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Momma Voodoo, 11, Dundrum (2026)

16/10/2026

Today we remember

Jaysley’s Voice

Her Voice, Her Legacy, Our Purpose ❤️

She wore her uniform with pride, With dreams and courage held inside. A young woman with a life to live, A heart so full, with so much to give.

Behind that smile, behind those eyes, Were hopes and dreams beneath the skies. A daughter, a soldier, a beautiful soul, With a future ahead and a life to unfold.

She raised her hand and took the oath, To serve her country, to honour both The values of courage, respect and trust, Yet those meant to protect her failed to do what they must.

She wasn't weak, she wasn't small, She deserved to be heard above it all. She deserved compassion, she deserved care, She deserved to know that someone was there.

But silence can wound more deeply than steel, When nobody listens to the pain that you feel. When cries go unheard and the truth pushed aside, How many more soldiers must suffer inside?

Her name was Jaysley, remember it well, For hers is a story we must continue to tell. Not simply a headline, a number, a name, But a young woman's life that deserved so much more than pain.

And though her boots no longer walk, Her voice lives on each time we talk. Each time we challenge, each time we stand, Each time we reach for another's hand.

For her family, the grief will never end, The loss of a daughter, a loved one, a friend. No medal, no tribute, no words we say, Can bring their beautiful Jaysley back today.

But from their heartbreak, a purpose grew, To fight for change, to see justice through. To give the unheard a voice so strong, To stand beside those who've suffered too long.

So let her legacy shake the walls, Let someone answer when another calls. Let no young soldier be left alone, Afraid to speak in the place they call home.

She was more than the uniform she wore, More than the silence, more than the war She fought within, unseen, unheard— Now let the world remember every word.

And when we speak of honour and pride, Remember the young woman who died. Let her name bring change, not just tears, Let her courage echo through the years.

Her voice. Her legacy. Our purpose. A promise we must see through.

For Jaysley, and for every voice That deserves to be heard too.

❤️ Rest peacefully, Gunner Jaysley Beck. You deserved to be safe. You deserved to be heard. You deserved a future.

Copyright ©️ Bella Nicholl ➡️ Momma Voodoo

15/10/2026

💜🖤 The Reality of Running a Small Business While Battling Chronic Illness and a Cost of Living Crisis 🖤💜

Let's talk about the side of running a small business that people don't always see.

Right now, life is expensive. It's hard enough trying to put together a weekly grocery shop for your family without wondering how you're going to afford everything else.

Now imagine trying to keep a small business alive on top of that, while also undergoing treatment for a traumatic brain injury, Functional Neurological Disorder (FND) and PTSD.

Welcome to my reality behind Momma Voodoo. 💜

The cost of supplies, materials, packaging and postage keeps rising. Things that were once affordable are becoming harder and harder to source without having to increase prices.

And I know I'm not the only one struggling. My customers are feeling the pinch too.

But what people don't always see is that behind Momma Voodoo is a woman who is also fighting battles with her own health.

There are appointments, treatments, rehabilitation, exhaustion and days when my brain and body simply refuse to cooperate.

Some days, the tremors are bad. Some days, the brain fog makes the simplest tasks feel like climbing a mountain. Other days, PTSD decides to remind me of things I've spent years trying to heal from.

There are days when I have every intention of creating beautiful things, packing orders and working on new ideas, but my body has other plans.

And that's one of the hardest parts of living with a brain injury, FND and PTSD. You can have all the determination in the world, but determination doesn't always make your body cooperate.

Treatment takes time. Recovery takes energy. And trying to balance that with being a wife, a mother and a small business owner isn't always easy.

Sometimes I have to choose between resting and working. Sometimes I have to put my health first when all I want to do is create.

And yes, sometimes I feel guilty about that.

But Momma Voodoo is more than just a business to me.

It's something I've built with love, passion, stubbornness and a little Louisiana magic. 🔮

It's a part of me that illness hasn't managed to take away.

My health may have changed the way I live, but it hasn't taken away my creativity or my desire to build something meaningful.

So despite the rising costs, the treatments, the difficult days and the constant juggling, I'm determined to keep Momma Voodoo going.

I will continue to source supplies as affordably as possible, keep prices fair and create pieces that people can enjoy without breaking the bank.

Because I understand what it's like to look at your bank balance and wonder how you're going to stretch it until next week.

