# data[].attributes.body
“There was a big drug bust in 2014 called ‘Operation Dead End.’ They listed all the names in the local paper. Most of them were young kids. But then there’s my dad at the bottom, 55 years old. It was humiliating to see my last name in the paper. I called him and said: ‘What the fuck is this?’ But he just brushed it off in his typical way. He can be very convincing, which is probably why my mom stayed with him for thirteen years. He’s got this high-pressured speech, even when he’s sober. It’s captivating. It can draw you in. For most of my childhood he lived at my grandparents’ house. They had a swimming pool, and pinball machines, and an air hockey table. The court said I wasn’t supposed to be alone with him, but he’d always convince me. And I’d convince my mom. Even though he invested time, it was always to the point of him leaving later. So he could do his crack and not feel guilty about it. He’d show up for ten minutes before I went to prom. He came to my high school graduation, but was gone by the time I finished walking. I remember always thinking he was going to die. I’d write him letters. I’d leave him voicemails. But he never stopped using. After Operation Dead End, the judge gave him an option to enroll in a three-year diversion program. I was there for him as much as a college kid could be. I called him every day. He’d cry a lot, which was new. He’d say: ‘It’s hard. It’s so hard. But I’m going to get sober.’ And he did. He’s been clean for four or five years now. My whole childhood I was desperate for his attention. And now he bugs the shit out of me. He calls me four or five times a day. He’s been addicted to drugs for most of his life, so there’s a lot he didn’t learn: building credit, paying bills, stuff like that. My mom says I’m the parent and he’s the child. But at least I’ve got him. I just want him to live his life and enjoy it. It wasn’t easy what he did. He turned his life around. So I’ve let go of my expectations. For the longest time I thought he was going to die in some crack house. But now he can see me get married. He can meet his grandchildren. I’m not ashamed to be connected with him anymore. I’m actually proud to have his last name.”

# data[].attributes.body
“During my ‘Little House On The Prairie’ phase, Mom made a covered wagon out of an old Radio Flyer. She was always crafting and inventing things. That’s how she was during our entire childhood. When we were watching The Sound of Music, she sewed the costumes for us. And when I fell in love with American Girl dolls, she wrote a movie about all the characters. She invited my friends to be the actors. And she even rented our local theater to screen the film. My interests changed as I got older, but I never outgrew my dolls. I learned photography by taking their photos. I’d create little scenes and stories. And whenever I had a new idea, my mom was there to help with the props and outfits. I needed the encouragement because I never had much confidence. Things got especially bad during high school. I hated how I looked. And what I wore. I felt self-conscious that my hobby was dolls. My mom could sense I was getting depressed. And every time I came home from school, she’d ask: ‘What can I do, Syd?’ But I never had an answer. Then one night we were watching ‘Stand By Me,’ and suddenly I got really excited about recreating the scenes with my dolls. Of course my mom encouraged me.  We spent hundreds of hours going to thrift stores. We found exact fabric matches to what the boys wore, and my mom made perfect replicas. She was also in charge of the set design. Every detail was perfect. We took a road trip to Oregon where the film was shot, and spent an entire day shooting in the town. It was the most fun I’d ever had. And I knew I’d discovered my passion. Since then we’ve recreated scenes from over twenty movies. I’ve gotten commissions from all over the country. I take the photos, and mom does everything behind the scenes. She doesn’t want credit. That’s who she is. And not just for me, for everyone. She does everything for my dad who has stage four cancer. But if an elderly neighbor needs their lawn mowed, she’s the one who shows up. Mom always told me that she was just like me as a child. She never had confidence. She never trusted her talent. So she’s always been behind the scenes. But she’s the most creative and selfless person I know. And I finally want her to be seen.”

# data[].attributes.body
“The adoption wouldn’t even have gotten approved today. But Mom wrote a letter to the Chinese government explaining why a quadriplegic man could be a good father, and the application was accepted. I’ve known the story my entire life. Dad got in a bad car accident when he was twenty-four. And Mom met him while working as a nurse in the ICU. She said his calmness was the first thing she noticed. Most people cry when they’re told they’ll never walk again, but Dad was silent. He was like that my entire life. So calm and level-headed. His parenting style was to ‘sit back and watch.’ He had no other choice. He could only guide me with his words. When it was time for me to walk, he just said: ‘Stand up and walk, Princess.’ And I did. He taught me to ride a bike by explaining the physics of it. My problems eventually became more complex, but he was always there in his same way. If I was panicking over a test, he’d bet me a dollar that I could pass it. That became our thing. Whenever I was feeling unsure, he’d bet me a dollar. As my anxiety got worse, he studied psychology. He’d walk me through coping strategies. He’d say things like: ‘Are you catastrophizing this?’, ‘Have you ever failed a class before?’, ‘What evidence do you have that this time will be different?’ I hated being the emotional one. I never wanted him to feel like the reason I was messed up. If he could handle being a quadriplegic, why couldn’t I cope with being the daughter of one? But it was so hard. From a young age, I had to help him with so much. And I was such a shy kid. I looked different than everyone else. It was a lot of stress. But he did everything he could for me. In the only way he knew how, by encouraging me, and believing in me. He started getting really sick in August of 2017. It was some kind of cancer, but we didn’t even get it checked. Because we knew he couldn’t survive the chemo. I sat at the foot of his bed during his final days, filling out my law school applications. Of course I was panicking. I was convinced that I wouldn’t get accepted anywhere. But he kept reassuring me. And he was right. Even if he didn’t live to see the results, he knew. ‘I’ll bet you a dollar,’ he told me.”

