Sarah

@Bink75221438 @dadmann_walking My son did this 😩

@dadmann_walking At least he didn’t put it in the dishwasher

My 16 yo cooked a steak tonight for himself in the cast iron pan. When I came in from the patio I saw the pan soaking in water in the sink. The scream I screamed

I’m going to share this with my 82 year old mother. She was the sole caretaker of her husband for 20 years (brain damage from cardiac arrest in 2003 that progressed into dementia). He died 2 years ago. She not only deals with grief and all that comes with that but also all that you described. No need for me to continue to describe it because you know. I was struck by your words “now you can rest” because I know I would’ve said that to her if I hadn’t experienced the loss of the love of my life in 2021. Now there’s no way I would ever say that. She doesn’t want REST she wants her husband and purpose back! No one can understand unless they’ve been through it. Though I didn’t have to care for my husband the way you and my mom did your spouses, grief taught me that no one has any idea whatsoever what someone goes through with a loss like that.

I Miss Being Her Caregiver. by Michael Whelan No one prepares you for this part. They tell you how hard caregiving is. How exhausting. How relentless. How it steals your sleep, your time, your sanity. And they’re right. But no one—no one—tells you what it feels like when it’s over. For years, my life had a rhythm. Not an easy one. Not a fair one. But a rhythm just the same. Pills at this hour. Bathe her. Meals at that one. Adjust the blankets. Lift her gently. Listen to her breathing. Watch. Wait. Stay. Always stay. Every second of every day, I had a purpose that mattered more than anything I had ever done in my life. Not television. Not awards. Not success. Her. Rebecca. She was my schedule. My responsibility. My mission. My reason to get up even when my own body and mind begged me not to. And now… There is no schedule. The house still wakes me up at the same time. My body hasn’t gotten the memo. I still listen for her. Still expect to hear something—a movement, a breath, a soft sound that says, “I’m here.” But the silence answers now. And silence is cruel. I didn’t just lose my wife. I lost my job. My identity. My purpose. People don’t understand that. They say, “Now you can rest.” As if rest is a reward. But what they don’t see is this— I don’t want to rest. I want to help her sit up again. I want to fix something. Adjust something. Do something that matters. I want to be needed. Caregiving is strange like that. It breaks you slowly, day by day… and then, when it’s gone, it breaks you all at once. Because in all that exhaustion… in all that fear… in all that relentless, unforgiving responsibility… There was love. Not the easy kind. Not the kind you see in movies. But the real kind. The kind that shows up at 3 a.m. The kind that doesn’t leave when things get ugly. The kind that says, “I will carry this with you. I will carry you.” And now my hands— The same hands that held her, lifted her, steadied her— They have nothing to do. They just… hang there. Useless. Empty. The dogs still look for her. They sit by the places she used to be, waiting in that quiet, loyal way animals do. As if love, if patient enough, might bring her back. Sometimes I sit with them. Three souls… waiting for something that isn’t coming. I used to measure my days in how well I took care of her. Now I measure them in how long I can stand the quiet. There’s a guilt that comes with this, too. Because there were moments—God forgive me—when I was tired. When I felt overwhelmed. When I wished, just for a second, for a break. And now I would give anything—anything—to have that life back. To be exhausted again. To be needed again. To hear her voice call my name one more time. People think caregiving is about sacrifice. But they’re wrong. It’s about privilege. The privilege of loving someone so much that their pain becomes your purpose. The privilege of being the one they trust when the world is falling apart. The privilege of being there… at the very end… when love is the only thing left in the room. I had that. I had her. And now, in this unbearable quiet… in this house that no longer knows how to breathe… I realize something I never expected to say. Not in a million years. Not after everything we went through. I miss taking care of her. More than anything in this world… I miss being the one she needed.

Photo of my husband from 1992 on the left, two photos of our son at the same age. No dna test required 😄 I will miss my husband forever. 💔❤️

@elonmusk can you do something to prevent stolen X accounts? I’ve had a few friends lose their accounts recently - years of writing/posting and growing followers just gone. Surely there’s an easy fix for this?

@LairdOfTheManor YOU STOLE THIS ACCOUNT!! How low can you get? Too lazy and not enough pull to get the followers you want so you become a thief. Pathetic.

Folks, we have a new League leader in points ⚡

Legit running out of words to describe how good Nikita Kucherov is...

Nikita Kucherov First player with 75 points over a 33-game span since Mario Lemieux in 1995-96 #GoBolts

The only players in NHL history to ever have five consecutive 3-point games on the road: Wayne Gretzky Mario Lemieux and… Nikita Kucherov That’s my MVP

Len Bias

last year was tough but i never fell for the dubai chocolate stuff

the concept of the turtle actually winning is frying me😭

High Point student radio call of the game is what it is all about

@Sincericidiolit Remove this. Fake photo.

Bet this man is proud of Afroman.

Not to be a killjoy but that monkey's not gonna learn how to read

the mnemonic device actually really helps

@Michaeljos92972 Thanks to @TheCancerSutra I found you. I’m so glad to get to see your posts again. I’m sorry this happened.

Slaying Goliath (I’ll Be Back) They tell you not to fight giants—but they’ve never stood where you stand. There’s something sacred in stepping forward anyway, even when fear owns the room. It’s not about winning. It’s about refusing to surrender your voice, your fire, your soul.

Michael Whelan was the first person that personally welcomed me to cancer Twitter years ago. He messaged me warmly, shared his personal story, and reassured me about my stage 4 melanoma diagnosis. He talked about his advocacy for himself and his wife, and introduced me to other patients, advocates, and resources. He has always been loud and kind about what we need to do in order to protect each other online. Recently, his wife Rebecca passed away, which is such a dissonant torture for someone who has spent much of the last decade+ fighting to survive in his own right. I can't fathom how that feels, and as someone who just got engaged, it is an eye-opener for me. I pray I die before my wife, but that's neither here nor there. I have stage 4 melanoma and we're in our 30's; the money's on her 😂 Regardless, Mike's account also got hacked. He had a huge following and a great history there, and it is undoubtedly the worst timing for him to be effectively deplatformed. His new handle is @Michaeljos92972. If you know him, follow again. If you don't know him, follow along. He's such a good dude, and while a Twitter account is not his biggest concern I'm sure... it's still a concern. Let's help out. #thankscancer #mentalhealth

@billsfanmonica Paper cut

Burnt tongue or papercut?