I don't want my customers to feel priced out. But I also have to be realistic about the cost of materials and the time and energy that go into every handmade piece.

There may be times when orders take a little longer. There may be days when I need to step away and rest. And there may be products I simply can't make until supplies become affordable again.

That's not me giving up. That's me learning how to run a business around a body and brain that don't always play fair.

I'm not asking for sympathy, and I'm certainly not asking anyone to spend money they don't have.

I'm simply asking for a little understanding.

Every order, every share, every recommendation and every kind comment helps keep this little dream alive.

Behind every small business is a real person with real responsibilities, real struggles and sometimes battles that nobody else can see.

Momma Voodoo might be a small business, but it carries a huge piece of my heart.

I didn't survive everything life threw at me just to give up on something that brings me purpose and happiness.

We might have to adapt. We might have to slow down. We might have to find different ways of doing things.

But we will make it work, one day, one creation and one little bit of magic at a time. 💜

Thank you for supporting not just my business, but the person behind it.

Much love,

Bella — Momma Voodoo 🖤🔮💜

Living with disability. Creating with passion. Surviving with determination.

Because sometimes the biggest achievement isn't building a successful business. It's keeping your dream alive while fighting battles nobody can see.

I am almost caught up on all customs, thank you for your ongoing support and understanding. 💜🩶🖤

15/10/2026

Meet the Woman Behind Momma Voodoo 🖤💜

Hey, I'm Bella, the heart, soul and slightly crazy mind behind Momma Voodoo.

I'm originally from Lafayette, Louisiana, but now call Northern Ireland home.

Life hasn't exactly been kind to me. I've survived trauma, heartbreak, disability and more battles than I care to count. But through it all, I've always believed that even the most broken souls can find their magic again.

Momma Voodoo was born from my own journey of healing, survival and finding myself again.

My Louisiana roots, my love for Hoodoo, Voodoo, spirituality, crystals and creativity have always been part of who I am. I wanted to create something that wasn't just a business, but a little piece of my soul.

Through my rootwork, spiritual creations, jewellery and digital artwork, I put a little bit of myself into everything I make.

I'm not here to pretend life is all sunshine and rainbows. I'm a woman with scars, a wicked sense of humour, a big heart and a stubborn refusal to let life defeat me.

Momma Voodoo is about embracing who you are, finding strength in your darkness and remembering that your past doesn't have to define your future.

Louisiana gave me my roots, life gave me my scars, and Momma Voodoo gave me a way to turn them into something beautiful.

Welcome to my little world of magic, madness and a whole lot of soul. 🖤

Much love,
Bella
Momma Voodoo 💜

15/10/2026

Today we honour🎖️ THE MARINE WHO GAVE EVERYTHING

An Honour to Corporal William Kyle Carpenter, United States Marine Corps — Medal of Honor Recipient

He was just twenty-one, with a lifetime ahead, A young United States Marine, where angels fear to tread. In the dust of Afghanistan, beneath a burning sky, He never knew that morning he'd come so close to goodbye.

November twenty-first, two thousand and ten, In Marjah, Helmand Province, amongst his fellow men. A gr***de fell amongst them, death just seconds away, And Kyle made a choice that would change his life that day.

No time to think of medals, no time to feel the fear, Just another brother in arms whose life he held so dear. He threw himself towards the blast, his body took the blow, A sacrifice beyond all words, a courage few will know.

The explosion tore through everything, left devastation in its wake, Bones shattered, lungs collapsed, a jaw that it would break. His face forever altered, one eye would lose its sight, But somewhere in that darkness, his soul refused to die.

They fought to keep him breathing, they fought to bring him home, Through surgeries and suffering, through battles fought alone. More than forty operations, each scar another fight, And every painful morning meant he'd survived another night.

But heroes aren't just measured by the battles that they've won, Or by the medals shining brightly underneath the sun. Sometimes courage looks like learning how to smile again, Or finding strength to carry on through unimaginable pain.

He ran when life had broken him, he rose when he could fall, He proved that even shattered men can stand incredibly tall. Not because the wounds had vanished, not because the pain was gone, But because beneath those battle scars, the Marine kept marching on.

And in the White House, years beyond that Afghan battlefield, The Medal of Honor rested where his courage was revealed. But no gold star could ever tell the price that he had paid, Or capture all the suffering behind the choice he made.

