Farewell Rosie: Check the comments 👇👇

Many people, including celebrities, were threatening to leave the United States for good if Donald Trump became president. Rosie O’Donnell is one of those who said so and it seems as if she is sticking to it.

After mentioning the possibility of relocating last week, Rosie O’Donnell went on TikTok and shared a video on Tuesday.

In the video, she verifies that she had already moved to Ireland on January 15 and took her 12-year-old daughter, Dakota with her.

She said: “It’s been pretty wonderful, I have to say. The people are so loving and so kind, so welcoming. And I’m very grateful.”

At this point, the 62-year-old comedienne is attempting to obtain citizenship in Ireland. She may have an opportunity because her grandparents were originally from that country.

She said: “I was never someone who thought I would move to another country, that’s what I decided would be the best for myself and my 12-year-old child. And here we are.”

She then went on to say: “You know, I’m happy. Clay is happy. I miss my other kids. I miss my friends. I miss many things about life there at home and I’m trying to find a home here in this beautiful country and when it is safe for all citizens to have equal rights there in America, that’s when we will consider coming back.”

O’Donnell said that she was distressed over the political climate, particularly some policies that were introduced by Pres. Donald Trump in his first go around. She said that it was both personally challenging and heartbreaking.

Now that she has relocated to Dublin, she said the people seem very ‘friendly’ and she has already been in contact with the local population. She said that she is enjoying her new life but she also said that she is sorry for those who missed her.

In the end of the video, she said: “You know, I’m happy. Clay is happy. I miss my other kids. I miss my friends. I miss many things about life there at home and I’m trying to find a home here in this beautiful country and when it is safe for all citizens to have equal rights there in America, that’s when we will consider coming back.

“And I think about everyone every day and the United States of America. And I am hoping that we can turn things around, counting on you, all of you, to do what’s right. And I think deep down inside, we all know what that is.”

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Nobody expected fifty bikers at my son’s funeral. Least of all the four teenagers who put him there. I’m not a crier. Twenty-six years as a high school janitor taught me to keep my emotions locked down tight. But when that first Harley rumbled into the cemetery parking lot, followed by another, then another, until the whole place vibrated with thunder—that’s when I finally broke. My fourteen-year-old boy, Mikey, had hanged himself in our garage. The note he left mentioned four classmates by name. “I can’t take it anymore, Dad,” he’d written. “They won’t stop. Every day they say I should kill myself. Now they’ll be happy.” The police called it “unfortunate but not criminal.” The school principal offered “thoughts and prayers” then suggested we have the funeral during school hours to “avoid potential incidents.” I’d never felt so powerless. Couldn’t protect my boy while he was alive. Couldn’t get justice after he was gone. Then Sam showed up at our door. Six-foot-three, leather vest, gray beard down to his chest. I recognized him—he pumped gas at the station where Mikey and I would stop for slushies after his therapy appointments. “Heard about your boy,” he said, standing awkward on our porch. “My nephew did the same thing three years back. Different school, same reason.” I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded. “Thing is,” Sam continued, looking past me like the words hurt to say, “nobody stood up for my nephew. Not at the end, not after. Nobody made those kids face what they did.” He handed me a folded paper with a phone number. “You call if you want us there. No trouble, just… presence.” I didn’t call. Not at first. But the night before the funeral, I found Mikey’s journal. Pages of torment. Screenshots of text messages telling my gentle, struggling son to “do everyone a favor and end it.” My hands shook as I dialed the number. “How many people you expecting at this funeral?” Sam asked after I explained. “Maybe thirty. Family, some teachers. None of his classmates.” “The ones who bullied him—they coming?” “Principal said they’re planning to, with their parents. To ‘show support.'” The words tasted like acid. Sam was quiet for a moment. “We’ll be there at nine. You won’t have to worry about a thing.” I didn’t understand what he meant until I saw them the next morning—a sea of leather vests, weathered faces, and solemn eyes. The Hell’s Angels patches visible as they formed two lines leading to the small chapel, creating a corridor of protection. The funeral director approached me, panic in his eyes. “Sir, there are… numerous motorcycle enthusiasts arriving. Should I call the police?” “They’re invited guests,” I said. When the four boys arrived with their parents, confused expressions turned to fear as they saw the bikers. Sam stepped forward and…. Check out the first comment to read the full story

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