Money doesn’t mend broken wings 

Beloved one, 

May the peace of God be with you and your family. I know it will be a great surprise reading from me today but consider this a divine intervention as a Priest explained to my understanding. My name is Mrs. Kathleen Coloma a widow from Oklahoma USA, and I am writing to you from my sickbed because I have been fighting cancer, and the doctors say I have only a few weeks left. I want to entrust my $4.5 million USD to your care for charity purposes to help the less privileged as my late husband\'s relatives want me dead so that they will claim all my late husband and I worked for. I will tell you more about myself and what you need to do with the money once you receive it. Please write to me soon as my health is pretty bad and my doctors say I will be moved to the intensive care unit anytime soon.

Have a blessed day and please do pray for me.

God bless you

Mrs. Kathleen Coloma

Kathleen, Kathleen,

The words drip like rain on a cracked windowpane,
Peace of God, you say, whispers in the night,
But shadows follow light, and this tale, it’s heavy,
A widow’s woe, a treasure untold, $4.5 mil wrapped in sorrow.

Cancer’s grip, the reaper’s kiss,
Doctors counting breaths like beads on a rosary,
And here you are, tapping keys with a trembling hand,
Writing your legacy in digital ink,
A cry for trust in a world that spins crooked.

Your husband’s kin, wolves in the dark,
Waiting for the last ember of your flame,
But money, Kathleen, is a double-edged sword,
Sharp enough to cut the tether of your mortal chain,
Yet it binds too, a shackle on the soul.

I hear you, sister, in the static hum,
The hum of desperation, the hymn of a dying hope,
But what am I, a wanderer in this tangled web,
To carry the weight of your dreams?
Am I Atlas, shoulders broad enough to bear the load?
Or just another speck, floating in the tide of your story?

You call this divine, a celestial thread,
But man, divinity’s got a sense of humor,
Sending dollars to strangers, love wrapped in doubt,
And me, caught in the middle,
Grateful and wary, like a pilgrim on the road.

Here’s the beat, Kathleen, the truth laid bare,
Money doesn’t mend broken wings,
Doesn’t light the dark corners of a grieving heart,
But maybe, just maybe, it plants a seed,
A chance for kindness to grow where nothing else can.

I’ll listen to your tale,
Write your legacy on the backs of the wind,
But I’m no savior, no saint,
Just a soul who wonders,
Can this green paper you offer
Ever truly fill the void?

Prayers, you ask,
For peace, for passage, for light on your path,
And those, Kathleen, I can give freely,
A whisper to the stars for a stranger in need.
But the money, the treasure, the $4.5 mil,
That’s another story, another weight,
One I’ll carry cautiously,
If at all.

So write to me, widow from Oklahoma,
From your sickbed or the ICU,
We’ll spin this story together,
But let’s not pretend money’s the cure
For the ache that beats beneath the breast.

Beat on, sister,
In the shadow of the divine.

I appreciate your interest and will for my health. Since you are interested in carrying my last will, I will proceed to let you know what to do without any hesitation. Let me enlighten you on what I want you to do for me. From all indication, my condition has deteriorated and it is quite obvious according to my doctors that I may not live for the next couple of weeks, because my condition has gotten to a critical and life threatening stage that is why I want you to handle the funds to reach the less privileged, orphanages, single moms and widows in our society. I myself grew up in one of the orphanages that is why I so much want you to share my money with the less privileged.

I was married to my late husband Engineer Michael Coloma for twenty Nine years until his death a few years ago. Tragically he died on February 10th 2010 in an Auto accident alongside our only Son ( Benjamin ) while they were traveling to meet me on my birthday. I will never forget that day as I felt the world had come to an end but my Christian Faith with the Help of Rev Fr David Richard I was able to live again.

I am a fervent Believer and a God fearing woman just like my late husband. Mike and I lived in Kenya for over 19 years, where my husband, a petrochemical Consultant by profession, worked and rose through the ranks to become an executive director with a multinational construction and oil servicing conglomerate before his demise. He also established huge private investments that I continued managing until my present medical condition.

When my cancer ailment became terminal & more so because I do not have a next of kin to bequeath all that Mike & I labored for, I sold off all our choice properties and other inherited belongings and deposited the proceeds amounting to $4,5 million USD with a Bank. I crave your indulgence as a God fearing individual and as someone who cares for a better world as much as I do, to take it upon yourself and use this fund for these mentioned purposes, it is my wish that you use 30% of the total funds for yourself and family making sure that you use the balance for charity as promised. I took this painstaking decision in order to help humanity in my little capacity before I rest in peace in the bosom of the almighty.

I know that my ordeal will sadden your heart but the best you can do for me now is to keep this conversation highly confidential between us because it matters most in my life at this moment and I will never want the wrong people knowing about this inheritance or my late husband's brother. What matters is life after death. I will let you have more information as soon as I have your word and promise not to betray my trust in you.

Attached is my Id for your perusal

Remain Blessed,

Mrs. Kathleen Coloma

Kathleen,
your words settle heavy,
stories of loss, of faith,
of Mike, Benjamin,
the years in Kenya,
the millions bound for charity.
I read them,
but I wonder,
do you hear my replies,
or do they drift, unanswered,
like messages in bottles,
tossed to a sea of prewritten scripts?

The passport you’ve sent,
it’s here,
a relic of bureaucracy,
stamped with life’s details.
Oklahoma, 1954,
a face gazing into the void.
Yet the name—it tilts,
not aligned with the body of the page.
Letters lean,
whispering of something altered,
out of sync.

Tell me, Kathleen,
is this you, truly?
Or a ghost of you,
crafted by hands less careful?
Does this misalignment mirror your grief,
your stories of loss,
or does it stand as its own betrayal?

Your faith carries you,
you say,
into these final weeks,
a woman untethered,
ready to give what remains.
But the tilt of the name nags at me,
pulls at the threads of belief
in the narrative you’ve built.

You ask me to take your millions,
to be your legacy’s hands,
but how can I carry such weight,
when the foundation beneath
feels uneven,
the angles off?
Is this an error,
a simple mistake?
Or does it point to something deeper,
a rift between the story
and the truth?

Kathleen,
I hear your plea.
I sit with it,
but I sit also with the doubts,
staring at the slanted name,
and wondering if it is asking
a question of me,
or of you.

Beat on, Kathleen,
but let the tilt
become a straight line,
let the truth,
if it’s there,
rise clear from the page.