“I entered the orphanage. Hundreds of children were living there, but the halls were silent, expect the occasional wail or moan. I saw skeletal bodies, empty eyes, smelly diapers. I heard doctors calling them ‘disasters.’ One child had a sack of fluid coming from the back of her skull. It was her brain, and it was leaking fluid. Children were covered in cigarette burns. I couldn’t believe my eyes. And I couldn’t look away. I knew I had to help.”
“I lived in a small town in the deep South. I was 15, the age where acne, boy problems, and all that fun stuff was going on. To make matters worse, I was born missing my left forearm. I wore my prosthetic to school for 2 entire years without removing it for gym class, soccer practice, nothing. For 2 whole years, that mind game would go on, leaving me feeling suicidal on my 17th birthday. I woke up feeling like I was done with living. It was a bright, sunny day. I sat in my room writing out all the reasons I didn’t want to be here on this planet. I broke down in tears. I knew I had to make a choice.”
“The experience warmed all of our hearts.”
“Want me to be honest? Today was rough. I don’t cry and I cried 5 times today. I was ready to crawl in a daggum hole.”
“It was my daughter’s 19th birthday. My beautiful girl was a fighter.”
“I was raised in a very sheltered church in South Florida. Cult is more fitting of a word to describe it. There was no escaping it. Everything I did was a ‘sin.'”
“A September Boy. I was having a September Boy. I was already thinking way far down the road, and clearly so was everyone else. ‘What are you going to do about school?’”
“Does this make me feel guilty? Of course, it does. As a mom you are meant to know these things, you are meant to protect your child. Parents have pulled their kids away from him. They leave him out of play dates. People ignore him, because he cannot talk. This is heartbreaking, but they simply don’t understand.”
“Tiny little elephants danced across the pink fleece in front of me. It was a familiar print. I’d entered that very store years ago, searching for a final outfit for my gravely ill son. Shoppers were oblivious to me. As I got my daughter dressed, she smiled back at me. I teared up.”
“You may regret it when you’re 34 weeks pregnant, and it takes so much effort to do the littlest things. You may regret it when you’re in labor with excruciating pain so intense it takes your breath away, as sweat forms in places you didn’t know produced sweat. No matter how much you can’t afford her, no matter how much time you don’t have, the second that child is placed on your chest, something changes.”
