“They say your life flashes before your eyes when you die, but it was different for me. I wasn’t scared.”
“They say your life flashes before your eyes when you die, but it was different for me. I wasn’t scared.”
“I couldn’t process what I’d heard. I still haven’t.”
“I stood barefoot in the dark, cold parking lot, sobbing, hoping he would follow me and tell me to come back home and everything would be okay. He never came.”
“My reaction didn’t help, obviously.”
“And when the nurse said to me, ‘Are you okay? You don’t seem excited.’ I hated her for it. I hated that I hated her for it, but I did. They began inducing me, and the minute they did I started contracting.”
“I had never dated anyone outside my race. I didn’t think I was ready.”
“‘STOP scraping your teeth on your fork!’ he yelled. I feared family meals. I became strong when skinny and untouchable when numb.”
“I was you 10 years ago.”
“She told me she’s a widow, too. She told me about losing her daughter. I did something I rarely do—I slowed down. I leaned in. I listened.”
“She’s conscientious. A hard worker by nature. She needs to know it’s okay to let some things go.”