“During 5th grade, at my father’s office party in some big hotel, I went upstairs to play hide and seek. A completely drunk stranger started following us. When the rest of the group hid behind the sofa, the man pinned me down. After he was done, I ran downstairs to my parents. We were all crying and pointing upstairs. All the adults searched for the man, but he had left the premises. I packed more than 33 pounds. They would warn their kids, ‘Stop eating. Do you want to look like her?’”
“My brother makes me a sandwich when he sees I didn’t eat lunch. My bones poke up under my skin. ‘Please eat it,’ he begs. ‘You need to eat.’ It is so sweet of him, so I eat a few bites. But when he leaves, I give the rest to the dogs. They leave no evidence. Nothing in the trash for my dad to find when he empties it, nothing to clog the toilet. I have become clever in the ways of secret self-destruction.”
“One night, my wife couldn’t lift her legs up the two steps on the front porch. She was carrying a bag with a t-shirt in it. The weight of it was enough to make her fall. I went out to find her hunched over, completely unable to move. She stayed there, crying and yelling, ‘Just leave me out here! Let me die!’ I knew something was wrong. In the freezing cold, I dragged her. ‘How do we tell the kids?’ The numbness was unbearable.”
“I gasped. I ran back to the garage, flung open the safe, and patted my hand. I felt the plastic sandwich bag. I pulled it out. And there it was. Two perfect pins. The real pins. Not only that, but his nameplate was in there, too. Tucked away. For the right time. Entrusting a stranger with something so personal, so sentimental, was like entrusting his body with the funeral home. I received the call, drove to the shop, my heart racing. ‘Stunning,’ I thought. When my 2 girls opened the jewelry box together, their collective gasps spoke volumes.”
“I collapsed over her body that no longer held the warmth and softness of a newborn. Nothing was going to bring her back. She was finally healed. Safe. Free of pain. I kissed her forehead. A final goodbye. My husband was escorted out of the room by the funeral director. I saw my daughter’s body leave forever, safe in her daddy’s arms. Stop. Stop. Stop the car. I can’t do this. I can’t go home. He rubbed my hand. ‘Let’s go to a hotel…’ We slept hard that night and awoke to a new day. A new, unwanted step we had to take without our baby girl.”
“If I was going to do this, I’d become the best damn trach parent that ever lived. The reality is, while our NICU chapter is over, this is far from normal. I can’t take Lily to the store, or anywhere, alone. My husband and I haven’t been alone in 4 months. One of us needs to be awake around the clock to care for her. There is no longer privacy in our home as our ‘special guests’ come in and out all day and night.”
“One day, Sandy sat by my bed. I hadn’t walked 50 steps in over a year. She was DONE. ‘What’s up, Sandy?’ She looked right at me and barked! ‘What is it?’ She barked again! I said, ‘Oh, please. What in the world are you doing?’ She was egging me to get up, to move. She wouldn’t quit until I walked. Once I took just a step, she stopped and laid down! Sandy started me on my journey back to life. She took away my fear and, in return, let me give her something I so desperately needed: unconditional love.”
“My husband was distracted by his phone at dinner. I got a little upset. ‘How could he not know how important date nights are to me?’ When we got home, my husband got upset at the growing pile of dishes. ‘I’m sorry, but it’s not a big deal.’ Then, like I’d tried to explain about not having one-on-one attention, he tried to explain why the dishes made him feel not appreciated. For the past 10 years, we’ve been loving each other the wrong way. Loving someone the way you want to be loved doesn’t always work.”
“I fell in love the second I saw him. He was just skin and bones and clearly malnourished. The breeder didn’t want her buyers to know her cat had genetic issues or was bred too soon. I could tell Cricket would fit right in with our crew.”
“A nurse grabbed me, saying, ‘Pray for your son NOW, and pray he makes it.’ She asked me if I needed to leave the room. ‘No, I’m NOT leaving my son.’ Every day I felt like I was dreaming. I don’t know how I was still standing.”
