“My phone rang. I could hear excitement in the social worker’s voice. I waited anxiously. ‘Sydney, we have a match. 18 months. Biracial. He’s perfect!’ He walked in. Little snowsuit on. Shy, but curious. He didn’t make a peep, but he took my hand. I cried the whole way home. 4 years. Thousands of tears. Millions of prayers. One phone call later. This was it.”
“I called the doctor. ‘It should be ok, sometimes people spot. Just come in when you’re back.’ The bright red spotting didn’t stop our entire beach trip. We get to the doctors, in the same ultrasound room as our last baby. I stare at the same ugly ceiling, look at the same vagina poster. I yearn for baby to be ok like the babies pictured in the hideous Sears-looking newborn photos on the wall. It was not ok. The words came once again. ‘I’m sorry.’ Silence. Again. 5 times.”
“We should’ve been on our way to pick him weeks ago. But morning after morning when I clicked on the tab in my web browser, I was greeted with the same disappointing message: ‘Pending.’ Until one morning, it changed. ‘I hate to tell you this news. He tested positive for Primary Koch Infection.’ ‘Primary what? What’s that?’ ‘CJ has $%*&-ing tuberculosis,’ I whisper-yelled to my husband.”
“Sometimes, my husband goes to bed before me. He turns off the big lights, and then turns on a lamp for me. It should be literally no big deal, right? Just a nice thing for him to do on his way to bed, in all reality. It has always annoyed me to my absolute core.”
“She was perfectly formed. She had long, narrow toes like her Mama, full beautiful lips like her Daddy. It took my breath away. I was in love. But our sweet baby wasn’t there. We held and kissed her 1,000 times. ‘We will miss you every moment of our lives,’ we told her. I could almost hear her coo. We said goodbye to her little body. They carried her away.”
“I met this guy who was a little older than me. He had a daughter the same age as mine, it was too good to be true. ‘This is it, this is the guy who’s going to fix what was broken.’ But I learned very quickly how someone could live two totally separate lives. It was a nightmare. In that moment, I swear I heard it loud and clear. ‘I gave you the person who needed you the most.’ My daughter walked into my bedroom.”
“I was 24 years old when I watched my husband suffocate to death. I destroyed the hospital room. I threw things. I screamed. I tried to resuscitate him. And then I lay helplessly on his cold chest and sobbed. But I was not alone that day. Jon was a dear friend of Jordan’s. In our wedding, Jon was one of our ushers. He paused to let me take in what he was saying. ‘I just want what is best for you. If you want me to wait for you, I will.’”
“I’ve seen a lot of ‘don’t feel pressured to do holiday-related things.’ And I call BS on that. Some of you won’t like this message. I get that. But keep your family traditions alive! Maybe they seem mundane to you. Maybe you feel like you can’t get to them this year. Maybe it seems like ‘work’ and ‘why should we even bother.’ But it’s important to your kids.”
“4 years today we have been married. I will never forget. Discovering a secret that would break me to my core. I lay on the bathroom floor, crying my heart out. How did we get to this point? Not only do I have to handle life with 2 children with special needs, but now this? I am strong for taking the route I have, choosing not to give up.”
“The week before, we were celebrating our 8-year wedding anniversary and my 5 years being in remission from my fight with cancer. For 5 years, we held our breath – hoping for the best, but preparing for the worst. The week before Brad’s ER visit, we finally exhaled. We talked about our future. Whether or not we wanted kids. Where we’d retire. And then, Brad started having fevers and night sweats, symptoms I was all too familiar with.”
