasn't too surprised with the whole ordeal. God had told me a while ago that something will happen with Brent that I will learn to trust Him more. I pretended it was my imagination...but then I knew I had heard it. Yes, I did learn to trust Him more through it. But in a different way than with all the other episodes. I felt like God was simply calling me to face my fear - maybe even confront my feeling of helplessness. I learned a lot more about conquering my fear simply because there was something to do. Kira's death left me with a terrible feeling that there is nothing to do. God showed me through the experience with Brent that often just a simple something takes care of the problem; it's not always a drastic complicated outcome. In his case all it took was a nebulizer treatment. We did it at home for a few weeks afterward and he has been fine since. He just couldn't move the mucous. Or maybe God just wants us to walk into the ER so often until we don't even think it strange anymore?

Christmas came and went. Lots of feelings again - mostly sad. Strangely Marlea was sick for about two weeks again right before Christmas. Sorta added to my loss of sanity. I can't say I do really well with all of the above on a pile. The one day, I took Marlea for a doctor appointment; I made the appointment at one place and went to another location. They looked at me as if I might be a little shady. I just smiled and said "Well, I guess I am still post-partum." I was glad for the excuse. "Here - give my daughter a fix so I can get my sanity back again" is what I was thinking. It was nice to look back on Christmas day and feel the difference between last Christmas and this Christmas. This past one was definitely easier for all of us. I still keenly felt the desire to be joyful on Christmas but it is so difficult when not everyone is there and you know someone will never be again on this earth. We tried to distract ourselves but I can't say it really worked really well. At midnight after I had finally convinced Brent to settle down - I was exhausted, worn out emotionally and physically. I cried and cried, then went to bed and slept. The next day I awoke and it was not Christmas any more and the world looked brighter. In fact, ever since that the world has been looking brighter again. I feel like I am finally accepting Kira's death.

In turn I am blessed with a peace unknown to me before. I feel real joy. Some of it comes out of feeling hypocritical. I was raised in a Christian home and taught to be obedient to God and His will. Not accepting Kira's death to me felt so disobedient. I knew I had to fight through it because I couldn't deny the obvious, neither ignore the grief cycle if I wanted to heal. To not accept it took patience and trust that my wounded heart would heal and I would feel peaceful again. I feel it coming. I've been told I look happy again. I am amazed how much better I am feeling physically. The muscle bunchies leave me the whole way some days and I have a lot more energy. It just takes lots of energy to grieve!

A few observations from the last three months

What do you do with a little girl who thinks turning three will make her die? She doesn't want to go to Jesus, she says.

I look at Brent - he will never know Kira on earth. That seems wrong because they are both part of our family.

We have lived two years without Kira. Next year it will be as long without her as with her.

It takes wisdom and thoughtfulness as a mother to remember to ask the seven-year-old every several days what she is thinking and to purposely spend time with her, reflecting on her feelings about Kira and her death. Unfortunately though I am her mother; I am human and not perfect.

Men and women still grieve differently two years later

Anna turns three in April. Her actions and antics somewhat remind me of Kira and how much I was enjoying her. After she turns three - I will be reminded constantly of what I lost with Kira.

I fear still someone I loved being taken from me...then I am reminded of the definition of "mine"

God has unique ways of making me stronger

God's timing is always right

God gave us a visible sign to help us remember the mountaintop

Brent is God's sign to Marlea that He heard her prayer. She wanted Kira to live; she died. Then God gave us Brent!

Life and death are so opposite. Likewise the feelings that go with them.

I live in awe of a God who gives and a God who takes away. In times of doubt - I am learning to trust

When Anna was born, Kira was simply overbearing. I have many pictures of her bending over Anna; and Anna is screaming "bloody murder." We have the same scenario again. Only this time Anna is overbearing and Brent is screaming. Why don't babies like two-year-olds? It must be that fear of the unknown.

Rejoice with us for the gift of life God gave in Brent and how we are learning more about God through his birth. Also for the healing and joy we feel in our hearts, and for the valley and mountaintop.

