LJ Herman is a former editor at Love What Matters and lives in Colorado. LJ is a concert, ticket and technology enthusiast. He has seen the Dave Mathews Band over one hundred times and counting.
LJ Herman is a former editor at Love What Matters and lives in Colorado. LJ is a concert, ticket and technology enthusiast. He has seen the Dave Mathews Band over one hundred times and counting.
“All weekend long I’ve followed the story of Noah, the little boy that was hit by a car while trick or treating. Just days ago, he was dressed for Halloween, trick or treating with friends. Now he is gone. Today, I’m sure his mom would give anything for him to brush his teeth, and forget to rinse the sink.”
“Words matter. Actions matter. Thoughts matter.”
“I never knew my biological father. My momma was dating a man, got pregnant, and they parted ways. She had me by herself. I was not told about any of this until I was 12 years old. That was the beginning of my downward spiral. I was acting out, angry at everyone. It ripped us apart. Then I took a chance and sent them each a message.”
“She wanted to dress like Elena of Avalor for church today. Which is why, at 35 years old, I fight my instinct to say ‘no’ to magic as often as possible. I want my children to savor the weirdness of their childhood as long as the world will allow it. I want my daughter to believe in goblins and fairies and princess warriors.”
“I pulled up his profile, scrolled through his pictures, and hit the add button. I waited for at least 3 days. No message, no anything. I went back to assuming he just added ’random blondes.’ I finally decided I would make the first move. I didn’t want my daughter to wind up even more heartbroken.”
“I hear the sound of a huge dog clambering down the wood floor hallway. If toddler silence is a dangerous sound, this is the doggy equivalent. I chased her around the house trying to dislodge a slice of Meat Lovers. Then I saw the flames. The kids come running in. ‘FIRE! FIRE! WHAT’S OUR ESCAPE PLAN?’ We don’t have one, but bet we do by this afternoon.”
“The one thing I was ‘known for’ was being taken from me. I vividly remember I’d have to hide in the bathroom before school started, practically unable to function, dragging myself to my classroom at the last minute. I felt entirely numb. I felt absolutely nothing. How could I not be graduating? It was my senior year!”
“I started seeing a shift. He was moody, had bouts of rage. He was volatile. Every moment felt like walking on eggshells. I felt constantly on edge, waiting on the next blow up. He was always tired. I mentioned all this to the pediatrician. Nothing fit. I was losing my sweetheart of a boy. Finally, I said, ‘What about Celiac?’”
“No one mentions that you disappear into your own walls. A part of the furniture. Like an old armchair that’s jumped on all day and the last thing you want to do is talk to someone or be touched. We have to be grateful, so we shut our mouths. I’m in silence listening to others say, ‘I never felt like that, I loved it.’ Sinking deeper into our guilt.”
“This type of behavior should not be accepted.”