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.
“The signs were all there. Everything. I knew it was time. How did I not know sooner? I’m his mom, shouldn’t I just automatically know these things? We are NOT going to give up on you.”
“I feel, at any moment, every good feeling may be the last one I have. I just have to put on my fancy holiday anxiety and deal with it. The worst part about being a widow is holidays.”
“You don’t necessarily notice the impact early on, even if you start to recognize things just aren’t ‘right.’ You see differences at the park, watching other kids interact. Your friends’ kids start walking, then talking, and you start to notice delays. You question what you did wrong and what you could have done differently.”
“The dent in the wall? It’s from me. The toy I’m holding? Yep, I threw it against the wall in a fit of tears.”
“At that moment I knew I had made a big mistake. I knew I shouldn’t have been there. I knew it was time for me to go. As I started to look for a way out, I was approached by an older man who said, ‘You look lost.’ In this world, I didn’t have to hide ‘what’ I was. I felt desired, special, and adored.”
“And nothing has been harder than having to try to stay in your lane, live purposefully, mindfully, and with lasting gratitude, during the seemingly never-ending (and, perhaps, disastrous?) year that is 2020.”
“This can’t be happening.’ You were supposed to wait for me. I jump out of the still-moving car and start running to the front door. I jump on the bed and cradle your head in my arms and sob something terrible. ‘Please come back! I love you.’ I cry and scream into my pillow after they take you away in that horrible, black body bag.”
“I have to face the reality this is the end of the journey. Whatever I wake up to, or whatever I wake up with—that will be my new body. There is no next phase, there is no going back.”
“As she chased behind her new friend, her mother and I struck up a conversation, and at some point she mentioned her daughter’s autism. My daughter was two at the time. I was at the beginning of my suspicions she shared that same diagnosis. This stranger—this mom—was the first person I told.”
“‘He doesn’t have autism, it’s all in your head.’ Please don’t tell me ‘he’s not THAT bad, it’s hardly noticeable, it’s very mild.’ I wouldn’t be surprised if someone suggests an exorcism!”