Katelyn Rueppel

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“It was my first year teaching at a new school. Cristina was only an eighth grader, but she was in my enhanced math class. We didn’t bond much that year. Partly because she didn’t need my help. But mainly because I was so frazzled. Being a new teacher is rough. You’re dealing with students from all different backgrounds. You’re trying to teach them the quadratic formula. But also to be a good person, and navigate life. On top of it all you’re having to navigate school politics. So it always seems like there’s a fire to be put out. Sometimes I’d stay late trying to finish extra work, and that’s when Cristina came wandering in. By that time she was a freshman. And she was heartbroken, because she’d just gotten a ‘D’ on a math test. She’d hit a wall. So I gave her practice problems to do on the whiteboard. I enjoyed having her around. It was nice to have someone else in the classroom. And even when she didn’t need my help anymore, she kept coming anyway. We kept up the tradition for four years. We’d put on country music. Then we’d sit on opposite sides of the room and do our work. She went from thirteen to eighteen in my classroom. I watched her grow up. Our conversations matured. We started talking about college. And what she wanted to do with her life. We talked about her first boyfriend. And her first breakup. I got to see it all. Whenever a new class would graduate, it was so sad to see the kids leave. But in the back of my mind, I’d always say: ‘At least Cristina is only in 9th. At least Cristina is only in 10th. At least Cristina is only in 11th.’ But this year her class finally graduated. I knew the moment would come, but it’s still tough. Because they’re the first class that spent all four years with me. They watched me grow. They saw me on my very first day. They saw me come back one summer with a new last name. They were with me when I figured it all out, and they were so smart that they succeeded anyway. Cristina graduated as the valedictorian. She’ll be going to the University of Pennsylvania next year. She wants to be a nurse. And I’m just so proud of her. It’s been such an honor to watch her grow. And I can’t wait to see what she does next.”

# data[].attributes.body
“I called our neighborhood ‘The Bermuda Triangle.’ A lot of talented people never made it out. All three of my older siblings dropped out of school. I really wanted to graduate from college, but I wasn’t the best student. And my parents didn’t speak English so they couldn’t help me with applications. Only one college even accepted me, and I missed the deadline for the interview. A few weeks later our assistant principal Ms. Effinger stopped me in the hallway. She asked me where I was going to school. I explained that I’d been accepted to SUNY Purchase but had missed the deadline. That’s when she grabbed me by the arm and said: ‘Come to my office.’ She called the admissions office and asked them to give me another opportunity. But she didn’t stop there. She asked my mom for permission to let me sleep at her house. Then the next morning she drove me to SUNY Purchase. The interviewer said that I must be special if my principal would go through all that effort, and I ended up getting accepted. But the story didn’t end well. I just wasn’t ready. And after a year, my GPA fell so low that I was dismissed. I felt horrible. I asked the school if I could come speak to new students, and inspire them to make better choices than I did. I still do that today. But I felt most badly about Ms. Effinger. I never spoke to her again. I couldn’t face her. This woman had gone out of her way to do something for me, and I’d ruined it. But she still changed my life. Even though I didn’t graduate, I never moved back to Harlem. I ended up finding a good job at a wholesale center, and my children were given opportunities that I never had. A few years ago I enrolled in night courses at SUNY Purchase. My boss couldn’t understand why I was going back to school, but I was carrying such a huge burden. I felt like I owed something to Ms. Effinger. I finally graduated this year, and I found her on Facebook. I gave her a call. I told her everything that happened over the years. I said: ‘You changed my life. And I don’t understand why you did it. I don’t understand what you saw in me.’ She replied: ‘I did it because you had potential. And I couldn’t understand why you didn’t see that in yourself.’”

# data[].attributes.body
“I’d been living a reckless life. I was stealing a lot. I was dabbling in drugs. I’d gotten to the point where I had no hope and no faith. Eventually I was admitted to a psychiatric hospital because of a suicide attempt. My parents came to visit me. We’d never seen eye-to-eye. But they told me: ‘Come home and we’ll pretend nothing happened.’ It was a toxic thing to say, but I was relieved to have any sort of support. We’d always been a military family. So even though I wanted to go to college, I saw enlisting in the Air Force as the only way to redeem myself. The recruiter told me that I needed to lose 70 lbs in three months. But I was determined.  I started working out three times a day. I became addicted to counting calories. And it was during this period that I met Irina. We were working at the same restaurant. One night we were folding napkins together, and I sort of just poured out my whole life story. She didn’t seem to mind. We began to hang out quite a bit. She started taking me to church with her. She’d come to the gym with me every day. And even though she was in much better shape, she’d always run at my pace. She supported me every step of the way. She even came with me when I got a tattoo to cover up the scars from my suicide attempt. Everything seemed to be on track. But on the day of my final weigh-in, I was .2 lbs over. Standing on that scale, I actually felt a sense of peace. My recruiter told me to try again next week, but I turned her down. I knew I didn’t want to be in the Air Force. My parents were so disappointed that they told me not to come home. That night Irina and I sat in a park for two hours. She told me: ‘I’m always here for you. And so is my family.’ If it wasn’t for her and the church, I’d probably be in a hospital bed right now. Either that or I wouldn’t be here at all. But instead I’m about to graduate with a social work degree. Irina and I are living our dreams together. We’re roommates. Both of us are youth group leaders. And both of us are working as addiction counselors. I’m finally living life on my own terms. I want to be the person that I needed when I was a kid, the person that Irina was for me.”

