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 eight days were calling for rain. We woke up to sunny skies. The abundant sunshine became a symbol to us. We arrived home at about midnight. Our oldest daughter said, ‘Hey, what’s that on the ceiling?’ I looked up. ‘Hurry, go tell the cops.’”
“Pre-baby, I knew who I was. I had an idea of where I was heading. Imagine the shock I endured when I found out we had a tiny human en route. I was about to meet a completely new version of myself. My name was Mom, not Jess. I ate, slept, and breathed motherhood. I started to become more and more aware of my loss of identity.”
“My girlfriend of 3 years finally left me. After all the hurt and pain I’d caused, she finally walked out the door. I jumped in my car and sped down to Walmart. I needed a gun. My brain went back to panic mode. I got in my car and just started driving. My ex had called the cops.”
“Most of us are going out of our minds trying to decide what to do in the fall, if we have a choice, which it sounds like we will. Damned if we do, damned if we don’t. That’s how I feel.”
“Living in the thick of the fire, my tribe was there to hold my hand as I walked through. I found myself sitting on a doctor’s couch the following Tuesday, sobbing tears of grief and agony. They helped me make sense of the madness and encouraged me to feel again.”
“I was trying to act normal with Amelie’s mom, knowing full well it was her daughter who bit my daughter the week before. One says hello. My kids, their kids, they all act like a bunch of strangers. My son was the first one to fess up.”
“Those same friends are showing off their bikini bodies that haven’t changed since high school, while I chase after kids to separate, divert, and redirect. I grab plates of food from the table so they aren’t thrown next, and throw whatever bits of leftover nuggets or pizza on them into my mouth, as I hear my stomach growl from forgetting to make my own lunch.”
“It was the Friday before Memorial Day when things really began to fall apart. I remember being at church during a prayer meeting and saying aloud, ‘This is a dark place.’ I started quoting scripture he never realized I had memorized. No one seemed too concerned.”
“I heard him mumble to himself on the way home, ‘God, I love this feeling.’ His father and I appreciate you so much more than you knew when you handed him his change and he ran out the door. He will never forget this, I promise.”
“This year, I want to return the favor.”