“I’d never taken Madeline to a fashion show before because she was always sick. When her health increased, we walked in as I thought to myself, ‘What have I done?!’ I knew full well my daughter would want to be on that catwalk, too. Sure enough, after the show, she turned to me and said, ‘Mom. Me. Model.’ I’m the type of mom to do whatever I can to make things happen. Little did I know what this all would turn into.”
“I came home early on a Sunday morning. Still drunk from the night before. I had a plan. I executed my plan. I say this next part with absolutely no dramatization; if my wife had stayed in bed for another 10-15 seconds, I would absolutely be dead. I would’ve been dead that morning. I owe my life to her. And I wouldn’t be here to tell you that things get better.”
“Someone along the way decided to label us as ‘adults.’ Now we’re required to work and pay bills. We have to go to parent-teacher conferences and figure out Common Core. And some days, I just don’t want to. Some days, I just want to go back to when the nights were long, and the phone calls were longer. But, most importantly, I want to go back to when my husband was alive.”
“She supported him and she took care of him, regardless of the situation. To this day, they are closer. She always takes care of him.”
“The room is still, almost silent. I meet their beautiful baby, I hold their baby, talk to their baby. All while taking a mental assessment of how much posing I can do. I ask who he got his beautiful wavy hair from, or his button nose or long toes. I talk, but not too much to overwhelm anyone. I work gently, efficiently. I capture every single detail. No one wants this. Their child existed. Their child was so loved, and so wanted.”
“I didn’t know what to say at first. She went there. Without fear. Without hesitation.”
“We ended up leaving 5 days before Christmas. The tree was decorated. Stockings hung. I tried to drag my babies out of their good time. I absolutely panicked. I wasn’t rational. But, panic, absolute real panic, is not rational. If I hadn’t left when I did, myself, my children, or all of us would’ve been dead.”
“I overcompensate. I smile at strangers. I ask the check-out girl how her day’s really going. And I’m polite. Today I wasn’t. Today I was in my own world. I was quiet.”
“‘How long did he breastfeed?’ ‘Have you started potty training?’ Confession time. I’ve lied about all of this before. But I’m done feeling ashamed for the choices I make. My kids may not seem ‘independent’ enough for some, and that’s okay because these kids? They’re mine to bring up.”
“On the day of the results appointment, I walked into the office sipping iced coffee. I even took a few selfies in the exam room while I wore the breast-cloak. I was gearing up to announce my relief of a positive result on social media to my followers. The doctor came in, iPad in hand. She settled on a wheeled stool and cleared her throat. Then she said, ‘I never want to tell patients this, but it’s breast cancer.’ Just like in the movies, I went into a fog.”
