Tag Archive | parents

WO: Weekly Obsessions

I’d like to thank all of you who took the time to read about Duane and Deirdre’s story last week, offered help and spread the word. I know there are countless stories like theirs, so it means all that much more to me that you contributed to their cause.

Image Credits Listed Below

  1. Mom Hears Deceased Son’s Heartbeat: If you haven’t seen this story yet, grab some tissues. Heather Clark’s 3-year-old son died tragically in 2013 and his organs were donated to help other children. The recipient of his heart, 4-year-old Jordan Drake, recently met Heather and gave her the most precious gift: a listen to her son’s heartbeat. If that doesn’t pull at your own heartstrings, I don’t know what will.
  2. Super Bowl L: Um, hello. This is Planet Earth. Have you heard? The 50th Super Bowl is Sunday, coming at you from none other than San Fran-freaking-cisco. The city is abuzz with excitement as an estimated 1 million visitors flock to the Bay Area. I’ll be enjoying the game from a friend’s place, but if you’re braving the events, may the odds be ever in your favor.
  3. Puppy Bowl: With every Super Bowl the last 12 years comes the furry frenzy that is Puppy Bowl! My team plans to stop by the Puppy Bowl Café (terrible name, btw) to see the players in action. And, Uber was sending puppies to various locations nationwide — if you were lucky enough to snag a spot. Let the cuteness overload begin!
  4. “I’m So Excited” – The Pointer Sisters: Some big changes are coming to the Wittyburg world, and while I can’t share specifics just yet, I can say that I’m so excited! Cue this song and, naturally, the “Saved by the Bell” gif we’ve all grown to love. Stay tuned… and in the meantime, enjoy the totally rad ‘80s montage.

Images courtesy of: People, Wikipedia, Wiki again, Wiki… what else?

 

Throwback Thursday

Inspired by the #tbt trend on Instagram, this new series will revisit an old favorite from years past on a (hopefully) weekly basis. You’re welcome.

This week’s throwback is a straight-up repost from a (now defunct) blog I kept during my high school and early college years.

I wrote this eight years ago, and I remember crying my eyes out as I tapped away in the library.  It’s eerie looking back at my writing style and most personal thoughts, but I hope it’ll give you some insight to my childhood — and how Dad’s cancer diagnosis this year made our family even stronger:

Courtesy of Magz's Archives

Have you ever had something change the rest of your life forever? I mean, it honestly affected every single day for the rest of your life?

I have.

My dad’s stroke happened exactly 10 years ago today.The consequences from such a traumatic event have weighed me down since that morning, and I think I’m finally ready to let go. Just once and for all, let go.

I’ve got to stop blaming him for his memory loss, for never throwing a ball with me or shooting hoops. I’ve got to forgive him for not knowing who I was when Adam and I visited him every afternoon in the hospital. I’ve got to let go of the fact that he will never be the daddy I once knew, the one that smiled a lot and even joked back with us.

It’s not his fault that it happened. It’s not God’s fault either. It’s time for me to grow up already, and forget about pushing the blame on someone or something.

No one could have predicted that my mom would roll over one morning and find him, lifeless and forever changed. No one could have accounted for causing him to walk with a limp, to be paralyzed on one side, and to have a bitter, pessimistic outlook on life.

Ten years of blaming, hating and accusing has gotten us nowhere. I feel selfish for assuming that he would have recovered, no problem. He shouldn’t be broken. He should be better. But it’s out of our control and he needs me to know [sic] that I accept him.

I can’t believe how long it’s taken me to come to this realization. And yet, I already feel like a huge weight has been lifted off of my heart and my mind.

Appreciate your loved ones, for you never know — one day, they may disappear forever

2013 update: My dad remains one of the most resilient men I’ve ever met. His strength is awe-inspiring, and I’m thankful every day for how much our relationship has grown in the past few years.

My parents spent their 33rd anniversary at the hospital this June. Dad’s receiving treatments at a rehab center on this, the 18th anniversary of his stroke. I love you, Slick Rick … keep fighting the good fight!

Today Is My Parents’ Anniversary

Today is my parents’ anniversary.

33 years ago, they held hands in a church.
They vow to love and support one another so long as they both shall live. Friends and family — and God, lest we forget — witness the start of a long road ahead.

3 years later, they hold hands in a hospital room.
And they hold their baby boy — the first grandson for her family’s side. He will be a pioneer of many things: fearless, curious and stubborn as hell. He will challenge and change their lives forever.

4 years later, they hold hands in another hospital room.
They can’t hold their baby girl —the doctors deliver diagnoses much faster than they delivered the incubated infant. She will be a fighter: for life, for independence and for respect.

8 years later, they hold hands in ICU.
He’s suffered a stroke. She awoke in the night to find him lifeless. The ambulance sirens screamed, waking their children. The kids don’t understand why Daddy doesn’t recognize them. They can’t comprehend the doctors’ advice that Mommy should make funeral arrangements. They have no idea the impact this day will have.

10 years later, they don’t hold hands often.
The kids have moved away, forcing a harsh spotlight on an imperfect marriage. Their separate interests have become time-consuming; missed festivities, massive fights and mangled feelings are all too common. Their love and support is routine, but no longer remarkable.

8 years later, they hold hands on the beach.
Their son and his beautiful wife vow to love and support one another so long as they both shall live. Friends and family — many who were there in June 1980 — witness the start of a new road ahead.

Less than a year later, they hold hands in a waiting room.
He’s got Stage IV liver cancer, the doctors say. He can beat it with chemo, they say. He’s in the best possible care, they say. Everything we inherited — being fearless, curious and stubborn as hell; and fighting for life, for independence and for respect — we’ve never needed them more.

Today is my parents’ anniversary.
And I just pray for another 33 years of hand-holding and kept vows.

Courtesy of Magz's Archives