"One stick turned positive and a different kind of vomit happened… word vomit… ‘OHHH SH**!!!’ I guess I said it loud enough for Sam to hear me, because he opened the door and asked to look at the test. He then started reading the box saying aloud, ‘Noooo!'"
"One stick turned positive and a different kind of vomit happened… word vomit… ‘OHHH SH**!!!’ I guess I said it loud enough for Sam to hear me, because he opened the door and asked to look at the test. He then started reading the box saying aloud, ‘Noooo!'"
“As I stood over her and spent those last few minutes with her, blood was cascading down my legs and onto the floor. I didn't care - my womb was crying. Everything about me was crying. Watching them wheel her away broke me. My life ended then and there."
"Here’s the thing. No one likes 2020, but we still have a ways to go. Let’s cut each other some slack. Let’s cut ourselves some slack. Let’s cut our kids some slack."
"It took years to collect all the little details of what actually happened that night, but I eventually did. With 10 adults and five kids present, anyone would assume our daughter would have been safe."
I want there to be a word for the vulnerability you feel as you lay there just lying to yourself about what's to come. A word for the way your heart goes from fluttery to thudding in your ears. A word for that one last moment of hopefulness before the world comes crashing down. Why isn't there a word?
