5 Shocking Myths About Drunk Driving-And Why We Ignore Them

New Year’s Eve is a time of closing out the end of the year and ringing in the new. Filled with gaiety and parties, it also caps off the deadliest season for drinking and driving according to the National Institute of Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism. The predictable toll from impaired driving results in a life sentence of heartache for everyone.

No one ever sets out to maim or kill when they make a choice to get behind the wheel while drunk, but that’s the thing about alcohol—it impairs our judgment. Partygoers who are too intoxicated to make the call for a taxi or Uber somehow escape the watchful eye of friends, bartenders, and store clerks. 

Consider the case of Brandon Thomas. The 17-year-old student was on his way home in December 2012 when a 22-year-old drunk driver drove north in the southbound lane of Highway 22 south of Calgary. By the time Brandon saw the drunk driver in his lane, he had no time to react and was hit head-on. The 22-year-old, who had no prior run-ins with the law, was arrested at the scene and then released while Brandon went to the morgue.

On a busy stretch of freeway at rush hour, how did the drunk driver, who struck two other vehicles in his three-quarter ton truck before killing Brandon, get so far on the road? 

That’s the thing about drunk driving—because of the myths that continue to surround alcohol, partygoers and their friends can easily fall victim to common deceptions. Because of the destruction left in the wake of those who succumb to the effects before planning ahead, the cost to our society is dear. With New Year’s Eve upon us, one of the deadliest weekends of the year, dispelling the myths that continue to surround drunk driving bear repeating—because the life saved may be your own.

Myth #1: Drunk driving is just an accident.

It’s not an accident when a person makes a decision to drive drunk, distracted, or in a negligent manner. It’s a crash that is fully avoidable. In a time when Uber and Lyft are just a finger swipe away, partygoers who fail to plan ahead really have no excuse to overlook responsibility. “It is a conscious choice resulting in a preventable tragedy,” says Bill Downs, president of the nonprofit organization AVIDD, and a father who lost three kids to a drunk driver in 2007.

Myth #2: Alcohol affects only seasoned drunks and young adults.
That’s another thing about alcohol—you don’t have to be a drunk to be drunk. It impairs the judgment of everyone, not just alcoholics and young 20-something males. Consider the case of Janakae Sargent. One night in November 2006, the 20-year-old Texas Tech University was easing into an intersection in the same moment a 48-year-old female ran a red light in excess of 100 mph, striking Janakae’s pickup. She died four days later from her injuries. The drunk driven had a blood alcohol content of 0.25 percent. Janakae had nothing in her system; not even an aspirin.

Myth #3: Intoxicated people look obviously intoxicated
Not all intoxicated partiers look drunk as they get behind the wheel of a car. Short-term effects of alcohol begin with relaxation and reduced inhibitions, which is what makes alcohol so tempting. In an effort to keep the buzz going, partygoers continue the alcohol. As the blood-alcohol content increases, brain activity slows down. Concentration begins to dive, and reflex and response time become dangerously slow. All the while, the drinker’s outward appearance looks deceptively fine. This is how they escape the watchful eye of friends, bartenders and store clerks.

Myth #4: Coffee or cold air will sober up the drinker
The only way to get sober is to allow the body time to metabolize the alcohol. On average, it takes approximately 2 hours to metabolize 4 ounces of wine, 12 ounces of beer, or 1.5 ounces of distilled spirit. Simply put, there is no magical shortcut to sober up. Until then, your brain remains under the influence.

Myth #5: A DUI can be resolved in under a couple of years
Sure, the drunk driver faces charges and court time but in instances of vehicular homicide caused by drunk drivers, these offenders rarely receive a life sentence in prison. The victim who is injured, or the family left behind when a life is lost, is handed a life sentence of grief and pain.

We all want to enjoy the final holiday of the year. Dressing up, cutting loose, and letting our hair down with friends is tradition for many. But if you haven’t yet planned ahead for the safety of yourself and others, I’ll leave you with the following poem. Written by Janakae Sargent at the tender age of 13, her mother found it after her daughter’s death—7 years later. Eerily describing the crash, Janakae had titled it “Life.”