Marylu and Merlin, Marlea, Anna, and Brent

Friday, October 29, 2010


Reactions-we all have them. Reactions to people, circumstances, or something that just really sets us off. We are all different so we all react in our own unique way. We even get demanding about needing space while we react. We spend time thinking of excuses for ourselves, or try to explain our way out of our own human-ness.

A few weeks ago in this house we all had our own reactions. The tombstone made its arrival by way of Merlin's truck. Marlea and Anna thought it was great to go with Daddy to pick up Kira's tombstone. I grimaced and my stomach turned at the thought of it being great to go pick up your sister's tombstone. I reacted by living out my sullen angry feelings. They were excited and proud of it-I was not. They tried to persuade me to go out and look at it in the truck-I did not want to see it in Merlin's truck. To me, the taste of death stinks and that is what the tombstone felt to me that day. Later Merlin took it to the graveyard and laid it on the grave because he didn't have the correct material to put it in place. Finally on Sunday after church I could no longer deny that it belongs to me. I went and looked at it-sullenly of course. I found Marlea lying on the stone with a smile on her face-I took only one glance and muttered that it's nice. Merlin was very gracious to me, giving me the space I needed to react to my feelings. He designed the tombstone himself so it would have been nice to be receiving compliments instead of grimaces from his wife. He too was having his own reactions only being a man it was the thing to do to put up the tombstone. Marlea kept asking me if I like it. "Yes", I replied, just not there! More like I wanted to yell "I hate it!" It could have been the most unique tombstone available on the face of the earth and I would still be grimacing and mad.

So I left and my family followed me to the van. I managed to tell Merlin that it is very nice. Anna had her own two year old reaction by screaming life-threatening screams as we drove down the road. To her the tombstone was part of our family, something we should take along - not leave in the graveyard. Why would we leave it in the graveyard after picking it up in Daddy's truck? She wanted to bring it home to our house. When we arrived home I was thinking on these things when Marlea came into the kitchen carrying her beloved "Bowl Hat". I was sure she was going to say that she is going to use it again. Like I had written two months ago, it was under the bed. She handed it to me. "I don't need this anymore" she said. Words were trying to come out of my gaping mouth as I stared at her. Alas I had no words for such a change. I had not expected to ever receive that bowl back. And here she was giving it to me after lying in the graveyard with her head on her deceased sister's tombstone. I took it, but was totally confused by the series of events. So that was the last thing for her - putting the tombstone over Kira's grave? To me the action brought reactions - nasty, ugly, sullen, angry ones. To my daughter it brought closure, peace, and acceptance. I felt slapped in the face.

So I thought about it, tried to talk about it with my friends, let myself be angry again. My mind played the "what if" games again as I struggled with God about giving back my daughter before I thought it was time. In the end I decided to accept the tombstone. After all, if I didn't I would have to face my daughters questions and probes for the next fifty years. Maybe acceptance was the easy way out but it surely does brings more peace. The next Sunday I went to the graveyard again. Two of my friends went with me along with a bunch of Marlea's and Anna's friends. This time it was set upright in place and Marlea was riding it full of grins. It was easier this time and we all shed some tears. It makes it easier to accept when I realize that it is not only painful for me to look at it, but also for others. As I gazed at it I realized that it is a really nice tombstone. It has her picture engraved, the Jesus "Rock of Ages" symbol from the picture on her blog, and her name. As I stared at it I also realized that we had forgotten to put daughter of on. But I don't really care. At least my name isn't there with hers. Somehow it eased the pain and I breathed a sigh of relief. The next Sunday I went again. Now it's less bitter. I feel okay about it. I still can't say that I like it, but I do say it's a nice tombstone if there ever was such a thing.

I seem to have had numerous other reactions. Anna is growing and is now two and a half. She and Marlea are starting to actually play things that make sense together. Once again I hear little feet trotting after each other, someone hollering "Mia", and a little voice singing God is Great at the table before meals. It's nice but I find myself being afraid of it. It reminds me too much of "how it used to be." I attempt to face the fear and remind myself that it's not a valid fear. The actual fear is simply the fear of Anna also being taken to heaven. I need not fear it because God is in control. If I really trust Him like I say I do then it should not be a fear. But alas, I am human. My fear does not keep me from enjoying her antics and play. I smile and thank God for the healing that we have experienced. Even if it means not thinking about the "hole" so much. I thank God also for Anna's vast vocabulary and how that makes it so much easier for her and Marlea to play and communicate.