# data[].attributes.body
“Gabe was a perfectly healthy boy. He’d reached all his milestones as a child. He talked early. He walked early. He never got sick except for colds. He did baseball and swimming and kickboxing. Then two years ago he began to have a ‘pins and needles’ feeling in his mouth. Then it grew numb and he had trouble talking. One day the teacher had him read out loud in class and he drooled all over the paper. So I raised a flag with the pediatrician. He thought it was just an allergy, but sent us to a neurologist just in case. The neurologist thought it was just a ‘tick’ and part of a growing phase. But he did an MRI just in case. When the results came in, he asked Gabe to wait outside the room. That’s when I became scared out of my mind. It was the worst possible news. The doctor said it was a tumor the size of a big olive. In the brain.”  “I didn’t tell my husband right away. I just told him to come meet me at the park, and that’s where I told him. The whole time Gabe was playing nearby. My husband took it very hard. He started crying. He had a panic attack. Our lives had not been easy. It was very difficult for us in Albania. My husband grew up without a father. We decided to come to America alone as teenagers. Neither of us spoke any English. We had no family here. It was very lonely. We came from nothing. We worked very hard and we went to school at night and we taught ourselves English. My husband got a job as a steam worker and I got a job in marketing. We bought a beautiful, sunny one-bedroom apartment. We had recently paid off the mortgage. We could even afford to send Gabe to private school. It felt like we were evolving. We felt like we had finally made it past the hard times. Then the rug was pulled out from under us and everything crumbled. And I didn’t know what to pick up first. Do I comfort my son, who’s about to go through the worst journey of his life? Or my husband? Or myself?”  “The doctors gave us peace of mind. They seemed so sure of their profession. They were using all these medical terms and speaking to each other so calmly. They spoke about the tumor like it was a simple puzzle. We tried to explain the surgery to Gabe as if it was a cartoon. He loved cartoons. We told him that there was a black hole that was sucking all the good energy out of his brain. We told him that he was going to be cut a little bit, but we did not tell him how much. I told him that he may have difficulty speaking when he wakes up, but don’t worry, because we’re going to write to Mommy on a notepad. But I’m thinking inside that I’m never going to hear my son speak again. During the surgery, my husband and I just walked around aimlessly for hours and cried. Finally they called and told us they were finished. We went in to see Gabe and he’s speaking words. He’s speaking regular words. My husband is so excited that he’s taking a video. But I’m looking at Gabe and he’s in a fetal position on the table. And I remember thinking that the way he was lying there, he looked like he did when he was born. It was just a bigger version of baby Gabriel. He had been such a healthy, beautiful baby boy. And here he is again. And he’s not well.”  “After the surgery, we thought it was over. We think it’s done. Gabriel is getting better and it’s like nothing happened. His teachers can’t believe it! We’re even planning on going to the beach. But the doctors tell us that they can’t identify the tumor. The surgery was in July. August passes. September passes. Now that the tumor was gone, we were anxious to start treating the cancer, but nobody knows where to start. Every hospital is saying something different. Then finally two hospitals gave the same opinion: Descmoplastic Small Round Blue Cell Tumor. Nobody had ever seen this tumor in the brain before. They told me not to read about it. They told me that every case was different and not to read about it. When you read about it, it’s very bad. Oh my God. This cancer always comes back. And when it comes back, it’s worse. ‘Less than three years,’ it says. Oh my God. What did I do? What did I expose him to? What did I feed him? The chemo is so painful for him. My family tried to talk me out of it. They told me that I’m killing my son with my own hands. But what can I do? There’s nothing I can do. I want to give blood. I want to give bone marrow. But all I can do is watch. It’s the worst show you can imagine, but you have to watch. You’re forced to watch.” My biggest challenge? Two words for you: third grade. It’s kind of like second grade but harder. I was a very special student in second grade because I had a brain tumor. A very rare one, actually. I was the only one in the world with this type of brain tumor. Everyone who knew me was shocked! Their heads blew up! I’ve been through a lot of things this past year. But I can tell you, if youget brain cancer, try not to worry! It will be very hard and you will get lots of fevers but you have to be brave. You have to be brave like me because I’m very brave about this thing. And if you don’t know how to be brave, I can teach you. I know the surgery seems scary, but I have four words for you: you’ll be on anesthetics. When you wake up, your head will be wrapped like a mummy and your mom will take a picture and show you. When it’s time to get shots, do a countdown from thirty and tell yourself: ‘Calm down, calm down, calm down.’ Then whenever you’re ready, tell the nurse to go. And if you need more time, ask for more time!” “If your child has brain cancer, I can give you some advice. First I would say to you: Oh my gosh! Your child has brain cancer. I’m so sorry that happened to you. I’m sure you’re feeling very sad, but don’t be worried because my mom was sad too. I actually have five words for you: It’s the saddest thing ever. So you can be sad whenever you want. If your child is sad, something you can do is tell them to never give up. If they are getting a needle, you’ll probably feel them squeezing your hand really, really, really tight. Tell them: ‘Don’t worry. This is a one time thing.’ The hardest part will be seeing your child with a line to a machine that gives them weird medications that might hurt and make them sad. Then you can give your child a lot of hugs because that will make them less sad. And your child will say: ‘Don’t worry Mom, I love you and I’m going to make it through this.’ And then you can hug them even more.”
Pediatric Cancer
MAY 2016: MEMORIAL SLOAN KETTERING CANCER CENTER

# data[].attributes.body
“It was my first year teaching at a new school. Cristina was only an eighth grader, but she was in my enhanced math class. We didn’t bond much that year. Partly because she didn’t need my help. But mainly because I was so frazzled. Being a new teacher is rough. You’re dealing with students from all different backgrounds. You’re trying to teach them the quadratic formula. But also to be a good person, and navigate life. On top of it all you’re having to navigate school politics. So it always seems like there’s a fire to be put out. Sometimes I’d stay late trying to finish extra work, and that’s when Cristina came wandering in. By that time she was a freshman. And she was heartbroken, because she’d just gotten a ‘D’ on a math test. She’d hit a wall. So I gave her practice problems to do on the whiteboard. I enjoyed having her around. It was nice to have someone else in the classroom. And even when she didn’t need my help anymore, she kept coming anyway. We kept up the tradition for four years. We’d put on country music. Then we’d sit on opposite sides of the room and do our work. She went from thirteen to eighteen in my classroom. I watched her grow up. Our conversations matured. We started talking about college. And what she wanted to do with her life. We talked about her first boyfriend. And her first breakup. I got to see it all. Whenever a new class would graduate, it was so sad to see the kids leave. But in the back of my mind, I’d always say: ‘At least Cristina is only in 9th. At least Cristina is only in 10th. At least Cristina is only in 11th.’ But this year her class finally graduated. I knew the moment would come, but it’s still tough. Because they’re the first class that spent all four years with me. They watched me grow. They saw me on my very first day. They saw me come

back one summer with a new last name. They were with me when I figured it all out, and they were so smart that they succeeded anyway. Cristina graduated as the valedictorian. She’ll be going to the University of Pennsylvania next year. She wants to be a nurse. And I’m just so proud of her. It’s been such an honor to watch her grow. And I can’t wait to see what she does next.”