LIFE - By Janakae Sargent

I went to a party where they were serving beer

I didn’t drink once that night because the results I fear

I know the effects of drunk driving now more so than ever

The choices some people make just aren’t very clever

I was leaving the party so I would be home by curfew

I saw headlights on the wrong side of the road

The other driver didn’t have a clue

That he was about to hit me, there wasn’t anything I could do

Now I’m in a hospital where everything is new

The other driver sent a card; I hear he’ll be all right

The doctors told me he didn’t need to stay the night

They also said I’m paralyzed from the waist down

That’s the thing about doctors; they don’t mess around

I’m lying in a bed that isn’t mine, and I have a few questions to ask

My future’s uncertain, my present dark,

and I don’t wish to speak of the past

I didn’t drink and drive, and I wouldn’t let my friends.

So why am I to be the one who will never walk again?

_____

Lynda Cheldelin Fell is the award-winning author of Grief Diaries: Surviving Loss by Impaired Driving, one title in her 5-star series dedicated to raising awareness on relevant issues. Learn more at www.LyndaFell.com.

A Christmas Poem

A poem for all my friends and family with heavy hearts.

T’was the night before Christmas, when all thro' the house
not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
Lost in deep slumber, tucked warm in our beds,
our hearts were heavy as memories danced in our heads.

What are loved ones doing in heaven on this night?
Are they sending us kisses by the moon’s magical light?
Or do they dance among the gifts sitting under the tree
waiting for family to open with laughter and glee?

I tossed and I turned, caught up in my sorrow
And finally got up before the clock struck tomorrow.
What was I searching for in this quiet hour?
I didn’t know; I just felt lost in sad dour.

As I sat in the dark watching the tree all aglow
I pondered a small glass of top-shelf merlot.
Would it ease my sorrow, bring joy to my heart?
Oh, how I wish I could find some kind of jumpstart.

And that’s when I spied it, a book on the shelf;

it sat right next to my grandson’s red-suited elf.
The book beckoned me, and I knew in my heart
that the comfort it offered would sweetened my tart.

I opened the book and made some new friends
and followed their journey through bumps and the bends.
I read about their tears, fears, and feeling insane
and learned how they survive through the terrible pain.

Inspired by their determination to go on in spite of their loss,
I marveled that my heart now felt less cross.
How could it be that such stories, so broken,
could soothe my own heart from words written, not spoken?

I realized then why the stories touch me so deep inside.
It’s a gift from each writer to readers who’ve cried.
The stories, as hard as they are, offer little gifts of hope.
They say “We’re with you; you aren’t alone as you cope.”

I finished the book, and the top-shelf merlot.
My heart felt lighter than it did hours ago.
I made my way back to my cozy-warm bed,
laid down and pulled the covers up to my head.

As my family continued in deep slumber,
I marveled that angels in heaven must be a large number.
No longer was my heart heavy with sorrow
because I now knew I could face another tomorrow.

If my friends in the book could cope and survive
I reasoned that perhaps I could at least try.
As slumber overtook me, I drifted off to sleep.
Feeling less lonely now, I had no need to count sheep.

One final thought drifted through my sleepy head
as I laid there tucked in my cozy-warm bed.
What are loved ones doing in heaven on this night?
Are they sending us kisses by the moon’s magical light?
Or do they dance among the gifts sitting under the tree
waiting for family to open with laughter and glee?

Yes, I believe they are.
Merry Christmas to me.

By Lynda Cheldelin Fell
12/24/2016

Happy anniversary to me?

One year ago today I released the first books in the Grief Diaries series. And today I'm releasing the 20th.

In the past 12 months, we've grown to over 500 writers, published 20 titles, and earned 4 literary awards. 

But today's release is bittersweet for me. 

When we lost Aly, our 15-year-old daughter, in 2009, my dear sweet hubby buried his grief in the sand. He escaped into eighty-hour work weeks, more wine, more food, and less talking. His blood pressure shot up, his cholesterol went off the chart, and the perfect storm arrived on June 4, 2012. Suddenly my husband began drooling and couldn’t speak. At age forty-six, he was having a major stroke.

My husband survived the stroke but couldn’t speak, read, or write, and his right side was paralyzed. Would things have been different had I understood what was going on inside my dear sweet hubby's head? I knew what was going on inside his heart: utter devastation. But he hardly cried. Why? Could I have prevented the stroke, and spared our family another tragic turn of events, if I had the resources to know what my husband was feeling? 

