“I won’t always be a phone call away. Sometimes, I leave my phone inside so it’s not a distraction. I won’t always be there the exact moment you need me. I really try, but sometimes I’m fighting my own demons. I won’t give you my undivided attention, but I’ll listen to you vent between pushing babies on swings. We may not be planning many girl’s nights or remembering to text each other back, but anytime you cross my mind, I’m thankful for you.”
“You’ve felt like because one group didn’t want you, something must be terribly screwed up with you. But it’s not true. That ain’t nothing but dirty, nasty lies. I believed them for a long time myself.”
“I think most people envision ‘the call’ as an instantaneously joyous occasion, the fulfillment of a dream. For us, it was a little more nuanced. A birthmother due in 2 weeks had chosen us, but there were potential health risks with the baby and the pregnancy. We didn’t expect a call this early. But less than 2 weeks later, we took her home at 24-hours old.”
“I literally just sat there, stared at the glass, and smiled. She can’t even shower without caring for someone else’s needs. My wife doesn’t get to clock out. She doesn’t get the satisfaction of seeing a check deposited for her hard work. This may be just a fogged-up piece of glass to some, but to me it means so much more. It’s the little things like this that don’t go unnoticed.”
“When I first met my wife, it was love at first sight. Looking back on that night brings back great memories, but for my wife, those memories are gone. A quick trip to the hospital turned into an absolute nightmare. We found out she had preeclampsia, but by then, it was too late. ‘Steve, this is not easy to say, but she suffered a severe brain injury. She has lost all her memories, long and short,’ the doctor told me.”
“It’s been 7 years, so this ‘thank you’ has been a long-time coming. I wasn’t trying to be rude. I was just scared.”
“A stray bullet killed my husband 3 days after I delivered our son. His cousin Shelby was holding my baby boy moments before he died. She started sleeping with me that night and over the next year moved into the room with my son and I. For us, this PTSD was life. We couldn’t see past the blood, hear past the screams. Our brains were frozen in time, and the only way for us to climb out, was to be with each other.”
“I didn’t leave my bedroom for 7 months or my house for 11 months. Once every two weeks I was carried from the bed to the bath to be washed and changed into Pjs, then back to bed. This was my routine for 7 months.”
“Snnniiipppp. My doctor used scissors to cut me open ‘down there’ to make it easier to push the baby out. ‘What did you do?!’ I asked the male, 50-year-old doctor, with fear in my voice. Even the nurses paused. Just 30 minutes before, my doctor told me, ‘I have somewhere to be at 7 o’ clock, so you better be able to push this baby out soon.’ My husband’s rage was rising. I squeezed his hand. ‘We can’t do this now.’”
“He told me to cut my two closest friends out of my life. It felt amazing to wear my beautiful engagement ring, but I was crumbling on the inside. The life I so desperately wanted to live was never going to exist. It took 4 years to realize it.”