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“We were vacationing on a lake in Arkansas with another family. My dad went with his friend to hunt for quartz crystal. And the two mothers decided to take the kids out on a pontoon boat. The sky was clear when we left. Nobody knew a storm was coming. Then the wind began to blow. And the waves picked up. And one of the little girls fell off the boat. My mom jumped in to save her but only the girl survived. I have memories, but they’re only snapshots. I remember boats surrounding us. I remember the little girl lying on the floor of the boat. I remember sitting on someone’s lap, and sobbing hysterically. But I was only two years old. So I wonder if I invented these memories. There’s two more that I have, from before that day. I can see my mother getting ready in the bathroom. And I can see her driving a car, and turning around to touch my feet. But that’s all I have. And I can’t even be sure that they’re real. I wish I’d made more of an effort. I wish I’d bothered my father more about it, but I didn’t want to add to his burden. He just seemed so exhausted. He died of lung cancer when I was nineteen. And unfortunately my main concern at that age wasn’t learning about my parents. All I know is that my mother loved to write. And sew. And that she hated living in Houston. But these just seem like things. They don’t seem like a person. I don’t know why my dad loved her. I don’t know where they had their first date. I can’t even tell you their wedding anniversary. Sometimes I feel like I don’t know why I was brought into this world. Like it’s an accident I even exist. And it’s been hard. Life has been really hard for me. And I’m constantly comparing my life to what it could have been. There’s an envy there. I’m jealous of the person I’d be if my mom hadn’t jumped off that boat. I’m jealous of the life I would have had, even though I can’t know what it would look like. I do have one video. It was taken the day I was born. My mom’s holding me and my dad’s holding the camera. It’s the one thing I have with both my parents together. They both look so happy that I was born. It’s my only proof that I didn’t just appear one day. It’s a sliver of the life that could have been.”

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“My brother and I were both placed into foster homes at a young age. He was lucky—he went to a family called the Ripleys. I went through four different homes in three years, and each one was worse than the next. I’d get to see my brother every few months.  Ms. Ripley would take us for lunch at McDonalds, and that’s when she first noticed the scars all over my body. She immediately made arrangements for me to join their family. Back then the word ‘family’ didn’t mean much to me. But the Ripleys made me feel welcome in their home. Whenever I did something wrong, Ms. Ripley would sit me down and explain why it wasn’t OK. But then she’d say: ‘You’re not going anywhere. Because you belong to us now.’ Shortly after I joined the family, Mr. Ripley was diagnosed with cancer. And later that year he passed away. Ms. Ripley’s entire world fell apart. They’d been high school sweethearts. And now she was alone with two foster kids. Nobody would have blamed her for taking us back. But instead she took us to court and made it permanent. The three of us moved into a single wide trailer in Mississippi, and that’s where she raised us. She worked whatever odd jobs she could find.  We never had much, but we went to movies. We had family game nights. She kept us busy with little league and Boy Scouts. She must have been super stressed, but that’s not at all what I remember. I just remember the affirmation that she gave me. It was always: ‘You’re smart.’ And ‘You’re handsome.’ And ‘You survived all that stuff because you’re strong.’ She cried when I joined the Marines, but she knew it was my best chance for a college education. And eventually I graduated from law school. Last year I had a daughter of my own. And that really put me into an emotional tailspin. Because I realized how every little choice I make is going to affect her future. And then I started thinking about how different my life could have been. Because my early development had been the opposite of what a child’s should be. I should be broken, but I’m not. Because thirty years ago my Mom decided to keep me. And somehow, despite all her sadness and heartbreak, she poured enough love into me so that I could heal

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“The first time I got on stage, I forgot about all my problems. We were the opening act at a rodeo, and nobody was there. Only about ten people were in the crowd, and almost all of them were employees. I was so nervous that my hands were shaking. But it was the first time that I’d felt the feeling of playing my own music in front of a crowd, and I’ve been addicted to that feeling ever since.”

(Mexico City, Mexico)

Izzy Kimmel

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“We went to war when we were 18.” “What’s your strongest memory from the war?” “My unit was being transported by train when German planes began to attack us. We jumped out and started to run across a field. I had to carry my wounded friend on my shoulders, so I was moving pretty slow. One of the planes circled around, and dropped a bomb right near me. I felt something hit me in the back and I got thrown to the ground. I thought for sure I was hit, but I couldn’t see any blood. When I finally got to some cover, I pulled my backpack off my back, and saw that it had a giant hole in it. When I opened it up, I discovered that a piece of shrapnel had torn through everything and lodged itself in the leather sole of my boot.” (Bila Tserkva, Ukraine)

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“It was just me and my son when I met Jojo. But he never questioned that I had a child. He went with it. We got married in my grandparent’s living room. By that time we’d already given birth to our second son Isaiah. Now Jojo is very quiet, so when Isaiah wasn’t talking by the age of one, everyone said: ‘They’re the same!’ But at fifteen months Isaiah still wasn’t talking. And that’s when he was diagnosed with autism. It broke me, honestly. I didn’t know how far on the spectrum he was going to be. So I spiraled in my mind. I thought: ‘He’ll never talk, or go to college, or get married. He’ll never do any of the things I envisioned as a mother.’ But Jojo was very calm. He said: ‘This is not the end. It’s the beginning of something.’ He did all the research with me. We enrolled Isaiah in an early intervention program. We had three therapists coming to our place every week. I’d watch every session. Isaiah was like a turtle. He was moving so slowly, and I was trying to cheer him on. Sometimes he’d say a word. Or point at something. But there was never a big breakthrough. It was so hard. I’m home alone all day. He was having so many meltdowns. And I felt like a failure. Like it was something I did. I know it’s not true, but that’s how it felt. I kept praying for something to change. But nothing was happening. And then the pandemic happened. Our therapists stopped coming. We tried to do tele-sessions, but Isaiah wasn’t having it. He’d cry the entire time. I was also having to homeschool my older son, so it was too much. I just couldn’t take it anymore. Jojo wasn’t going to work, so he said: ‘Let me try.’ And for the past few weeks they’ve been doing the sessions together. They’re so cute. They’re like twins. Everything Jojo does, Isaiah mimics it. Sometimes Isaiah will cry for the entire two hours. But Jojo is calm. He pushes through. And you won’t believe what’s happened. Isaiah is pointing at things now. He knows his alphabet. He sings songs. It’s an answered prayer. And I’m just so proud of my husband. We’re struggling right now, but he’s been so calm. And because of him, miraculously, during this sad, sad time, our child is progressing. My baby is getting a voice.”

