“Working, having a family, being active, or doing all the things a normal 30-something-year-old should do are no longer an option. But although pain may be inevitable, suffering is optional.”
- Love What Matters
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“Working, having a family, being active, or doing all the things a normal 30-something-year-old should do are no longer an option. But although pain may be inevitable, suffering is optional.”
“I hadn’t even explained what was wrong with my car yet. ‘No husband. No discussion. $5,000.’ He then went on a whole tirade about how women are always pulling up not knowing a ‘damn thing’ about cars. In my mind I thought, ‘Isn’t that the point of an auto shop?’ For others to TELL you what’s wrong with your car and fix it?! I was infuriated.”
“While driving in the car with the boys, I smelled something RANK. Like, totally disgusting, something died in this car, what the heck is that smell? RANK. I assumed it was my tiniest munchkin digesting his McDonalds, but I was also genuinely concerned for the butt that was making that incredible smell. When we turned into our destination and I finally had the chance to get a good look, I saw it.”
“Single motherhood was rough. The judgement was hard, and I lost friends. Having 3 children while unmarried is frowned upon, especially here in the south. People never took the time to find out why I had 3 children this way, because they had their own assumptions. I didn’t think I’d find someone who’d want to marry me. Then I met Josey. 5 months later, we were married. The emotion was too much. Finally, a daughter.”
“Fate brought them together. They live in this bubble where they only have eyes for each other. They cannot bear to be apart. People doubted them, said it was ‘disgusting’ they were allowed to get married. 29 years later, disability or not, anything is possible with love. I think most of us could learn a thing or two from them.”
“I loved him more than to ever enable him. I loved him more than to ever give up on him. I love him more than to allow the guilt I feel over his death to consume me. I love him more than to lie about the anger I feel towards him for leaving me alone in this world, only to remember he did not leave me by choice. I love him more than to let people forget him.”
“I waited daily for the phone call that would tell me my daughter was dead. I planned her funeral. I did not sleep the entire night for years – always waiting for the ring of the doorbell. 18 months ago, she was living in the dumpster area of Taco Bell. She had sold her car for drugs. She weighed less than 100 lbs. Mariah celebrated a year sober yesterday. Do I trust her? Not fully. But she is sober. She is productive. She is happy. For today.”
“After I was released from the hospital, I questioned how I would tell anyone, who I would tell. I questioned whether or not they were going to love me for the person I was, or if the attempt was going to define me. I was terrified. The first person I told was my thesis adviser. When we met up, she hugged me and said, ‘I am so glad you’re here to give a hug to.’ I was in tears. She was my saving grace.”
“When I would say, ‘I love you, Campbell,’ she’d reply back, ‘I love you, Campbell.’ There was a disconnect even in our love. Fear gripped me tight. The day she was diagnosed with autism, she’s smiling. I have dark circles under my eyes from crying. Then I got another whammy. My son, a newborn at the time, is also on the spectrum. When he began wandering off on the playground too, I just knew.”
“My heart was telling me she was beyond tired. She can only handle so much. Selfishly I wanted to keep her, regardless if that meant sitting in a hospital or not. But the pain my baby endured was enough to rip my heart out. After a long, hard fight, she left us to go to heaven, a place we all want to be. She was only 10.5 months old. We will indeed see Berkeley again one day, and oh my goodness, what a perfect day that will be.”