For Nicholas, his brother, there was a chance to see another day, Because a fellow Marine had put his own life in harm's way. And though the world would call him hero, a title rightly earned, There were lessons in that sacrifice the whole world ought to learn.

That bravery isn't painless, and strength is not a lack of tears, That even those we call our heroes carry memories through the years. That surviving takes a courage no citation can explain, When the battlefield is far behind, but the body still knows pain.

So here's to William “Kyle” Carpenter, a Marine through and through, To the man behind the uniform, and everything he's been through. Not just the day he nearly died, but every day he's lived since then, A reminder that the strongest hearts can belong to wounded men.

For some gave their tomorrows, so their brothers could survive, And one young Marine gave everything — yet somehow stayed alive. The gr***de may have shattered his body, but it never claimed his soul, For courage isn't coming home unbroken — It's finding a way to become whole.

Semper Fidelis — Always Faithful. 🇺🇸

William “Kyle” Carpenter United States Marine Corps Medal of Honor — 19 June 2014

“Some heroes are remembered for how they died. Others remind us what it takes to live.”

Copyright ©️ Bella Nicholl ➡️ Momma Voodoo

14/10/2026

Today we remember Fusilier Lee James Rigby

4 July 1987 – 22 May 2013

“A Drummer's Beat, A Soldier's Heart”

He wore his uniform with honour, A Fusilier, courageous and proud, A young man with a cheeky smile, Who stood so tall among the crowd.

From Middleton to the Army ranks, He answered when his country called, A drummer's heart, a soldier's soul, A brother who stood beside them all.

He marched beneath his nation's flag, With dreams of all that lay ahead, A father with a little boy, And so much love still left unsaid.

But on a street in Woolwich town, One ordinary afternoon, The world became a darker place, A life was stolen far too soon.

No battlefield, no warning call, No enemy across the wire, Just a soldier walking home that day, When hatred unleashed its fire.

He wasn't fighting in a war, He wasn't armed to make a stand, He was simply someone's precious son, Walking through his homeland.

Twenty-five. Just twenty-five. A lifetime stolen in a breath, A mother left to mourn her boy, A child to grow up knowing death.

And somewhere there's an empty chair, A photograph that never ages, A mother holding memories close, While grief writes all its painful pages.

His little boy will grow with stories, Of the father he once knew, Of his laughter and his kindness, And the love that still shines through.

They tried to make his death a message, To spread their hatred, fear and pain, But they could never steal his honour, Or erase his precious name.

For Lee was more than just a soldier, More than headlines on a page, He was a son, a dad, a brother, Whose life deserved a greater age.

And though the drummer's beat fell silent, His memory marches on, Through every Fusilier who remembers, Through every mother missing her son.

So when you speak of that May morning, Don't let the hatred take the stage, Remember Lee, the man behind the uniform, Not simply how he left this age.

Remember the smile beneath his beret, The young man with a life to live, The father who had so much more, So many memories left to give.

Rest easy, Fusilier Rigby, Your final duty now is done, But to the world you were a soldier, To your mother, you were her son.

And while the years keep marching forward, And time moves on for everyone, Your name will never be forgotten, Your story will never be undone.

For hatred may have taken your tomorrow, But it cannot take the love you gave. And Britain will remember Lee James Rigby, Not for the way he died, but for the life he gave.

In loving memory of Fusilier Lee James Rigby

2nd Battalion, Royal Regiment of Fusiliers

Forever 25. Forever remembered. ❤️

Copyright ©️ Bella Nicholl ➡️ Momma Voodoo

13/10/2026

Today we honour TODD LOVE

The Marine Who Refused to Stay Down A tribute to Corporal Todd Love, United States Marine Corps

They sent a young Marine to a distant land, With courage in his heart and a r***e in his hand. Third generation, the Eagle, Globe and Anchor worn with pride, A Recon Marine, with his brothers by his side.

A point man walking where danger lay, Through Afghanistan's dust, day after day. He knew the risks, he knew the cost, But never imagined all that would be lost.

October twenty-fifth, twenty-ten, A moment that would never come again. One hidden pressure plate beneath his feet, And life as he knew it was torn apart in a heartbeat.

The explosion stole three limbs that day, But there was something it couldn't take away. Not the Marine, not the fire inside, Not the stubborn bastard who refused to be denied.

