“Then came my escape. It was tricky, but I planned it well. My father was dying of brain cancer, and my husband had beaten me for going to my father’s funeral. It was time. I finally had a chance to escape with my child. You are worth fighting for. I need to let others know – there is an escape, a better life.”
“The more severe cases pass away by the age of 1. ‘What? Pass away? Not my child.’ I was devastated I wasn’t going to have the life I imagined. But there is such power in accepting this new life.”
“All the times you told me how much you loved me growing up, I never fully realized the magnitude of those words. Until I had children of my own. Mom, I’ll never stop needing to hear your voice when I call. I’ll never stop needing you to hug me and pat my hair like you did when I was little, or your advice and wisdom. The way you step in to help when I’m drowning. Thank you for everything you do.”
“My 12-year-old daughter appeared in the kitchen after school. She started a conversation the same way she always does – ‘MOM! Guess what?!,’ except this time it wasn’t followed with, ‘Kate likes so-and-so’ or ‘Mrs. O gave us so much homework!’ This time, her face lit up. ‘He told me first!’ I was happy her friend had confided in her, but I was scared for Will. I asked if he’d told his parents yet. The answer was ‘No.’”
“Nick wasn’t ready to let go. His body was a 93-pound shell. Our daughter’s 6th birthday came. I pleaded with him to please try for her. To give her that day. He played games, he sang happy birthday, despite all his suffering. Less than a week later, I came home to find him nearly unconscious on the couch. I told him it was okay to let go. I asked if he was scared. He said, ‘no.’”
“I hear him snoring from upstairs and think to myself ‘Crap, he pulled his mask off, I should go put it back on.’ I didn’t though because I have to fully wake him up to do so. He had sleep apnea and used a CPAP machine, pulling it off was a common occurrence. I went upstairs about 20-25 minutes later. Before I got to the room, it felt off.”
“That night, I went to bed and forgot to take my phone off silent. I didn’t hear it ring. I missed the call. Her sister woke me to 3 words that changed my life forever: ‘Brenna killed herself.’ For so many years, I’d pleaded with God to heal her depression. This is not what I meant. Now, Baby David will never remember his mommy.”
“I heard a knock on my door. I opened and saw a young policeman. He told me he had a phone number I needed to call. I quickly realized we had trouble. The officer claimed he didn’t know what it was about (doubtful). I called the number – it was answered by a person at the Boise morgue.”
“‘I can’t get these, they have buttons!’ I’m like a rag doll when she pulls my arms through my shirt. I still have paralysis in my shoulders, arms, and right hand. I’ve only dressed myself for about 4 years of my whole life. It’s time that comes to an end.”
“People often refer to my disabled son with angelic, heavenly labels. I’m his mom. I’ve seen things. I know better. When we project this ‘heavenly’ identity onto people with disabilities, we unknowingly strip their humanity and make them more ‘other.’ My son just wants to be loved for exactly who he is.”
