broken.
from the bottom of my heart, i am so so sorry. i don't have words.— Ariana Grande (@ArianaGrande) May 23, 2017
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Waking up after the Ariana Grande concert terror attack is every parent’s worst fear. A family is still looking for their Olivia – she is missing, not answering her phone and gone without a trace in the middle of a disastrous world. The news accounts are horrible. Children scattered away from parents in the midst of chaos – the fear and terror resonates in every parent. Maybe this was a first concert, a long awaited Christmas present, a graduation gift – so many situations but in the end all the same result – children dead. Gone. We live in a fast paced crumbling society where we are still parents and our main job is still to keep our kids safe without smothering them. But how? This is a question no generation before this has had to fully face or answer like ours.
Summer is coming. There will be huge fun events that are the fabric of childhood. Carnivals, fairs, festivals, concerts – the big things that are the memories we remember twenty years later. It’s a new age. Never before have parents had to even think that taking their kid to that parade could potentially place them in a prime terror attack situation. This is a world wide epidemic that is crushing our souls.
My son is almost eleven and wants to walk around Walmart alone. He wants to ride his bike to the park. At almost eleven, only 20 years ago, we walked or rode bikes around our small safe middle class world. But not today – no way. Facebook is bombarded with stories of monsters trying to lure children away from their parents in Walmart and Targets all over the country. It’s like you can’t even look away for a second but how are we as parents supposed to look at four places at once? Where there was once villages of support has been replaced by monsters lurking and waiting.
My son told me a story of how a classmate saw her neighbor overdosing while walking to school. How a thirteen-year-old at the park has been arrested for trying to steal a car and possession of heroine. Heroine is terrible – but twenty years ago heroine was just heroine. This week I had to sit in my car and explain to my almost 11-year old that the world has changed and drugs are mixed with terrible things today that literally can kill you even if you just touch the bag or permanently alter your mind, to never ever return, if you are foolish enough to experiment. Monsters among us purposefully seek to harm for profit or fun.
How do we juggle letting kids be kids in this hurricane of hell. Be brave, independent, fearless, take chances but watch for monsters and evil at every turn. Look around, be prepared, but stay with me in the store in case God forbid someone comes in shooting – in that moment I need you to be here with me. Trust that people are good but know that some are not. That drink, that experimental “fun” pill, that house, those intentions may not be good. My intentions are not to smother you. I want more than anything for you to grow up to be independent and well rounded. Safe. I do not want you to be afraid or have anxiety. But, my dear not so little one, the world is a scary scary place full of real dangers and monsters that never existed before.
A month ago, my mom unexpectedly passed away. She was a vibrant 62-year-old grandma to my 4-year-old son who regularly exercised and ate healthy. Sure, she had some health scares—breast cancer and two previous brain aneurysms that had been operated on successfully—but we never expected her to never come home after her second surgery on a brain aneurysm. It has been devastating, to say the least, and as I comb through pictures and videos, I have gathered some tips for other parents of young kids to do right now in case the unexpected happens, and you’re left scrambling to never...
I’m not ready. Not ready for time to just keep trudging forward without her. Four years have gone by, and I still think about her every day. When that awful third day of October rules around every year it’s like a tidal wave comes and sweeps me up tossing me this way and that. The rest of the year I can bob up and down with the occasional waves of grief. But the week before October 3rd the waves pick up, and I can’t see over the crest of one before the next is already upon me. I find myself...
It’s been 14 years since she left. It’s like a lifetime ago and yesterday at the same time. The loss of my mother was indescribable. We never had a traditional relationship. As I grew older, our roles were very much reversed, but even still, missing one’s mother (for lack of a better word) is hard . . . plain and simple. Sometimes I wonder, what is it exactly that I miss? Of course, I miss talking to her. I miss how she drove me crazy. I miss her baking. I miss hearing about her newest needlepoint. I miss when she...
September 11 will be a date that is forever etched in my heart, not only because of its historical significance but because it’s the day I saw your lifeless little body on the ultrasound screen. I couldn’t hold back the sobs. My chest suddenly felt heavier than a ton of bricks. I’ve been here before. I’ve had losses, but none this late. I didn’t feel their movements or hear so many strong heartbeats at my checkups. Your siblings felt you move and squealed with utter excitement. I want to wake from this nightmare, but it seems it’s my new reality....
To the woman who is struggling with infertility. To the woman who is staring at another pregnancy test with your flashlight or holding it up in the light, praying so hard that there will be even the faintest line. To the woman whose period showed up right on time. To the woman who is just ready to quit. I don’t know the details of your story. I don’t know what doctors have told you. I don’t know how long you have been trying. I don’t know how many tears you have shed. I don’t know if you have lost a...
I prayed to see my momma die. Please don’t click away yet or judge me harshly after five seconds. I prayed to see, to experience, to be in the room, to be a part of every last millisecond of my momma’s final days, final hours, and final moments here on Earth. You see, as a wife of a military man, I have always lived away from my family. I have missed many birthdays, celebrations, dinners, and important things. But my heart couldn’t miss this important moment. I live 12 hours away from the room in the house where my momma...
Three pregnancies in one year. Three first trimesters. Three moments of celebration . . . until they turned to moments of sorrow. I’m sure every woman who experiences pregnancy loss has the thought, “I never thought this would happen to me.” I truly never thought this would happen to me. I have two healthy boys—conceived easily, uncomplicated pregnancies, by-the-book deliveries. We even thought we were done having kids . . . until the pregnancy test was positive. That’s when my heart opened up to more children, and I realized I ached to carry more life. Raise more littles. Nurse more babies....
The knee of my pants is wet and dirty. My yellow ring lays by the sink—it’s been my favorite ring for months. I bought it to match Bigfoot’s halter and the sunflowers by his pasture. Bigfoot is my daughter’s pony, and I loved him the most. The afternoon is so sunny. His hooves make the same calming rhythm I’ve come to love as I walk him out back. A strong wind blows through the barn. A stall labeled “Bigfoot,” adorned with a sunflower, hangs open and I feel sick. I kneel down by his side as he munches the grass....
She was a devoted mother of two boys with her husband of 26 years. With him, she owned a metallurgy company, ran a household, and in her spare time, produced tons of crafts by hand, most of which she sold. When her younger son was diagnosed with autism, she read everything she could find on the subject, volunteered, advocated for the autism community, and developed programs for autistic children. She spoke at the National Autism Conference and was co-authoring a book to help parents navigate an autism diagnosis. We marveled at her energy and enthusiasm. She was at every family...
My dad ran off with a woman from California. When you put it like that, it sounds salacious and a faux pax, but the reality is a lot less interesting. My mom died of cancer at the cusp of my adulthood, leaving me and a gaggle of siblings behind. Six months later, my dad met a widow in California, connected with her, fell in love, and decided to move our family to California to be with her. Two years almost to the day after my mother died, my father married my stepmother. (I have photographic evidence of the event, I...