Kayla McAllister

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“We were together for three years. He wasn’t a bad person. He worked hard. He was charismatic. But he was hiding a major drug problem from me. There were violent episodes. He once choked me in a hotel room while we were on vacation. He broke my phone. He tried to rip up my passport. Then on the way home, he dropped to one knee in the airport and asked me to marry him. That was the pattern. We’d get in a huge fight, then after a few days he’d ‘love bomb’ me. He’d say that he needed me. And that he’d never get better without me. So I’d take him back, and the cycle would begin all over again. One Monday morning there was a knock on our door. It was my mother, and she told me that my sister had been pulled over by the police. She was battling a drug addiction of her own. They found empty needles all over her car, and my two-year-old nephew Robert was placed into foster care. From that moment on, all I could think about was getting him back. But it was nearly impossible. I had to complete an eight-week certification course. I had to rent a two-bedroom apartment in San Francisco, which I couldn’t even afford. And everyone living with me had to pass a background check. I knew that my boyfriend had a misdemeanor for domestic violence. So I had to make a decision: him or Robert. And I chose Robert. I officially became his foster parent in October of 2018. Ever since then I’ve been focused on his healing. He can’t verbalize yet. Sometimes he has tantrums and I just need to hold him tight. He’s been through a lot of trauma, so he needs me. But I needed him too. I’d still be stuck in the cycle if it wasn’t for Robert. I didn’t know who I was anymore. I needed to learn to be alone. I needed to learn that chaos wasn’t normal. The last two years haven’t been easy. The whole family is chipping in. My mom is working two jobs to help with rent. Everyone is under a lot of stress. But it’s a lot of peace too. I’m not walking around on eggshells anymore. I’m not terrified of being alone. I’m enjoying my solitude. Last June I got baptized, and I feel like I’m becoming a new person. My life has a purpose now. Robert’s adoption went through on March 10th. So I’m officially his mother.”

# data[].attributes.body
“I thought studying in the US would be easy. I’d attended a UN conference in high school, so I already had a visa. I begged my father to let me go. He finally agreed and took out a loan to buy me a plane ticket. I arrived with $150 in my pocket, and stayed with a Gambian family in Maryland. For two months I visited schools, asking for financial aid, but nothing was available for people like me. I began to accept the reality that I would need to go back home. There was one last school called Montgomery College. It was a five-minute bus ride from where I was staying. And when I visited the campus, I learned about a scholarship for international students. But the deadline was approaching, and I would need to submit my application that day. I searched everywhere for a computer. I walked through the hallways looking for any door that was open. And that’s how I discovered Professor Rudin. She was sitting at her desk. She had currency from all over the world hanging on her wall. I noticed a bill from Gambia, and that’s how we started talking. I stayed for two hours. I told her my entire story, and by the end we were crying and hugging each other. Kelly researched the scholarship and learned it wouldn’t work out. But that night she spoke to her husband Tom, and they decided to pay for my school fees. They gave me money for food and clothes. Kelly drove me to Best Buy and got me a phone, and then added me to their family plan. I’m still on that plan today. For two years I lived with the Rudins. Every morning Kelly made me breakfast, and we drove to school together. She and Tom became like my parents. And her children became like my siblings. They hung pictures of me around the house. They helped with my entire education. When I graduated from Georgetown, they even paid for my father to attend the ceremony. He was so overwhelmed when he arrived. He gave Tom the biggest hug. It was such an emotional moment for me. I thought about how it all started—begging my dad to let me come to America. And here I was, four years later, graduating from Georgetown. My father was with me. And he was thanking the two human beings who took me in and called me their daughter.”

# data[].attributes.body
“He was really scared of my wheelchair when I met him. So it didn’t seem like it was going to work out. But I had a soft spot for him. Ted was the smallest of his litter. He ‘d been really sick and they didn’t know if he was going to survive. The first time I went to meet him, I collapsed in his owner’s kitchen. But Ted wiggled over toward me and laid down on my chest. Everyone thought it was so cute. It was the first time I’d ever had a health scare that turned into something positive, so it seemed like it was meant to be. There are two options when you get an assistance dog. You can get a dog that’s already been trained. Or you can train the dog yourself, and that’s what I wanted to do. Because I needed something. I have this genetic disease. It weakens every part of my body, but it didn’t get bad until my teenage years. So I had this wonderful life and then it was taken away. I was isolated from my friends for so long. I couldn’t go to school. It reached a point where I couldn’t see a reason to live anymore. I needed something to focus on besides my health. And Ted gave me that. He needed me and I needed him. I watched all the training videos I could find. I read all the books. I reached out to people and asked for help. It gave me a reason to talk to people again. I hadn’t done that in so long. And I learned that I was good at training. Everything just flowed. From day one, we’ve been so in sync. He can fetch me anything. He helps me get undressed. He even watches me when I sleep, and wakes me up if I’m having night terrors. My mom was having to help me with everything before I got Ted. And she loves me so much. But she has two other children, and I know she was getting so tired. But Ted doesn’t get tired. He loves to help. He’s so excited to help. He’ll pick up the same thing seventeen times. It makes him so happy. He’s my world, really. He saved my life. He made me happy again. And he takes so much pressure off my family. He gives me a break from being the disabled child. From being the focus of everyone’s attention. He lets me be a daughter. And a big sister. He lets me be Chloe again.”