He woke to a world that had suddenly changed, A body forever rearranged. The road ahead was cruel and steep, With wounds far deeper than the scars he'd keep.

For how do you learn to live once more, When nothing is quite as it was before? When the battlefield follows you into your dreams, And survival isn't as simple as it seems?

But Todd wasn't finished, not even close, He'd survived what others would fear the most. And somewhere between the pain and the fight, He decided his story wouldn't end that night.

He traded battlefields for mountains high, And found new ways to touch the sky. He surfed the waves, he learned to dive, Not merely existing, but fiercely alive.

Spartan races, mud and pain, Ten miles of obstacles, again and again. While others wondered how he'd cope, Todd became a living definition of hope.

He wrestled alligators, jumped from planes, Found freedom beyond his physical chains. And on Mount Baker, against the snow, He showed the world how far determination can go.

Those final thirty feet were his to claim, No medals needed, no glory or fame. Just a Marine and a mountain to climb, Proving that courage isn't measured in limbs or time.

And yet his greatest victories aren't always seen, They're in the wounded warriors who meet this Marine. The ones lying broken in hospital beds, With a thousand unanswered questions inside their heads.

He doesn't offer promises that everything will be fine, Or pretend that healing follows a straight line. He offers something stronger than words alone: Proof that a different life can still be your own.

Through Team X.T.R.E.M.E. and the Sinise Foundation, He helps inspire another generation. A home built for freedom, independence restored, And a voice for the veterans too often ignored.

Because being a Marine isn't just about war, Or the uniform you no longer wear anymore. It's the brotherhood, the loyalty, the refusal to quit, The strength to rebuild when life has gone to s**t.

But don't call him fearless, don't pretend he can't fall, Courage isn't the absence of fear at all. It's facing the darkness, the anger, the pain, And finding a reason to rise once again.

He's not a hero because of what he lost, Or because he survived at such a terrible cost. He's a man with a story, a life still his own, Who has fought battles the world may never have known.

So here's to Corporal Todd Love, USMC, A warrior whose future was still his to see. Three limbs were taken, but never his soul, And no explosion could ever define him whole.

For the measure of a Marine isn't how far he can stride, But the courage he carries and the fire inside. The battlefield changed him, but it didn't write his end— Once a Marine, always a Marine, And always a brother, a fighter, a friend.

Semper Fidelis — Always Faithful. 🇺🇸

Copyright ©️ Bella Nicholl ➡️ Momma Voodoo

12/10/2026

Today we honour Ty Southern

# # # STILL F-IN HERE

The Story of Tyler Southern — United States Marine Corps

At seventeen, he raised his hand, A young Marine, prepared to stand. With courage burning in his chest, He wore the Eagle, Globe and Anchor with the best.

From Florida shores to Afghan sand, He served his country in a foreign land. Through Musa Qala's dust and heat, He marched with brothers, refusing defeat.

May fifth, two thousand and ten, A day that changed the life of one young man. Ten pounds of hell beneath the ground, One violent blast, one deafening sound.

In seconds, the world he knew was gone, But somehow his heartbeat carried on. Two legs taken above the knee, His right arm lost, his left badly injured, Yet death itself couldn't claim this Marine.

His heart stopped beating more than once, The doctors fought, the machines responded. And somewhere between this world and the next, A stubborn Marine wasn't finished yet.

He woke to a body he didn't recognise, A different reflection before his eyes. No battlefield could prepare his mind For the pieces of himself he'd never find.

Because surviving isn't always winning, Sometimes it's learning a new beginning. It's anger, grief, and sleepless nights, It's fighting battles beyond the fight.

The uniform may have been put away, But the Marine inside was there to stay. No longer marching on two feet, Yet still refusing to accept defeat.

He turned his scars into something loud, A voice that refuses to bow to the crowd. With dark humour, honesty, and a little profanity, He challenges the world's idea of humanity.

Through NubTalks, he tells it straight, About mental health, survival, and fate. No sugar-coated inspirational lies, Just a man who's lived through hell and survived.

And Still F-In Here became his cry, Not just for those who nearly died. But for the broken, the lost, the scarred, For those whose everyday battles are hard.

For wounded warriors learning to stand, For cancer fighters needing a hand. For addiction survivors finding their way, For abuse survivors facing another day.

