“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?’”
“We ran out of toilet paper and Tommy was supposed to go to the store. Irritated, I asked him to get me something to use. Maybe a paper towel? He finally walks in holding a pack of wipes. They were a very specific kind, Huggies all-natural wipes. I started tearing up. ‘Put them back, please.’ He laughed and insisted I used them. He didn’t realize how serious I was until I started bawling. Something in his room was now out of place.”
“My first thought was, ‘They have the wrong boy.’ My son loves school! Frustrated, I yelled, grounded him. Then, the next morning, I heard it. Sobs coming from the shower. ‘Mom, I’m not feeling okay.’ He told me he felt extremely depressed. That it was so bad he contemplated killing himself and had skipped class to find a quiet space to cry alone and breathe. Instantly, I felt a pang in my heart.”
“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.”
“I allowed myself to be a momentary creeper. I just pulled back, parked my cart and watched all the sweet mamas. I wanted to say what all the elderly ladies used to say when they saw me in Target at 8 a.m. – ‘Enjoy it. It goes fast.’ But I resisted.”
“I got a call from my daughter’s teacher. She said there had been a pretty catastrophic incident while cleaning up. I listened intently, but none of this was a surprise to me. I got off the phone and was so mad. That little girl would never ask her to play again; likely she’d run home and tell her parents about the bully in class.”
“I was STRONGLY encouraged to wait for kids. My incision was paper thin. 3 months later, I was pregnant. My little baby was growing alongside fibroids the size of ORANGES. To make matters worse, he was sunny-side up. My life was in danger. In my foggy head, I heard, ‘Amber, we can’t get the bleeding to stop. Do you want your tubes tied?’ I woke up covered in blood.”
“The ‘love of my life’ went to prison. ‘Why?! Finally, I can get away from him! And now I’m carrying his child!?’ I was so scared. Once I had my daughter, I didn’t say a word. Until one night, she was 3 months old, he randomly shows up at my door at 9:00 p.m. When I opened it, my heart felt like it was in my throat. He just stood there and stared at her as I held her in my arms. She was his twin.”
“My phone rang. I could hear excitement in the social worker’s voice. I waited anxiously. ‘Sydney, we have a match. 18 months. Biracial. He’s perfect!’ He walked in. Little snowsuit on. Shy, but curious. He didn’t make a peep, but he took my hand. I cried the whole way home. 4 years. Thousands of tears. Millions of prayers. One phone call later. This was it.”
