“My husband said, ‘We want our baby to feel the sun on her cheeks, the wind in her hair, the love all around her.’ And she really did. Lily’s smiles are the best thing I will ever see in my lifetime. I know that. We cuddled her until she was gone. I was sobbing, crying out, ’my baby, my baby!’ We bathed her and spent one last night together. She looked so peaceful, like she was sleeping.”
“Today, I got THE CALL. So, I rush to school, bring her a change of undies, and rush back to my conference call. Hours later, she calls. ‘Dad, it happened again.’ At this point, I’m confused. Annoyed. ‘Just wipe your butt!’ Then, it hits me. I rush to the trash, inspect the undies from earlier, and scream. My child called for help and I just left her to die on the battlefield!”
“We come home empty. We don’t want to talk. But we need your understanding. We need to know you ‘get it.'”
“I was able to clear my windshield long enough to witness the most brave act of service. I drove by in awe. A man willing to risk his own safety to safeguard someone he didn’t even know.”
“She sees herself a a bagging expert, while I’m more of a ‘let’s just get it done.’ I told her to knock it off, and she told me I was doing it wrong. It would’ve been very easy for us to slip into a full-blown argument over how we bag groceries, which is ridiculous. Does this mean our marriage is failing?”
“I yelled as loudly as I could, ‘HELP!!!’ Once the ambulance arrived, we had to answer questions. Still, to this day, I can’t hardly answer any of them. We were right beside him, and we never heard a sound. Never heard a splash. He wasn’t even near the water.”
“I sat in my 38-week OB appointment. I’d been told the lump in my breast was fibrous, and we’d watch it. But I knew differently. I felt it in my bones. I asked her to feel the lump. Her face said everything. My doctor called and said, ‘kiddo.’ I heard cancer, and my eyes became gushers. My husband held me. ‘Just cry. Just cry.’ Hours later, I was giving birth to my daughter. She saved my life.”
“I had planned my son’s funeral. I had cried brutally painful tears which turned to moans because I had none left. That day, my life changed. I thought I had witnessed miracles in the past, but those were just test runs and rehearsals for this moment. I know when the anesthesiologist said, ‘We’ll treat him as our own,’ she meant it.”
“I am not a perfect wife. I get jealous. I’ve snooped through his phone. I’ve done things I’m not proud of. I have insecurities. I’ve been cheated on.”
“I just crack and act like a maniac. I yell ridiculous things at my people, get pushed to the Breaking Point. And once I’m there, I feel terrible for losing it. It doesn’t mean we’re bad people, just human ones.”