Yes, today is a milestone, but a bittersweet one. I wish this book had been around when we lost our daughter, so I might have had a better understanding of my dear sweet husband’s state of mind. Would it have prevented his stroke? I’ll never know. But I’m comforted knowing that this book is now available to help others better understand loss through the eyes of the men they love.

A heartfelt congratulations to the 14 men brave enough to bare their hearts for strangers around the world to read. Yes, real men cry. Maybe, just maybe, this book will help fight the man code, the stigma, that men shouldn't cry.

Real men do cry. And these men are brave enough to share it. Thank you Chuck Andreas, Jeff Baldwin,Robert Boos, Rodney Bruce Cloutier, M G Coy Jr, Bill Downs, Jim Fennell, Jeff Gardner, John Pete, Carl Harms, Stephen Hochhaus, David Jones, Robert L Rieck, Michael Gershe, and thank you to Glen Lord for writing the book's foreword.

Happy one-year anniversary, Grief Diaries. 

#GriefDiaries #GriefMen #RealMenCry

Coincidence or Fate?

On the eve of releasing our 19th Grief Diaries title, Poetry & Prose and More, I stand in awe of the beautiful assortment of entries collected in this book. Some are tender, some are raw, others are inspirational. This one in particular was just lovely. Enjoy!

Coincidence or Fate

BY MARILYN ROLLINS

2011

On a return trip from the deep south, we were on I-65, in northern Alabama when my husband suddenly turned off an exit and said, “We need gas.” I noticed that there were no gas stations right off the interstate and said to him, “Well, we’d better go on to the next exit.” He crossed back over I-65 but continued on the back roads. 

Since this is not what my husband would normally do, I questioned him again, telling him that if we were that low on gas we should go to the next exit and not roam a strange area on a back road. He continued on, and in a few minutes we did find a gas station. He began pumping gas as I dug for money to get a bottle of soda. As I walked into the store, Bob was talking to a man about our “tiny travel trailer,” which has a very retro look to it. When we had paid for everything, we pulled forward. Bob had told the man and his lady friend that he would show them the inside of the trailer. 

The lady friend stepped in first and fell in love with it. She commented, “Oh, we have talked so much about doing something like this, but I lost my only daughter a couple years ago in an accident, and I just haven’t wanted to do anything.”

I was stunned. I showed her Randy and Sara’s pictures and told her how we had lost them in an accident five years ago. We hugged for a few seconds. She had never heard of The Compassionate Friends. I had her sit down at the dinette and for the next thirty minutes or so I told her all about TCF and how I have come full circle and am now a chapter leader for the group. 

When we got back on the road, I looked at my husband and said, “That was supposed to happen, wasn’t it?” He just smiled back at me and said, “And you didn’t think I knew where I was going.”

I had just finished reading a book, An Invisible Thread, by Laura Schroff, based on the premise that we are all connected to the people that we are supposed to meet by an invisible thread.

What led us up that road? Was it coincidence, or were we connected to that lady and gentleman by an invisible thread?

After finding a campground for the night, we settled in. The next morning, Bob topped off the gas tank again as we began the last leg of our journey home. He went into the gas station and on the way in he bent over and picked up something. I knew that he had found “a penny from heaven.” As he walked back to the truck, he bent down again and smiled as he picked up a second one. We so often find them two at a time. One from Randy and one from Sara.

The 12 Nights of Christmas

T’was the first night of Christmas

And all through your house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

Except suddenly one little soul did appear

It’s your Little Elf, and he brings holiday cheer!

Tonight it’s a partridge for your pear tree

And tomorrow, who knows, You must wait and see

So turn on your porch light each evening with care

And know that your gift soon will be there

But don't try to catch him or he'll disappear!

Have you heard of The 12 Nights of Christmas? Also known as Secret Santa, I came across this concept years ago while reading "In Search of the Real Spirit of Christmas" by Dan Schaeffer. In the back was a chapter describing his family tradition modeled after the 12 days of Christmas. Beginning on December 13 and ending on Christmas Eve, the family left a treat along with a cute poem on a neighbor's porch every evening. The whole idea was to teach kids that giving was just as fun as receiving.

Twelve nights sneaking around the neighborhood playing ding dong ditch? How fun! I especially loved the idea of helping my kids learn the joys of giving at such an impressionable age. And so that December gave birth to a new family tradition for the Fells.

