“My husband and I were no longer together. I was drinking every day. A police man stepped out of his vehicle. I could hear his shoes crunching leaves as he walked over to me. He got down to my level and said, ‘Do you need me to take you to the hospital?’ I couldn’t find words. Shame washed over me. I nodded yes.”
“‘The doctors said the chemo will mean I won’t ever have kids. I know how bad you want to be a dad. Don’t do this.’ ‘NO!’ I said. I planned the wedding for 2 days later. She’d been looking for a dress. Each bride had their wedding day on a name tag they wore. Melissa’s said ‘TODAY.’ Some were confused. Moments later, her eyes lit up. This gown, like Cinderella’s, would need no alteration. 10 months after our wedding day, she gave me the gift. ‘I love you, and I promise to learn to love whoever you choose after me.’”
“The doctor looked me square in the eye. ‘Brain tumor.’ WHAT?! I looked at my baby playing with Tonka trucks. ‘I’m sorry, but I think we both knew it.’ WHAT? Are you freaking kidding? No, I didn’t! I sat in the pre-op area signing consent forms. I wrote in large letters, ‘NO STUDENT OR RESIDENT IS TO TOUCH HIM.’ Never again was I going to just accept what a doctor said without question.”
“All weekend long I’ve followed the story of Noah, the little boy that was hit by a car while trick or treating. Just days ago, he was dressed for Halloween, trick or treating with friends. Now he is gone. Today, I’m sure his mom would give anything for him to brush his teeth, and forget to rinse the sink.”
“I start going through the bag he left at my house. I find everything. All his empty capsules, his spoons, his syringes. I realize he disposes the heroin capsules in cigarette boxes. There is so much. I feel like I can’t breathe. The tears fall as the images hit me in the face. My son. My son is a heroin addict. Knowing it and seeing it are completely different things. I’m not the same mom I was yesterday.”
“After a 6-day bender with literally no sleep, I took my last hit and swallowed a gram of molly. It ended up being bath salts. My poor mom didn’t hesitate to answer my call. Sobbing, I kept telling her to be quiet. I was homeless, starving, and had walked away from my children. The SWAT team was never there. It was all in my head. I have absolutely no idea who that girl was.”
“Words matter. Actions matter. Thoughts matter.”
“‘Babe, how many more of these are you going to try?’ I was fighting something I had no control over. When the nurses laid him on my chest, he turned his head up to look at me with his big blue eyes. I felt immeasurable love I never knew could exist. My heart might break at the thought of what she is giving up. She is woven into all my ‘I love you’s.’ I am his mom, because she chose me to be, and I love him with all my heart, for the both of us.”
“I never knew my biological father. My momma was dating a man, got pregnant, and they parted ways. She had me by herself. I was not told about any of this until I was 12 years old. That was the beginning of my downward spiral. I was acting out, angry at everyone. It ripped us apart. Then I took a chance and sent them each a message.”
“I’m smelly. There’s oil and debris gunked on my face. I have knotted hair, armpit hair. Other hair. I’m disgusting right now. There’s no other way of saying it. Mental illness sounds cute when you put it on a post with a person staring in the distance saying they’re ‘depressed.’ But depression is more than just sadness. It’s raw. It’s not showering for 6 days, then collapsing in your bed, exhausted, when you finally do.”