I am also reacting to upcoming changes in our family. Baby four is due in several days. Changes - good ones but it makes me miss the "Sunshine" girl who played such a vital part in our family. I realize that she would be helping me a lot with the baby especially when Marlea is at school. She would also be playing with Anna. Instead Anna is making baby noises and screams in preparation for baby four's arrival. A few days ago I decided that there is no other way to make room for baby four without putting some of Kira's clothes away. It was terribly hard to do, and still feels like betrayal almost two years later. Memories are still fresh in my mind. Anna reacted by standing in a corner and screaming. She made big bold statements like "Kira doesn't need this anymore because she is up in heaven". Or-"Kira won't mind if I wear this because she is in heaven". It added to my pain but the bluntness and truth she spoke also helped me keep in focus that it is simply the truth. Some of her clothes fit Anna so I didn't need to put them all away. I freely admit that there are some clothes in Anna's drawer that are quite oversized for her little self. Until Anna grows into them, they still belong to Kira.

Pray for us in the changes that are coming. Pray that we will enjoy and embrace now and it's joy fully. It seems possible for this baby to bring more healing for all of us. Our God is mysterious!

Marylu and Merlin, Marlea, and Anna

Friday, September 3, 2010


I have become different. I cannot detour around that truth. Grief and pain have changed me and my perspectives on life. A few weeks ago, my cousin was killed in Afghanistan. He and nine others were part of a mobile eye clinic in a remote part of the country. They were ambushed, robbed and killed. A week and a half later we attended his memorial service. During that time I found myself unable to properly grieve and mourn his death. In fact, I was thoroughly confused. Sunday at his memorial service I was finally able to cry. Then the tears came in torrents and I was out of control. Days later I decided I still haven't really mourned his death. My longing to enter heaven has stolen and replaced what would have been my feelings of grief for the loss of his life. Yes, that envy has stolen my ability to grieve. Why would I grieve my own loss when he is experiencing heaven? I want to go there...not that I want to leave my loved ones, but my desire for heaven is burning. The small taste God gave me the night Kira died will stay with me forever. The peace heaven gives and the feeling of everything being perfect: no more worries, cares, strife, war, arguments, or different opinions about life. My perspective on death has changed. I always grieved for my loss of connection with that person. I still do to some extent. Now-my grief is more associated with the living and the pain they will endure until heaven can be real for them. My tears at the memorial service were for my aunt, uncle and their family. I still have some balancing to do; I am still partially confused.

God also showed me in a funny way that other people's perspectives are different than mine. It broadened my horizon and allowed me to be more okay with however they would like to perceive me. Last week we were walking out of a restaurant. Marlea and Anna were ahead of me. I must have looked tired. A kind looking middle-aged couple was outside eating ice cream. The man was watching the girls. He looked at me and said "I bet they are a handful". The words were already coming out of my mouth to inform him that no they really are not but when there were three of them I was busy. I bit my tongue, smiled and replied "Yes they are." For the first time since Kira's death, I felt myself allow a person's perspective on our family to remain as it appears. In turn I felt God showing me that my perspective on death has changed and that is okay. But that is for me to feel and not everyone else. Each person grieves differently and for different reasons. My respect of those different reasons along with my respect for the Christian body of believers is growing.

Anna is learning to ride a bike with training wheels. She can barely reach the petals now. Her eyes glisten with pride as I try to help her. They remind me so much of the same pride I saw in her sister as she learned to ride the bike. In Kira's eyes she became Marlea's equal because she could ride bike also. For Anna, she is simply being proud of turning the petals. I miss that fierce competition between Marlea and Kira. It made for crazy times....

Praise God for the ability to feel, choose, and express our emotions. Also for good health!

Marylu and Merlin, Marlea, Anna