“I hear him snoring from upstairs and think to myself ‘Crap, he pulled his mask off, I should go put it back on.’ I didn’t though because I have to fully wake him up to do so. He had sleep apnea and used a CPAP machine, pulling it off was a common occurrence. I went upstairs about 20-25 minutes later. Before I got to the room, it felt off.”
“That night, I went to bed and forgot to take my phone off silent. I didn’t hear it ring. I missed the call. Her sister woke me to 3 words that changed my life forever: ‘Brenna killed herself.’ For so many years, I’d pleaded with God to heal her depression. This is not what I meant. Now, Baby David will never remember his mommy.”
“I heard a knock on my door. I opened and saw a young policeman. He told me he had a phone number I needed to call. I quickly realized we had trouble. The officer claimed he didn’t know what it was about (doubtful). I called the number – it was answered by a person at the Boise morgue.”
“Childhood cancer is heartbreaking. Childhood cancer is a monster. Childhood cancer steals childhood.”
“‘I can’t get these, they have buttons!’ I’m like a rag doll when she pulls my arms through my shirt. I still have paralysis in my shoulders, arms, and right hand. I’ve only dressed myself for about 4 years of my whole life. It’s time that comes to an end.”
“I sat between two teenage girls. They were getting louder, being obnoxious. She repeated, ‘Why are your legs so fat?’ The woman next to me berated her for being so rude. I could still hear them giggling. I could feel my face burning. I couldn’t get off the train fast enough. The first thing I did was call my husband, crying, barely able to get my words out.”
“People often refer to my disabled son with angelic, heavenly labels. I’m his mom. I’ve seen things. I know better. When we project this ‘heavenly’ identity onto people with disabilities, we unknowingly strip their humanity and make them more ‘other.’ My son just wants to be loved for exactly who he is.”
“’We did find a few things wrong.’ They rushed him into emergency surgery. ‘There’s something wrong with the baby’s heart.’ Once again, we were faced with the possibility of not bringing him home. Once again, he beat all the odds and baffled all the doctors.”
“Tears dripped from between his little fingers. He climbed into my lap like a small child. ‘If I could take the hurt away, I would,’ I said. My 11-year-old replied, ‘I know, but you can’t take the gay away.’ This is why moms like us lose our children.”
“Noah’s eyes widen. He’d almost forgotten about presents. ‘Which one should I open first?’ It’s a small rectangular box. Noah pulls off the paper. ‘Whoa,’ he says, staring at the white box on the carpet. iPhone 7. He can’t believe it. His parents both have smartphones, so do a lot of kids at school. He’s so excited, he barely notices his grandparents get up to leave. ‘Oh,’ he says absentmindedly, ‘Bye.’”
