“‘We’re here to see our daughter,’ we croaked. They led us into a room with a small cot. We looked over the side, and there she was, asleep. There was a water drop rolling down her cheek. She looked frozen. We were told, ‘You may not be able to view her in an open casket. It’s already been a while. Also, you may not receive any of her back.'”
“You stare blankly at me. Again. ‘What can I do?’ you ask. Again. I’m tired of delegating and constantly giving what I feel like are ‘orders.’ You’re a great dad, a great man. You work hard. ‘He’s such a nice guy!’ they always say. They’re right—you are. But I’m at my breaking point.”
“Mommy doesn’t feel any guilt. This is normal, it happens to so many women, it’s happened to me a few other times,” she said after pulling her 12-year-old daughter into the bathroom during her miscarriage. “When you get pregnant, it might happen to you, honey. And I want you to know there’s nothing you did wrong.”
“Hands pointed at me as they whispered to each other, ‘She is deaf.’ I feared my daughter would not understand me. I feared I would not hear my daughter. One day, when she was in 2nd grade, a boy made her upset by making fun of my accent. She said, ‘My mom is deaf!’ This was just the beginning for her to witness my challenges. I sobbed as soon as we got home. My daughter comforted me, cried with me.”
“I cannot imagine what was said amongst the 9 of them when they realized their fate. The fear in their eyes, the white on their knuckles. But what I do know is when that helicopter went down on Sunday morning, NINE people walked into Heaven together. Not two.”
“One day, my kids were acting especially sassy at dinner (dare I say, like brats). I summoned our server to the table. ‘Can I get you something?’ I went into total mom mode. ‘Well, I just wanted my kids to apologize. Girls, can you tell our server you don’t know why you’re being loud and crazy, but that you really enjoy eating here and hope we can come back?’ I winked. Instant behavior upgrade followed. I’m not ‘lucky.’ I’ve been putting blood, sweat, and tears into this for years.”
“We were awaiting my son Jesse’s arrival for a big celebration. Instead, the Marines met me. ‘Your son’s been killed.’ He died driving home, on the same highway, in the same state where his father died 14 years earlier. I could sense Jesse saying, ‘Okay, God, I’ll go with You, but don’t let my mama hurt.’ I immediately felt a tangible peace cover me.”
“Before I came out, Shannon and I decided to try for another baby. I got approved by the Marine Corps to begin my transition and started hormone therapy. Soon after, we announced we were pregnant. At 2 a.m., Shannon and I were getting ready to have our baby. We thought we had plenty of time. I walked into the bathroom and noticed blood in the water. She told me, ‘We aren’t going anywhere. Call 911.’ One push later, our baby slid into my arms. We were all smiles and shellshock.”
“She has so many other things she needs to be worrying about. An in-person thank you is sufficient.”
“The saddest part is, I know he wants to stop this. I’ve attended too many funerals of good kids who couldn’t win against this monster. I’ve lost my son, but there hasn’t been a funeral. He is no longer there. I can see him, yet I mourn for him every day. It hurts. I want a do over. I want a second chance to protect him from this monster. I want my son back.”
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