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“I am not a product of my circumstances. I am a product of my decisions.” ~Stephen Covey
One ordinary night after an ordinary day of work and family, I went to bed a mother, wife, teacher, writer-person.
I remember falling asleep between sentences exchanged with my husband after an evening spent with just the two of us on our patio, something we rarely seemed to find the time to do in our busy lives. We promised each other that we’d make a concerted effort to have more of these “dates.”
The next morning, on what was supposed to be another ordinary day, I got out of bed and found my husband collapsed on the living room floor.
Our three young children slept in the nearby bedrooms as the 911 operator guided me through chest compressions.
Our babies, ages six, three, and one, slept as the firemen wheeled their father out of our home. They were sleeping when my parents rushed over so I could follow the ambulance to the hospital. I imagine they were still asleep when I was told by a doctor that there was “nothing they could do.”
The moment I officially became a thirty-four-year-old widow.
Widow.
It’s a word that sticks to your tongue, something you want to knock on wood to prevent. It makes people …
Source http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/tinybuddha/~3/UpPze8oFY08/
“I am not a product of my circumstances. I am a product of my decisions.” ~Stephen Covey
One ordinary night after an ordinary day of work and family, I went to bed a mother, wife, teacher, writer-person.
I remember falling asleep between sentences exchanged with my husband after an evening spent with just the two of us on our patio, something we rarely seemed to find the time to do in our busy lives. We promised each other that we’d make a concerted effort to have more of these “dates.”
The next morning, on what was supposed to be another ordinary day, I got out of bed and found my husband collapsed on the living room floor.
Our three young children slept in the nearby bedrooms as the 911 operator guided me through chest compressions.
Our babies, ages six, three, and one, slept as the firemen wheeled their father out of our home. They were sleeping when my parents rushed over so I could follow the ambulance to the hospital. I imagine they were still asleep when I was told by a doctor that there was “nothing they could do.”
The moment I officially became a thirty-four-year-old widow.
Widow.
It’s a word that sticks to your tongue, something you want to knock on wood to prevent. It makes people …
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