“My father would call me ‘sissy’ and ‘mama’s boy,’ and it hurt. A lot. Words like these never leave you. But it forced me to rise up.”
“My father would call me ‘sissy’ and ‘mama’s boy,’ and it hurt. A lot. Words like these never leave you. But it forced me to rise up.”
“The delivery was terrifying. I remember seeing bags of blood brought into the room. The doctor told me, ‘This will DEFINITELY be your last time carrying a baby.’ But I knew my family was complete.”
“She sat with me in my messy living room filled with crumbs and toddler toys. She didn’t ask if I needed her…she just showed up.”
“After my mother passed, he took my grief and wrapped it in humor and laughter. He took the darkness, and filled it with light. It’s not just houses he fixes, it’s people too.”
“I saw their eyes when others asked them why they had a white mom, their faces as they kept justifying their family for the rest of their lives. ‘Of course the boys will always have a place with me, but this isn’t the end. You have to fight.’”
“My husband is a loving, friendly, gentle father of 5, but he is not treated the same as everyone else.”
“For as long as I can remember, it has been the two of us. She kept up with all of her motherly duties despite being sick, fighting twice as hard because she knew she was all I had. I can never repay her.”
“I was alone, and I couldn’t even see to text anyone I loved. And I couldn’t pray. I had no words. I was obviously dying. I could feel Him in the room. He wasn’t going to let me be alone and He never left me once.”
“For every family member blaming themselves, racking their brain of where exactly it went wrong, beating themselves up, crying themselves to sleep, and thinking it was something they did…it’s not your fault. And it’s too heavy to carry.”
“I called Will, asking him to come over so we could discuss my appointment. I told him I was terrified I’d lose my left ovary as quickly as it had taken my right. I cried and I shook, and he held himself steady.”