Emily Richey is a graduate of Pace University NYC. She has written and edited for multiple online platforms, including Love What Matters. She spends her free time petting stray cats.

Emily Richey is a graduate of Pace University NYC. She has written and edited for multiple online platforms, including Love What Matters. She spends her free time petting stray cats.
“A couple of months until the deployment, the news hit. Things were getting bad. My husband wouldn’t have the chance to come home for the birth of his daughter. I didn’t know what it meant for my baby. I still continue to do my job. I made a commitment.”
“‘How will I cope?’ I looked in the mirror for 30 minutes, wondering what to do.”
“I always imagined this big strong guy like my husband – a star football player and maybe a military pilot. But after Gabe’s diagnosis, suddenly those dreams came crashing down. I worried if Gabe would ever drive, get married, or just end up living with us forever.”
“Growing up in the ‘picture perfect’ era was mentally draining. I started to develop early and was wearing a training bra by third grade. I was called ‘a big ugly giant.’ It sent me even deeper into a downward spiral.”
“Delilah hadn’t been eating much, but I thought she was just starting to get picky. She screamed and cried in pain. She couldn’t walk anymore. ‘She doesn’t look sick.’ I begged them to do an x-ray.”
“I was in a daze. ‘Your baby needs to come out right now.’ I lay on the operating table alone while they sewed my now empty womb back together. 3 hours later, they told us, ‘She might not survive it.’ Our hearts broke. None of it seemed right.”
“What if I got ill while pregnant? I love this collection of cells with all my being. I asked my doctor to tell us what to do. ‘The risk is just too high.’ There is sincere heartbreak in this decision.”
“As we walked into the ER, we did not expect to get the news we did. We thought she just needed fluids.”
“The nurse I was assigned to made fun of my face painting and I got incredibly sick. I stood next to our car, afraid I would fall over while I screamed, ‘NOT ME!’ over and over again in broad daylight. I asked him one question, ‘Am I going to die?’ He didn’t answer.”
“A sickening feeling took over and my chest tightened when the attending physician walked in. I could see bad news written on everyone’s faces, but I still didn’t believe it. We were left with ashes in a cardboard box.”