He knows that strength isn't always pretty, That life can be cruel and show no pity. That sometimes courage is simply this: Waking tomorrow when today's been s**t.

Tyler Southern, remember the name, A Marine whose life would never be the same. Not defined by the limbs he lost, Nor measured by war's devastating cost.

Because a man is more than flesh and bone, More than the battles he's fought alone. More than the scars that people see, More than what his body used to be.

And if the world should ever ask How one man survived such a brutal past, Perhaps his answer would be loud and clear:

"You tried to break me. You thought I'd disappear. But look at me now, I'm STILL F-IN HERE."

For Tyler Southern — a Marine, a survivor, an advocate, and a reminder that surviving the battlefield is sometimes only the beginning of the war.

Semper Fidelis. Always Faithful. 🇺🇸

©️ Annabella Nicholl ➡️ Momma Voodoo

11/10/2026

Today we remember them

Say Their Names Before His

In Loving Memory of the 13 Lives Lost at Fort Hood — November 5, 2009 🇺🇸🕊️

The world is talking of a killer,
Of the punishment he may face,
But I want to speak of thirteen souls,
Whose lives deserve that space.

Before you speak about his ending,
Before the cameras turn his way,
Remember those who never made it home,
On that dark November day.

They wore the uniform with honour,
They had families, hopes and dreams,
They were mothers, fathers, daughters, sons,
More than names upon a screen.

Some were preparing for deployment,
Some were there to heal and care,
None imagined that their final moments
Would be spent in terror there.

Lieutenant Colonel Juanita L. Warman, 55,
A life of service, compassion and pride.
Major Libardo Caraveo, 52,
A future stolen, dreams denied.

Captain John P. Gaffaney, 54,
A soldier whose duty was never done.
Captain Russell Seager, 51,
A life remembered by everyone.

Staff Sergeant Justin DeCrow, 32,
A father, a soldier, a life cut short.
Sergeant Amy Krueger, 29,
A daughter whose dreams were cruelly caught.

Specialist Jason Hunt, 22,
So much of life still left to see.
Private First Class Frederick Greene, 29,
A name remembered eternally.

Private First Class Aaron Nemelka, 19,
Barely an adult, with dreams ahead.
Private First Class Michael Pearson, 22,
A thousand words still left unsaid.

Private First Class Kham Xiong, 23,
A precious life the world would mourn.
Private Francheska Velez, 21,
A young mother-to-be, her future torn.

Retired Chief Warrant Officer Michael Cahill, 62,
A civilian employee who served with pride.
Thirteen lives, thirteen families,
Forever changed the day they died.

Thirteen chairs left sitting empty,
Thirteen futures torn apart,
Countless tears upon the pillows,
Countless permanently broken hearts.

There were birthdays never celebrated,
Christmas mornings filled with pain,
Children growing up with questions,
Longing to see their loved ones again.

There were uniforms folded neatly,
Photographs held against a chest,
And families forced to learn the meaning
Of laying someone loved to rest.

And what of those who lived through horror?
Who carry wounds we cannot see?
Who walked away from that November,
But never quite felt truly free?

Their stories matter just as deeply,
Their suffering deserves a voice,
For none who entered there that morning
Were ever given any choice.

Now the headlines speak of justice,
Of an ex*****on for the world to see,
But justice should not be a spectacle
That steals their memory.

For he has taken far too much already,
Their tomorrows, their final breath,
Do not let him steal their legacy
By making him the face of death.

Speak of Juanita, speak of Libardo,
Speak of John and Russell too.
Remember Justin, Amy and Jason,
And everything they hoped to do.

Speak of Frederick, Aaron and Michael,
Speak of Kham and Francheska's name.
Remember Michael Cahill,
For none of them deserved this pain.

Let the flags fly high above them,
Let their names be carved in stone,
Let the world remember every soul
Who never made it home.

November fifth, two thousand nine,
A date forever stained with pain,
But through the darkness of that tragedy,
Their memories shall remain.

So when the cameras start recording,
And the world turns to watch one man,
Remember thirteen precious lives
And everything they had planned.

Because the killer is not the story,
Nor the ending he may face.
The story is thirteen human beings,
Whose lives no one can replace.

And when the headlines fade to silence,
When the cameras finally turn away,
May the world still speak their names
And remember that November day.