# data[].attributes.body
“I thought studying in the US would be easy. I’d attended a UN conference in high school, so I already had a visa. I begged my father to let me go. He finally agreed and took out a loan to buy me a plane ticket. I arrived with $150 in my pocket, and stayed with a Gambian family in Maryland. For two months I visited schools, asking for financial aid, but nothing was available for people like me. I began to accept the reality that I would need to go back home. There was one last school called Montgomery College. It was a five-minute bus ride from where I was staying. And when I visited the campus, I learned about a scholarship for international students. But the deadline was approaching, and I would need to submit my application that day. I searched everywhere for a computer. I walked through the hallways looking for any door that was open. And that’s how I discovered Professor Rudin. She was sitting at her desk. She had currency from all over the world hanging on her wall. I noticed a bill from Gambia, and that’s how we started talking. I stayed for two hours. I told her my entire story, and by the end we were crying and hugging each other. Kelly researched the scholarship and learned it wouldn’t work out. But that night she spoke to her husband Tom, and they decided to pay for my school fees. They gave me money for food and clothes. Kelly drove me to Best Buy and got me a phone, and then added me to their family plan. I’m still on that plan today. For two years I lived with the Rudins. Every morning Kelly made me breakfast, and we drove to school together. She and Tom became like my parents. And her children became like my siblings. They hung pictures of me around the house. They helped with my entire education. When I graduated from Georgetown, they even paid for my father to attend the ceremony. He was so overwhelmed when he arrived. He gave Tom the biggest hug. It was such an emotional moment for me. I thought about how it all started—begging my dad to let me come to America. And here I was, four years later, graduating from Georgetown. My father was with me. And he was thanking the two human beings who took me in and called me their daughter.”

# data[].attributes.body
“I was the best student in my high school. I put so much pressure on myself. I never failed a class. But I got sick during 10th grade and I started to fall behind. That’s when the panic attacks began. One day the teacher handed me my grade report, and I couldn’t breathe. My heart was beating very fast. I felt disconnected. I saw people trying to talk to me but I couldn’t hear them. Eventually I passed out and woke up in the infirmary. The attacks were almost daily after that. Last year I started college. And I can’t be the best student here no matter how hard I try. Everyone is so talented. My panic attacks got so bad that I had to cancel my first semester. But now I’m working on acknowledging my anxiety. I used to try to hide it. I would log off social media. I wouldn’t answer calls. I thought that if nobody knew, it didn’t exist. But the more I talk about my problem, the more I realize that other people experience similar things. So I’m trying to express it more. I had a great teacher who told me: ‘Instead of letting anxiety keep you from doing your art, let it be the thing that motivates your art.’” (Bogotá, Colombia)

Abby Zimmerman

# data[].attributes.body
“He wasn’t my type. He was nerdy. He was wearing Converse. And he talked like a robot. But it had been over a year since anyone had paid attention to me. And I was enjoying our conversation. I never told him that I had a daughter. I just wanted to be ‘that girl at the brewery.’ For one afternoon, I didn’t want to be the young, single mother. And it was nice. It was nice to feel wanted again. When he asked if we could go out sometime, I didn’t even hesitate. But I started feeling nervous as soon as I got home. Because I started thinking about all the places a date could lead, and I knew I had to tell him. So I sent him a text. It said: ‘You should know I have a daughter. Things aren’t good with her father. I’m not asking you to fill that role, but if you want to cancel the date, we can.’ There were twenty minutes of silence. And then he replied: ‘It is what it is.’ Just like a robot. Then he wrote: ‘If the date sucks, we never have to talk again.’ We made plans to meet at a famous brunch place. They didn’t even serve alcohol, which made everything twice as awkward. We agreed to take it slow. And to just have fun with things. He made it very clear that he wasn’t in a place where he wanted to be a dad. And that remained his official stance for about three months, until he met her. It’s been over two years now. So he’s been there her entire life. They’re obsessed with each other. She constantly wants to talk with him about everything. She wants me to call him when she farts. She wants to be a Wildcat fan because he went to Arizona. And when we find a shell on the beach, she’ll pick it up. But it’s always for him, not me. And he loves that little girl. But that’s not surprising. What’s surprising is that he loves me. Roo is easy to love. She’s so young. She doesn’t withdraw or want space. She doesn’t have scars. She’s never been abandoned. She accepts love without question, and she gives it without question. They love each other so much. So much that it makes me nervous. Sometimes I’ll ask him: ‘Do you just love me because you don’t want to lose her?’ And he’ll say: ‘No. I love her a ton, and I love you a ton.’ He always says it very calmly. Just like a robot.”

# data[].attributes.body
“I was the best student in my high school. I put so much pressure on myself. I never failed a class. But I got sick during 10th grade and I started to fall behind. That’s when the panic attacks began. One day the teacher handed me my grade report, and I couldn’t breathe. My heart was beating very fast. I felt disconnected. I saw people trying to talk to me but I couldn’t hear them. Eventually I passed out and woke up in the infirmary. The attacks were almost daily after that. Last year I started college. And I can’t be the best student here no matter how hard I try. Everyone is so talented. My panic attacks got so bad that I had to cancel my first semester. But now I’m working on acknowledging my anxiety. I used to try to hide it. I would log off social media. I wouldn’t answer calls. I thought that if nobody knew, it didn’t exist. But the more I talk about my problem, the more I realize that other people experience similar things. So I’m trying to express it more. I had a great teacher who told me: ‘Instead of letting anxiety keep you from doing your art, let it be the thing that motivates your art.’”

