Li sketched out a map of his home village. He couldn’t remember his birth name, the names of his parents, or the name of his village, but he recalled the rivers, rice paddies, and roads that wound through the countryside.
- Love What Matters
- Grief
Li sketched out a map of his home village. He couldn’t remember his birth name, the names of his parents, or the name of his village, but he recalled the rivers, rice paddies, and roads that wound through the countryside.
“I texted my mom. ‘We can have the kids,’ she replied. It was time to finally let go of my past experiences with love and open myself up again.”
“Three hours later, our doorbell rang. ‘It’s the cops!’ I heard them ask if we owned a 2017 Jeep. I was immobilized, tears stinging, unable to speak.”
“I never realized that a mother is not interchangeable; you cannot just change a known mother with an unknown one.”
“Your quiet presence may be all she needs to make it through.”
“263 lbs, I loaded the stroller and walked 3 miles a day. Rain, wind, or shine.”
“I had no idea she would pass just 3 days later.”
“I recorded this conversation on my phone. It was one of the very last exchanges we ever had.”
“Her suspected murderer. The person of interest in her case. Abuser. The last person to see her alive. A fiancé or boyfriend is compassionate, loving, empathetic, and protective. He lost that title.”
“People don’t talk about ‘women issues.’ ‘So many people out there have it WORSE.’ You’re labeled as dramatic, and doctors disregard what you’re feeling.”