“But today, I simply said ‘NO.'”
- Love What Matters
- Family
“But today, I simply said ‘NO.'”
“My baby needed a heart transplant. I’ll never forget the compassion I was showed at my most vulnerable.”
“I woke up to a call from my brother. ‘Dad is really sick. He has cancer.’ Time stood still. ‘What am I supposed to do?’ In less than 2 months, he passed. My lifestyle has brought concern to others. ‘What do you mean you’re selling everything?’ ‘How are you going to live?’ ‘What about your careers?’ I was in the midst of a breakdown.”
“I mourned that my daughter couldn’t be welcomed into the world with joyful innocence. She’d be born into a life of sharing Christmases and summer vacations. A life where daddy couldn’t tell mommy she was his first and only wife. I had to bury the dreams of what I THOUGHT motherhood looked like.”
“When I was 21, with two babies of my own, I was in my bedroom with this heaviness on my heart. I needed to know who my birth-father was. My birth-mom was only 14 when she had me, 13 when she was pregnant. I could sense such sadness in her voice. My heart sank. ‘It is not your fault. Thank you for your strength to tell me. I love you.’”
“She called and left me a voicemail saying she didn’t want anything to do with me anymore. I cannot count how many times I listened to that voicemail. Those words stung the same each time. She was just waiting for the day I would go crawling back on my knees to her.”
“As I heard him walk outside, I spoke the words that will forever ring in my head. ‘They are calling for rain today.’ Just 3 hours later, his pants were bloody from asphalt and his striped shirt was cut off of him as the EMT’s fought to save his life. My husband walked, for the last time.”
“Our hard days look like night terrors, bed-wetting, and sleepless nights. The days are riddled with meltdowns over having to be outside where it’s too hot, too cold, too sunny, too many bugs or too ‘outsidey’. Seriously. We can’t make this stuff up.”
“They don’t see us hold the hands of a man with Parkinson’s to ease his shakes. They don’t see us sing their favorite song quietly as we feed them breakfast. They don’t see us cry as we comb the hair of a resident who has just passed so they look presentable for their family. They don’t see us go home as a broken, shattered human who has seen more in one day than most people will ever see.”
“That night as we sat on the couch crying, I looked at the clock. It was 8:00, the time we’d usually take him to bed. ‘I hope he’s snuggled into bed after having his favorite book read to him,’ I said. ‘I don’t,’ my husband replied. ‘I hope his dad loves him so much, and missed him so badly that he’s still just holding him, and telling him how much he loves him.'”