“Conditions at home reached a fever pitch. My father was laid off again, my grandmother moved in with her hoard, and I became sick. I tried my hardest to suppress that cough, barricaded with my little brother in my room, holding him back as the sounds of my father’s drunken rage filtered from the kitchen. My grandmother turned cold, hateful. ‘You’re old now. You aren’t cute and you have a bad attitude.’ The chaos was too much to bear. So I stopped eating.”
“I was injecting up to a gram of meth a day into my arm. My only concern at that time was my next high. That’s how I dealt with the war. It nearly cost me my life. Something inside me broke. Suddenly, I wanted a purpose. There, I found my redemption.”
“You’re a nameless body. I know nothing about you. We’re trying desperately to save you but right now, all I am is mad at you. Maybe you were texting, or popped a Vicodin at the campus party and should’ve Ubered. In 5 minutes, I’m about to change your mom and dad’s lives. So, I pick up your faded driver’s license, flip to Facebook. I owe it to them to remind myself it is a person I’m talking about.”
“‘I feel fat’ was one of my most commonly used phrases growing up. Most people worry about zits and grades, I was worried about staying alive. ‘You didn’t fight for so long to just give into the eating disorder now.’ Six months later, a woman walked into the store. She lit up. ‘Oh it’s you, you helped my daughter!’ I had no clue who she was. ‘My daughter is the one you talked to six months ago!’ Not only was she doing better, but she was ready to share her story ‘like the girl in Lawrence.’ How proud it made me.”
“My husband said, ‘We want our baby to feel the sun on her cheeks, the wind in her hair, the love all around her.’ And she really did. Lily’s smiles are the best thing I will ever see in my lifetime. I know that. We cuddled her until she was gone. I was sobbing, crying out, ’my baby, my baby!’ We bathed her and spent one last night together. She looked so peaceful, like she was sleeping.”
“Today, I got THE CALL. So, I rush to school, bring her a change of undies, and rush back to my conference call. Hours later, she calls. ‘Dad, it happened again.’ At this point, I’m confused. Annoyed. ‘Just wipe your butt!’ Then, it hits me. I rush to the trash, inspect the undies from earlier, and scream. My child called for help and I just left her to die on the battlefield!”
“We come home empty. We don’t want to talk. But we need your understanding. We need to know you ‘get it.'”
“I was able to clear my windshield long enough to witness the most brave act of service. I drove by in awe. A man willing to risk his own safety to safeguard someone he didn’t even know.”
“I was sobbing in bed one night angry at God. ‘Why won’t you take the pain away?!’ I had worked so hard despite being unwell, pushing myself to achieve. I got the grades to study music, my true passion, but was too unwell to go! I was gutted. The emergency doctor uttered the word ‘stroke.’ I was in disbelief. I was only 19 years old.”
“She sees herself a a bagging expert, while I’m more of a ‘let’s just get it done.’ I told her to knock it off, and she told me I was doing it wrong. It would’ve been very easy for us to slip into a full-blown argument over how we bag groceries, which is ridiculous. Does this mean our marriage is failing?”