Now our oldest daughter was away at college and our teenage son was busy with high school activities, so that left our two youngest as santas. As I explained what we were embarking on and why, they were thrilled with the idea of sneaking around the neighborhood for any reason. At age 10, our daughter much preferred to be an elf as she was female and Santa was, well, male. But with her 8-year-old brother as Santa, an elf's superior, that wouldn't do either. To keep the village peace, we became elves instead of Santas.

Now as a family of six, we were on a budget. Armed with a shopping list, my first stop was our local dollar store. Thankfully, this was our only stop—everything we needed was there. Taking home our supplies, we got to work printing the poems and preparing the bags while the kids giggled at the notion of 12 nights of mischief over Christmas vacation.

It was already December, and the first night was fast approaching. Fairly new to the neighborhood, we discussed who should be the lucky neighbor. A couple months earlier, I heard that Neighbor Tom had lost his wife to cancer. She was well loved by all who knew her, and I couldn’t imagine what the holidays must be like for Tom and their two children. To my mind, it was clear that Tom’s home could use small doses of nightly cheer. The kids quickly agreed, and the matter was settled.

On the evening of December 13, my two elves giggled nervously as we bundled up and headed out into the night. Sneaking through the quiet snow-filled streets of our neighborhood with a flashlight was as magical for the kids as it was for me; I treasured our memories in the making. Also, I had never realized just how quiet—and beautiful—the cold, deserted streets were at night. It was like another world waited for us each evening, a peaceful, enchanting winter wonderland that could only be experienced on foot. The magic was heightened when the kids giggled over my clumsiness in the dark. Note to self: Get more flashlights. 

Upon returning home from our adventure each evening, we warmed our hands around a mug of hot cocoa, and warmed our hearts around the whim that our nightly surprises might bring cheer to Tom's family.

The next eleven nights flew by and soon it was Christmas Eve, the 12th day when we had to reveal our identity. I suddenly became nervous. I had never actually met Tom, and worried that maybe our nightly gifts had been a bit too much for the family's fragile emotions. But there was no backing down now; we had to finish. That afternoon we arranged a dozen homemade treats on a small holiday plate, covered it with red plastic wrap, taped the final poem to the top and—not trusting my children to walk two blocks with a plate of goodies—we drove to Tom’s house. We climbed out of the car, gathered on his front porch, and I rang the doorbell.

When Tom opened the door, we nervously started singing: 

We wish you a merry Christmas

We wish you a merry Christmas

We wish you a merry Christmas,

and a happy new year!

Well, I ended up singing that cheery first verse by myself because my elves stood glued to the porch with mouths frozen shut. Realizing I was on my own and because my children say I’m tone deaf, I quickly decided that one verse was more than enough for this poor family.

As soon as I stopped singing I realized that Tom and his two children had tears in their eyes! Oh, dear. Was my voice that bad, or was our entire mission just one big flop?

Quickly, I decided the best way to handle this was to explain that we were the Little Elves responsible for the nightly treats, and then leave the poor family alone. After all, it was Christmas Eve and here we were intruding on their fragile emotions. 

But I soon discovered that I had nothing to fear at all: they were crying because of how much they loved the little gifts, and now it was coming to an end! It turns out that Tom and his children not only enjoyed the element of surprise, but the nightly anticipation was a wonderful respite from the constant sadness, and lifted their spirits. Mission accomplished!

That first year proved a wonderful experience and we continued the tradition, choosing a different neighbor each year, until tragedy struck our own family. In 2009, my 15-year-old elf, Aly, died in a car accident while coming home from a swim meet. Caught in my own fog of grief, I had no reserve left in my tank to carry on our family fun with our youngest. With a broken heart, our once beloved tradition came to an unexpected end.

In the years since losing Aly, in fits and starts our family has learned to laugh and feel joy again but I’ve never forgotten how bleak those first holidays felt.

I’ve also learned that helping others helps my own heart to heal.

Now that our grandson is 9—the perfect age to become an elf—reinstating the old family tradition will offer both giver and receiver a nightly dose of good cheer, and enrich our holidays in magical ways just as it did in years past. I already know who this year's lucky neighbor will be, and our gift bags are assembled and ready for delivery starting December 13.