Thirteen lives.
Thirteen stories.
Thirteen families forever changed.
Thirteen names that must be spoken.
Thirteen souls who deserve to be remembered.

Not for how they died, but for how they lived.

Say their names before his.

Rest in eternal peace. November 5, 2009. Forever remembered, never forgotten. 🤍🇺🇸🕊️

Copyright ©️ Bella Nicholl ➡️Momma Voodoo

10/10/2026

Today we remember

Lance Sergeant Christopher “Chris” Casey

9 August 2007

He wore the red of the Irish Guards,
with pride upon his chest,
A soldier forged through years of service,
giving every tour his best.

He joined the Army in ’98,
and learned what duty meant,
Through Kosovo and Northern Ireland,
where every mile was spent.

He’d walked the roads of Iraq before,
in 2003’s invasion flame,
And when he returned for another tour,
he carried experience and name.

A leader, teacher, soldier,
with wisdom earned through years,
He trained the Iraqi Army,
and stood beside his peers.

But there was music in his service too,
the beat of drums he knew,
A lead drummer of the Irish Guards,
where pride and tradition grew.

Then August came to southern Iraq,
the ninth day of the month,
And a journey that had started years before
was suddenly cut short.

Twenty-seven years upon this earth,
a husband, father, friend,
Two children left to carry his love,
and memories that never end.

London was the place he called his home,
but his service took him far,
Across the world he carried the colours,
beneath the Irish Guards’ star.

Chris Casey gave his life in service,
with courage, pride and grace,
And though the years may carry on,
they cannot take his place.

So let the drums of the Irish Guards
echo through the years,
For every fallen soldier remembered,
through sorrow, pride and tears.

Lance Sergeant Christopher John “Chris” Casey —
your duty is done, but your memory remains.
Quis Separabit.

Copyright ©️ Bella Nicholl ➡️ Momma Voodoo

09/10/2026

Today we remember Brett Savage

Fifty-Five Days of Courage

In memory of Brett Savage — 1988–2020

Fifty-five days beneath Afghan skies, Where danger waited and death drew nigh, In Musa Qala, through dust and flame, Brave men stood firm, though nothing stayed the same.

The Taliban came, again and again, Through sleepless nights and relentless pain, Each passing hour, another fight, Each dawn a battle to survive the night.

Brett Savage stood where the brave must stand, With courage, loyalty, and a brother's hand, He faced the fire, he did his part, With a soldier's strength and a warrior's heart.

But battles fought on foreign ground Can leave deep wounds that make no sound. For when the guns fall silent at last, The mind can still be trapped in the past.

In 2017, his service came to an end, Medically discharged, no longer to defend, Yet leaving the Army does not mean Leaving behind all the things you've seen.

For PTSD can hide behind a smile, And steal your peace, mile after mile. It brings back memories you cannot outrun, Long after the fighting and the war are done.

In August 2020, at just thirty-two, A darkness took hold that few people knew. A life full of promise, a soldier so young, A story unfinished, a song left unsung.

And somewhere, a comrade still carries his name, Remembering the brother who walked through the flame. For soldiers may leave, and the years may pass by, But the bonds forged in battle never truly die.

Then came the day when his belongings were laid In a museum display, a tribute made. In early 2026, a brother in arms Honoured Brett's memory, his service, his charms.

Each treasured possession, each item displayed, Holds stories of sacrifice, courage, and days When men stood together, through fear and through pain, And prayed that their brothers would come home again.

But let Brett's story be more than a name, More than a medal, a uniform, or fame. Let it remind us that veterans still fight Long after they've left the battlefield behind.

For courage is not never feeling afraid, And strength is not never needing aid. No soldier should have to suffer alone, Or fight their darkest battles on their own.

So rest now, Brett, your watch is through, Your brothers in arms will remember you. Though August took you from this earthly shore, Your service, your sacrifice, will be forgotten no more.

Fifty-five days, and a lifetime of scars, A soldier who carried his war beneath stars. May your name live on, may your story be told, For some heroes leave us far too young, far too soon, far too cold.

Rest easy, Brett Savage. Your battle is done. You stood with your brothers when the fighting had begun. May those still fighting find the help they deserve, For no veteran should ever feel they have to lose their nerve alone.

Lest we forget. 🕊️

Copyright ©️ Bella Nicholl ➡️ Momma Voodoo

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