(Bogotá, Colombia)

# data[].attributes.body
“Technically he was there. We ate dinner together every night. But he wasn’t exactly ‘available.’ He’d go on these long trips alone, to Peru, and China, and Mexico. And even when he was home, we’d only do things together that he found fun. He enjoyed linguistics. And etymology. And architecture. He was always telling us that houses should be circular because it’s the most efficient shape. But we were just kids. We weren’t interested in that stuff. We wanted to watch cartoons and play baseball. And that’s the stuff he didn’t show up for. It wasn’t malicious. He grew up in The Soviet Union. And his father was a heavy alcholic, so he didn’t know any better. There was nowhere for him to learn parenting skills. When I was thirteen my parents got a divorce. My father finally got his own apartment and his solitude. But suddenly his kids weren’t readily available. We were living separate lives, so he had to learn to initiate. He had to express a desire for companionship. It was very difficult for him at first. He’d use a lot of sarcasm. Instead of saying: ‘Can we eat dinner together?’ He’d say: ‘You can’t cook. You need my help.’ He began to manufacture reasons for us to be together. A couple years ago I got a text from him saying that he’d bought a plot of land. Apparently he’d been watching a lot of YouTube videos, and he was ready to build his circular house. But he needed our help. We’ve been working on it for over a year now. We laid the foundation ourselves. We cut down all the trees. It’s been a lot of work. But more importantly, it’s been a lot of time together. There’s still a sarcastic hint over everything. There’s a lot of: ‘Come over here so I can show you how to do it.’ But we’ve also had some deeper conversations. When we’re in the middle of building, and we need to break the silence. He’s learned to be more direct. He’ll tell me about problems he’s having. He’ll ask for advice. And he’ll even ask for companionship. A few months ago we were finishing up for the day, and he told me: ‘I know you’re busy, but if you come over and watch a little TV with me, especially during the winter, it would help me a lot. Because I’m completely alone in that apartment.’”

# data[].attributes.body
“We were vacationing on a lake in Arkansas with another family. My dad went with his friend to hunt for quartz crystal. And the two mothers decided to take the kids out on a pontoon boat. The sky was clear when we left. Nobody knew a storm was coming. Then the wind began to blow. And the waves picked up. And one of the little girls fell off the boat. My mom jumped in to save her but only the girl survived. I have memories, but they’re only snapshots. I remember boats surrounding us. I remember the little girl lying on the floor of the boat. I remember sitting on someone’s lap, and sobbing hysterically. But I was only two years old. So I wonder if I invented these memories. There’s two more that I have, from before that day. I can see my mother getting ready in the bathroom. And I can see her driving a car, and turning around to touch my feet. But that’s all I have. And I can’t even be sure that they’re real. I wish I’d made more of an effort. I wish I’d bothered my father more about it, but I didn’t want to add to his burden. He just seemed so exhausted. He died of lung cancer when I was nineteen. And unfortunately my main concern at that age wasn’t learning about my parents. All I know is that my mother loved to write. And sew. And that she hated living in Houston. But these just seem like things. They don’t seem like a person. I don’t know why my dad loved her. I don’t know where they had their first date. I can’t even tell you their wedding anniversary. Sometimes I feel like I don’t know why I was brought into this world. Like it’s an accident I even exist. And it’s been hard. Life has been really hard for me. And I’m constantly comparing my life to what it could have been. There’s an envy there. I’m jealous of the person I’d be if my mom hadn’t jumped off that boat. I’m jealous of the life I would have had, even though I can’t know what it would look like. I do have one video. It was taken the day I was born. My mom’s holding me and my dad’s holding the camera. It’s the one thing I have with both my parents together. They both look so happy that I was born. It’s my only proof that I didn’t just appear one day. It’s a sliver of the life that could have been.”

# data[].attributes.body
“My father was a farmer and we had eight siblings. I went to Australia when I was fifteen because my family didn’t have enough to eat. I was on a boat for forty days. When I got there, I couldn’t find a job, I couldn’t speak English, and I had to sleep on the street. I know what it’s like. So everyday I drive the van to the port and hand out bread to the refugees. My son is my business partner. He says, ‘Baba, please. It’s fine to help. But not every day.’ But I still go every day because I know what it feels like to have nothing.” (Kos, Greece)

Taylor Hauck

# data[].attributes.body
I visited the Confident Children out of Conflict (CCC) Center in Juba, a place where displaced children in South Sudan are given shelter, an education, affection, and a second chance. I was greeted by Cathy, the center’s director. She was very kind, but also a bit nervous about my presence. She’d been briefed about my interview process. “We can talk about happy moments,” she said. “But let’s not ask these children about their saddest moments, or times they felt afraid. Many of them were malnourished, abandoned, or regularly sexually abused. Some of them have witnessed extreme violence. When journalists ask them to relive these memories, it can set them back for an entire month. They begin to act out. Often their trauma is so bad, that when the children first arrive, they can be very hateful toward me. But I feel blessed by the hate. Because I know it’s part of the healing process. And if they need someone to hate so that they can heal, I’m glad it can be me.”A few minutes after this conversation, a young girl walked up to Cathy, gave her a hug, and ran away. Cathy seemed quite moved. “That girl was very badly abused,” she said. “She’s been here for months. And that’s the first time she’s ever hugged me.”(Juba, South Sudan)

Molly Gray

# data[].attributes.body
“I heard the rumor from a random girl in school. She told me that my boyfriend had gotten another girl pregnant. He’d cheated on me before, so I assumed it was true. But for awhile he denied everything. Then he shifted to blaming the girl. Her name was Stacie. And as the story often goes, I turned all my hatred and hurt toward her. We literally never spoke. And my boyfriend would talk her down every chance he got. I’d occasionally see her when she dropped the baby off at the house. I’d feel such hatred every time the doorbell would ring. She was always so well put-together. There was this unapproachable air about her. Like she was better than everyone else. Worst of all, she had this connection with my boyfriend that I didn’t have. The connection of a child. And that was thrown in my face every time she came to the door. My jealousy created a monster inside of me. I withdrew from everyone. Then one year later I got pregnant myself. I didn’t feel any excitement. Instead there was a moment of clarity. I couldn’t raise a child with this man. He was a pathological liar. For weeks I went back-and-forth. Do I get an abortion? Do I give the child up for adoption? Then one day I made the decision to become a single mother. I remember being so scared. And the first person I thought of was Stacie. It was like: ‘My God, I’ve vilified this woman for so long. And now I’m her. And she is me.’ I picked up my phone and sent her a text. I apologized for everything. And I asked for her support. That was eleven years ago. But we still love to joke about how our horrible taste in men when we were young brought us together. Stacie is my best friend in the world. She’s my person. Our daughters know each other as sisters. At times she’s been my roommate, my biggest confidant, and my maid of honor. Sometimes I think back to those early days, watching her walk up the driveway. I think about all the hatred I would feel. And now it’s her hugs that I need when I’m feeling upset. There have been some bad episodes in my life. But every time I’m down, she shows up. The doorbell will ring on a random Tuesday. At 4 PM. And when I open up the door, there she is. And she’ll give me the biggest hug.”