Project Little Elf was inspired by that first year with Tom and his children. Having faced loss since then, I now fully understand how the holidays can feel less than cheery, and how a little kindness can go a long way. And nobody needs it more than the bereaved facing their first holidays.

If you too would like to teach your children how to be givers of kindness and learn the joys of giving, all the instructions and printables to begin your own family tradition can be found at www.GriefDiaries.com.

Above all, the nightly trips to a neighbor’s porch is more than just a little fun. It holds the promise of magical memories for children of all ages, and gives the bereaved the priceless gift of a heart full of cheer they’ll treasure all year.

Happy holidays!

My Conversation with Oprah

Publishing a book series isn't for the faint of heart, especially for a woman editor-in-chief tackling sensitive subjects. Sometimes when I fall into bed at the end of a long day, I’m utterly exhausted. But full of unfinished tasks, my mind refuses to shut down. Before I know it, the overactive and overtired voice in my head is having imaginary conversations with notable figures touting polarizing opinions in today’s media. Last night’s conversation went something like this.

OPRAH: I understand you’ve written over 18 books about life-changing experiences including grief. Why in the world would you write about such a topic?

ME: No child ever says they want to grow up to write about grief. But I've always been fascinated with true stories. They're just so no-holds-barred. Some of them, well, you just can't make this stuff up. They're actually very inspiring and I knew that if I didn’t put them into a book series, the stories would be left unwritten. And that is a tragedy.

OPRAH: So you wrote a book series about tragedies to prevent a tragedy?

ME: Yeah, something like that. But why should it not be okay to tell our tales? Everyone has a story about grief. Everyone. Even you.

OPRAH: Because the world is full of sad stories. Why make the world sadder?

ME: Sharing our stories actually does the opposite, and also challenges the paradigm about how we view taboo topics. By sharing stories, we heal people. We validate their pain. When we validate their pain, they can begin to heal. When they begin to heal, they’re less sad. So talking about grief and other stigmatized subjects in this generation will help future generations. So you see, storytelling is actually an ancient healing modality.

OPRAH: I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Exactly how does storytelling help?

ME: If you go out for a jog and suddenly break an ankle, you become sidelined with pain. Every little step is agony. In order to heal your broken foot, you must nurse it back to health. If you ignore the pain and continue to jog, you only make your injury worse, not better. Doctors prescribe rest, ice, cast and elevation for a minimum of six to eight weeks for good reason. A broken heart is ten times worse, so you need sixty weeks, or the equivalent of five years before you can go jogging again.

PASTOR JOEL OSTEEN: If you still feel sorry for yourself after six months, you clearly thrive on your own self pity, or relish the attention it brings.

ME: With all due respect, Pastor Osteen, helping someone nurse a broken heart is all about compassion, and listening. Without judgment.

PASTOR JOEL OSTEEN: Writing books about grief only perpetuates one’s sorrow.

ME: Incorrect. Sharing our stories is about finding hope. For without grief, there would be no need for hope.

BILL O’REILLY: Today’s headlines are filled with tragedies. Why add to that?

ME: Today’s headlines are filled with scandal, shame and embarrassment, none of which have to do with compassion.

BILL O’REILLY: So you’re saying Grief Diaries isn’t about grief?

ME: It’s true stories about real people finding healing and hope in the face of grief.

PASTOR JOEL OSTEEN: Grief has been around since the beginning of mankind. It is too heavy to deal with, and deserves to stay under the rug.

ME: If we don’t work together to remove the stigma of taboo experiences, then future generations will be no better off. If we don’t make a difference, who will?

BILL O’REILLY: Politics are far more interesting. Grief is boring. Nobody will read your books.

ME: Grief Diaries isn’t for everyone. It’s written for those who share our path but feel alone because they weren’t allowed to talk about their experience in the first place. Validating their own grief by reading our stories gives them the voice they were robbed of. And that is the first step toward healing.

OPRAH: How does Grief Diaries give them a voice?

ME: When readers who share our path find commonality in the stories, they feel less alone. And it also gives them hope that such a challenging experience is survivable. The crux is that Grief Diaries represents: a village of over 450 writers who light a candle of hope for those who share the same path, and raise awareness at the same time. 

It’s about removing the stigma from these experiences. It’s about making it okay to take care of those who are hurt, not leaving them with a broken ankle on the side of the road, left to their own devices because we couldn’t handle their agony. If a person suffered third-degree burns over their entire body, should they be left to their own devices, to heal alone on their own? Of course not. 

