"I don’t remember how sometimes you got angry or cried or had to walk out of the room to take a breath. I don’t remember a schedule, a checklist or any expectations other than just you."
"I want you to demand that you are seen. Get in front of the camera. Even if you are on day three of dry shampoo or if you don’t love the way your body looks. If you were to die today, your child will not care about any of that. They just want to see you as they remember you. Not as the overly filtered woman you post on social media."
“The most horrifying part is he had to remain calm in the last moments of his daughter’s life as his own fears were flashing. That’s the part that keeps coming back to my mind. I can’t imagine the selflessness those parents were exhibiting in those last moments. And, while it is reassuring that he was there to hold his daughter, to whom he was a hero, it is still so unsettling to imagine being with your child for their last breath.”
Sometimes on days I have off, I stay in bed so long my body is sore. Some days I have to give myself a pep talk so I can get up and finally brush the knots out of my hair. Some days I look in the mirror and cry at what I see. I look at my kids and tell myself they would have a better opportunity at life if I wasn’t in it. I imagine ways I can die by accident so my loved ones won’t hate me for killing myself.
My girl is now the one leaving. And it’s been years since little toes lined up where I now stand, the small fingers that clung to lovies to comfort them as I left.
My boys (14 and 10) can confidently navigate self-checkout, withdraw cash from an ATM, pump gas, make phone calls with confidence, order groceries, manage an Excel budget, order an Uber, etc. because I refuse to send them into the workforce without basic skills."