Izzy Kimmel

# data[].attributes.body
“I heard the rumor from a random girl in school. She told me that my boyfriend had gotten another girl pregnant. He’d cheated on me before, so I assumed it was true. But for awhile he denied everything. Then he shifted to blaming the girl. Her name was Stacie. And as the story often goes, I turned all my hatred and hurt toward her. We literally never spoke. And my boyfriend would talk her down every chance he got. I’d occasionally see her when she dropped the baby off at the house. I’d feel such hatred every time the doorbell would ring. She was always so well put-together. There was this unapproachable air about her. Like she was better than everyone else. Worst of all, she had this connection with my boyfriend that I didn’t have. The connection of a child. And that was thrown in my face every time she came to the door. My jealousy created a monster inside of me. I withdrew from everyone. Then one year later I got pregnant myself. I didn’t feel any excitement. Instead there was a moment of clarity. I couldn’t raise a child with this man. He was a pathological liar. For weeks I went back-and-forth. Do I get an abortion? Do I give the child up for adoption? Then one day I made the decision to become a single mother. I remember being so scared. And the first person I thought of was Stacie. It was like: ‘My God, I’ve vilified this woman for so long. And now I’m her. And she is me.’ I picked up my phone and sent her a text. I apologized for everything. And I asked for her support. That was eleven years ago. But we still love to joke about how our horrible taste in men when we were young brought us together. Stacie is my best friend in the world. She’s my person. Our daughters know each other as sisters. At times she’s been my roommate, my biggest confidant, and my maid of honor. Sometimes I think back to those early days, watching her walk up the driveway. I think about all the hatred I would feel. And now it’s her hugs that I need when I’m feeling upset. There have been some bad episodes in my life. But every time I’m down, she shows up. The doorbell will ring on a random Tuesday. At 4 PM. And when I open up the door, there she is. And she’ll give me the biggest hug.”

# data[].attributes.body
“We were eighteen months apart. Jenny sometimes said that it felt like I was the big sister, and she was the little, instead of the other way around. Maybe it’s because I was the more confident one. I was always pushing her to do things. Especially after she got sick. During the last couple years, I felt like it was my responsibility to make her happy. I wanted her to live as much as possible. The bucket list was my idea, but she chose the items. She wanted to ride a horse. And get a makeover. And swim in the waterfalls of Hawaii, which we got to do. She also wanted to go to Thailand, but we never made it. Maybe I pushed her too much. Maybe she needed more space. But I just felt so strongly that she needed to experience all these things. One of the items on her list was to get a dog, but she kept finding reasons to delay. It never felt like the right time. But when it became clear that the chemo wasn’t going to work, my mom and I decided it couldn’t wait any longer. Jet came over for two nights on a trial run, and Jenny fell in love. He followed her everywhere. Right away he knew that she was his person. When she became too sick to move, he’d only get out of her bed to pee. Then he’d jump right back in. Looking back,  I should have known we were getting close. But it still took me by surprise. Everything happened so quickly. She couldn’t speak in the final days. But I remember telling her that I loved her, and she said it back: by squeezing my hand three times. I promised her that we’d go to Thailand. And I promised her that we’d take care of Jet. We had to lock him in the backyard when they came to get her body. He barked the entire time. I wanted to bring him home so badly, but I told my mom to keep him. I knew she needed him more than me. But she was thinking the same thing—and insisted that I take him. We’ve been together for over two years now. And I’m probably too obsessed with him. I can’t stay out late because I hate the thought of him being alone. Whenever I’m down, or sad, he’s always there. It feels like we’re connected in a way. Both of us had this unconditional love and loyalty to Jenny. And both of us lost her. Both of us lost our person.”

# data[].attributes.body
“He could be loving. At least for a couple weeks a month. But then his pain pill prescription would run out, and things would get very tense. We were constantly walking on eggshells. Occasionally there’d be a flash of violence, but I’d only see some of that. Because my mom would always defuse the situation. She played the role of the nurturing wife, making his dinner, rubbing his feet, doing things around the house. One night when I was fourteen, I was getting ready for bed when I heard a loud thud. It was an intentional overdose. He flatlined on the way to the hospital, and he only survived because of the paramedics. A month later my mother found drugs again, and finally kicked him out of the house. She started working three jobs to support us. She’d get up at 5 in the morning to do janitorial work. Then she’d go to the library. And then the grocery store. But she still found time to encourage me in my schoolwork and support me through university. Recently I finished my first year as a resident physician, and my mom came out for a visit. We rented a cabin in the middle of nowhere. We spent hours in the hot tub every night. And I’m not sure why, maybe it was the wine, but she chose that moment to tell me about her life. She confessed that she regretted staying with my father for so long. But that she didn’t feel like she had a choice. She’d been raised in a religious environment, where the wife is expected to stay. And my father had been so much more controlling than I’d realized. She told me that he wouldn’t allow her to study. Or get a job. Or buy anything, even for us. He never allowed her to be the ‘fun’ parent or the ‘smart’ parent. And if she ever pushed back, it could get physical. But we never saw it, because she shielded us from everything. For my entire life, I’d seen her defer to my dad on everything. Every bill. Every decision. She wouldn’t even drive on the highway. It was always him. She had never seemed like she was in control. But I was too young to know what was happening. What she was sheltering us from. And what she eventually got us away from. I had never realized that she’d been the strong one the entire time.”

Nadalie Greene