Our generation is challenging the paradigm about how we view experiences involving grief. We're making it okay to talk about it. That is the very first step toward healing, not sweeping it under the rug because others are afraid the sorrow is contagious. Burns aren’t contagious. Broken ankles aren’t contagious. And neither is grief.

If we don’t make a difference in this generation, the next generation will inherit the same lack of compassion.

BILL O’REILLY: I still don’t get it.

PASTOR JOEL OSTEEN: You’re all just wallowing in your own self pity. Get over it.

OPRAH: I get it. Thank you for challenging the paradigm about grief. That takes a lot of guts.

ME: Thank you, but the writers are the true heroes. It takes tremendous courage to share life’s intimate experiences with the world. But they’re doing so to help others who share the path, and help change how society views grief in the first place. If we don’t challenge the stigmas, future generations inherit the same mess.

OPRAH: That’s an amazing way to look at it. I will add Grief Diaries to my book club immediately. [Big hug].

ME: Thank you. Our writers will appreciate that very much. Now, where’s your nearest Starbucks? I have 20 more books to publish before morning.

Lynda Cheldelin Fell is the award-winning publisher of Grief Diaries, a 5-star book series featuring the heartfelt stories of 500 writers from 11 countries. Learn more at www.LyndaFell.com.

Do you have a Christmas card to spare? This prisoner needs one.

Today's serendipity. I stumbled across a Native American newsletter that had my name in it. Because my family roots are European, my curiosity was piqued so I decided to check it out. 

The newsletter came from the Quinault Nation, a small tribe situated on a southwestern beach of Washington state, and their November newsletter included my article on how to help the bereaved through the holidays. I was really touched! 

Years ago when I was an EMT, I responded to a medical call for a teenage boy inside a sweat lodge. The boy lived and I've long forgotten his name, but I've never forgotten my experience inside such a sacred building. It was incredible, and moved me deeply.

Moving forward, it’s been on my bucket list to include a book for prisoners in the Grief Diaries series. I believe that every baby is born with a good and innocent heart, and no child says they want to grow up to live in prison. So what happens in life that results in incarceration? Is it a childhood full of pain and loss, resulting in anger and hatred for others? Or is the prisoner paying the price for finding himself at the wrong place, at the wrong time? Or with the wrong people? 

Once the prisoner lands behind bars, what goes through his mind? More anger and hatred? Or fear and hopelessness? How do they survive a life without freedom? How does his family survive?

So here's the serendipity part of my story. 

Immediately above my article in the Quinault Nation's newsletter was a short letter titled "Seeking Family." Written by a man named Joe Northup, he had lost contact with his Quinault family members. His address was listed as Oregon State Penitentiary. Now he had my full attention! 

In his letter, Joe explained he was diagnosed with leukemia six months ago and now lives in the prison's infirmary. 

I’ve never written a letter to someone in prison, but on a whim, I wrote Joe a letter inviting him to answer questions for a book I want to add to the Grief Diaries series: Life Through the Eyes of Prison. Regardless of his answer to my invitation, I told him I will be praying for him. 

None of us can know the path of another, and although I have many flaws my children will happily divulge, one of my good qualities is that God gave me a heart full of compassion without judgement.

I'm sharing this with you because I have a favor to ask. 

I would like to invite you to send Joe a Christmas card. 

I don't know his circumstances or prognosis, but I believe that a simple Christmas card from a stranger would fill his heart with love. 

It might be the only love Joe has ever known. 

And his last Christmas. 

If you're moved to join my effort to lift the heart of a stranger in need of prayers, below is his address:

Joe Northup #3342821

O.S.P. Infirmary, Bk #3

2605 State Street

Salem, OR 97310-0505 

Warm regards,

Lynda XOXO

Thank you Women's Health Mag for featuring us again!

Women's Health Magazine has been very kind to us this week. Today they published an excerpt from "Grief Diaries: Living with an Eating Disorder" featuring Haddi Trebisovsky's journey through anorexia. This is the third article we've had in Women's Health magazine within the past week!

To read the excerpt in Women's Health Magazine, click here.

