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.
“I had no motivation to brush my teeth, shower. No motivation to play with my kids. I was anxious my husband was going to leave for someone better who had their stuff together. It was me sitting on the couch responding to messages of ‘How are you doing?’ and replying ‘really good’ knowing it was a lie. You need a friend that doesn’t care if your house is a mess because you need to clean your mind before your house. And you need that friend to be you.”
“There was a time when bedtimes were enforced, when we didn’t allow PB&J as an alternate dinner option every night, and when all movies shown were G-rated. You don’t know what you’re missing because those parents left the building two kids ago.”
“’Our baby is high risk! My poor husband is used to me being a bit dramatic, but he stayed calm even in this situation, asking me to repeat our diagnosis. ‘SUA, Single Umbilical Artery.’ They said she’ll be small… that’s all I could focus on – she was going to come early.”
“It was later on, after an ‘accidental Facebook message’ to the ‘wrong Danny’ that fate would bring them together. 107 days before what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life, her wedding day, she got the most heart-stopping phone call. Her fiancé was in an accident. One he wouldn’t make it out alive from.”
“You need to listen to the doctors. You need to breathe. Right now, you can’t see past those hospital walls. One day you will. One day you’ll see the beauty in all they did for your baby girl. One day you’ll be forgive the neurosurgeon who you found so blunt and cold. One day you will be thankful Eva was in your arms, and not on an operating table, when that last breath came.”
“I did it. I obliged. I smiled and pretended to have fun. I slept in that teeny tiny space. But I paid for it the next morning. Boy, did I ever. Y’all. I can’t do that anymore. I’m too old, or too grouchy, or too in-love with sleep. Whichever it may be, I just can’t do that anymore. I’d give just about anything for my 16-year-old body again.”
“He looked at me like ‘but I don’t get it, momma, I’m okay. I’ll just get up.’ He collapsed again. I ran over to him, trying to give him water. Confused. Panicked. I didn’t know what was going on. Was he over heated? Dehydrated? I’m a nurse. Why didn’t I know?! Figure it out. Figure it out I kept telling myself. It took only ONE hour from the time we left the water for Oliver to breathe his last breath.”
“I ordered a mini fridge and had forgotten about it. So, when I got a delivery notification I was like, ‘Oh, okay.’ I walked out to my rug being three feet of the ground and was like, ‘What is happening!?’ I couldn’t stop laughing.”
“I left the office with a smile on my face. I brought my son back to the car and teared up as I put him in. I refused to cry in front of him. I couldn’t show him I was scared. ‘Autism.’ As soon as they said it, my breath caught. I acted cool and collected. I acted like it was all to be expected. I acted. For everyone else’s benefit.”
“The best time of day is coming. Nap time! Except this doesn’t mean relax, shower, or nap. It means a precious 2-3 hours of work! This is when my time clock actually starts. I race to my computer to pick up where I left off, hoping the toddler won’t take a short nap and completely ruin the day.”