It's very, very hard and more than a little scary to spill our secrets for all the world to read. But like all the writers in Grief Diaries, Haddi does so with the hopes that it will help others who share her path. Go, Haddi!

About Haddi
Haddi Trebisovsky is a 29-year-old who earned her B.A. in Elementary Education at Bethel University in St. Paul, Minnesota. She worked as a behavioral therapist for children with autism before leaving the workforce to be a stay-at-home mom to her two children. She enjoys writing and does so in the hope that it will bring encouragement and freedom to her readers. She is passionate about seeking the truth, and believes that the battles we face are more than just physical or mental, but also spiritual, and she brings this perspective forward in her experience with eating disorders, anxiety, depression, and suicidal thoughts.

About the book
Part of the ground-breaking 5-star Grief Diaries book series, Through the Eyes of an Eating Disorder takes readers inside the secret world of anorexia, bulimia, and binge eating disorders and shares the candid yet poignant journeys of 13 women seeking healing and hope through her own private journey.

Available at over 40,000 retail outlets around the world, a portion of retail profits from each book is donated to the National Eating Disorder Association.

Thank you, Haddi, for so bravely sharing your journey in Grief Diaries, and thank you Women's Health Magazine! #anorexia #eatingdisorder #womenshealthmag

Haddi Trebisovsky

Pregnant, Cancer, & the Power of Prayer

Today's good news is that it's my sister's birthday. For most, that isn't a huge deal but for our family it’s cause for big celebration. The fact that she's here to celebrate at all is nothing short of miraculous. 

Ten years ago at age 37 my sister Stacy was diagnosed with aggressive stage 4 breast cancer with bone mets. It was just before Thanksgiving, a festive time of year, and we were busy preparing for the family feast and annual gingerbread decorating contest. Suddenly we all found ourselves in shock, and in full-on panic mode: the big C had invaded our family.

Just when we thought the news couldn’t get any worse, it did. They discovered my sister was pregnant, and the cancer was fueled by her womb’s hormones. Her prognosis was past grim—she needed to abort the baby immediately. It was her only hope to buy time. But she refused.

I won't give you the spoiler here; you'll have to read the national article I wrote nearly two years ago to find out the rest of the story. But one of the miracles for me personally is that my sister is my poster child for courage and faith. When we lost our daughter three years later, despite a body full of cancer, my sister knelt on hard concrete to put warm socks on my feet as I sat in shock. Two years later when my dear sweet hubby suffered a terrible stroke, my sister was directing nursing staff to put my hubby in a private hospital bed (she succeeded). 

Stacy with newborn Jazzy in 2007

She's not there just for me—she's a prayer warrior and is there for every one of us in our time of need. And she does it all without a single complaint about her own fate.

So October 24 is a time when my family reflects on the miracle that my sister is here to see another birthday. It's also a day for us to silently thank the thousands around the world who took time to pray for a stranger whose very life, and that of her 3 girls, was at stake.

Praying for a friend or stranger is the ultimate gift of love. If my sister's story doesn't convince you in the power of prayer—well, it doesn't matter. Because she'll pray for you anyway.

Happy birthday, sis! I love you!! XOXO

Jazzy with her mom in 2011

P.S. At the end of the article is a short video you don't want to miss!

#FindingHope #GoodNews #NewsAntidote

Stacy with her girls in 2015

Stacy's girls 2015

My sisters and I at my niece's wedding June 2016

World Pregnancy & Infant Loss Remembrance Day

Every year millions of women face the loss of a pregnancy and thousands more face the loss of an infant. In recognition of World Pregnancy & Infant Loss Remembrance Day on Saturday, October 15, Grief Diaries is hosting THREE different Amazon Giveaways for the books listed below.

Simply click on the link to enter. It's free and no purchase necessary. Win one for yourself, or give it to someone you know.

Part of the 5-star Grief Diaries book series, each book shares the journeys of mothers seeking to find hope and healing in the aftermath, and is a comforting reminder that banding together helps us all feel less alone. Learn more at www.GriefDiaries.com.

Amazon Giveaway #1

Grief Diaries: Surviving Loss of a Pregnancy

https://giveaway.amazon.com/p/13326ff47a437ee5 

Amazon Giveaway #2

Grief Diaries: Surviving Loss of an Infant

https://giveaway.amazon.com/p/c07aa2fa218c25a0

Amazon Giveaway #3

Grief Diaries: Surviving Loss of a Child

https://giveaway.amazon.com/p/302a5eb011542f9c

https://giveaway.amazon.com/p/13326ff47a437ee5 

https://giveaway.amazon.com/p/c07aa2fa218c25a0

https://giveaway.amazon.com/p/302a5eb011542f9c

Is there an antidote, please?

Life can be really tough, and sometimes current world headlines can add to our woes. Is there an antidote to the endless articles about Donald and Hillary, scam artists, world terrorists and economic uncertainty? Is there a way to shift the paradigm of what news should be? Yes!

There IS good news (or at least a good laugh) going on in the world. Today's curated news for those looking for a dose of heartwarming happiness can be found in the 3-minute video below. My favorite clip is the second one, but baby #3's minion laugh is a close second. Enjoy! 

http://www.goodnewsnetwork.org/collection-babies-laughing-video/

The Power of Storytelling

Amelia Earhart had a passion for stamp collecting. Mozart had a passion for card tricks. John Quincy Adams had a passion for skinny dipping and ancient coins. Not a fan of stamps, coins, or swimming in the buff, I'm a little bit different: I have a passion for helping people tell their story. Some might think that's strange, but it's true: I'm absolutely mesmerized by people's stories. Sometimes the stories are too hard for mainstream America . . . unless its part of a fictional movie. Sometimes the stories are uplifting and full of hope. I believe that every story is actually a combination of both, for without grief there would be no need for hope. And heartfelt stories about life's hardships are full of love. Which is why they touch me so deeply. Sometimes it's about raising awareness. Take Grief Diaries: Through the Eyes of a Funeral Director as an example. What leads a funeral director to choose that line of work? Do they have some kind of morbid fascination? The answers will surprise you. They did me. Who knew that funeral directors are caregivers at heart? They have spouses and kids, and love what they do (and they're gifted writers too!). I'm excited to help funeral directors share their side of the story (coming December!). What other titles are we working on? So glad you asked! But before you browse just a few of our 20 titles in progress below, check out the events coming up in October. Do you have an upcoming event? Tell us about it so we can help share it! Finally, looking for a good read? Check out the 16 books already published in the Grief Diaries series, true stories featuring ordinary people surviving extraordinary journeys. Warm regards, Lynda Cheldelin Fell Upcoming Events OCT. 7 - 8, 2016 HEAL YOUR GRIEF WORKSHOP - Dubuque, Iowa Featuring: Mitch Carmody, Angela Miller, Mary Potter Kenyon, Cathy Corkery, Julia Theisen, Steve Potter INFO OCT. 15, 2016 MISS FOUNDATION MEMORIAL WALK - Bellingham, Washington Coordinated by Nancy Harvey Vekved INFO OCT. 18, 2016 5th ANNUAL MEMORIAL SERVICE - Lubbock, Texas Featuring: Samantha Evans INFO Titles in Progress Below are just a few of the 20 books in progress. Click on any cover below to learn more. Click on the photo to see all titles in progress Click on the photo to see all titles in progress Click on the photo to see all titles in progress

How one small gesture made a world of difference

We often think that only grand acts make a difference in the world, but the truth is that a single simple gesture can change someone’s entire day.

Yesterday, our son and I made a quick trip to the store to replenish the home front after a week of traveling. As we exited the freeway, we passed a car that appeared disabled, and a woman was waving her arm out the driver’s window. Cars continued to whiz past, all of them ignoring her distress signal. Well, nothing on our list couldn’t wait. But to get to the woman, we had to get back on the freeway in the opposite direction, take the next exit, and then return to the freeway once again in our original direction. As we drove the two miles in the opposite direction, we now noticed a state patrol who was sitting in the median. He was less than a mile from the distressed driver, yet couldn’t see her. We alerted him, and he followed us to the disabled vehicle.

It turns out that the woman had run out of gas just a mile from the gas station. She and her young son, who was strapped in his car seat in the back, were stranded on a hot September day in a disabled vehicle on the side of the freeway. Out of gas. With no cell phone. We were the only people who stopped.

While aiding a stranger requires a bit of common sense, it didn’t take much effort on our part. Did we perform a grand act destined to improve the world? No. But on one hot September day, our small act of kindness made a world of difference for one mother. And that lifts my heart like nothing else.

#FindingHope