Tag Archives: Love

Asked: What is a simple, yet absolutely Beautiful Story?

My  wife and I owned two dogs that we had owned before we met and brought  into the marriage.  Her dog was a pit bull/labrador cross named Zack,  and he hated me.  When our daughter was born, I said to the wife,”If he  so much as nips at the baby, he’s gone.”

We brought our  daughter home in a car seat, and both dogs sniffed and licked her, tails  wagging.  I had to pull Zack away from her because he wouldn’t stop  licking her.  Zack immediately became my daughter’s protector, and when  she was lying on a blanket on the floor, he always had to have one foot  on the blanket.

Zack loved my daughter immensely, and when she  became a little older always walked her to bed, and then slept on the  bed with her. He somehow knew whenever it was time to go upstairs, and  he would wait at the foot of the stairs for her, and then follow her up  to bed.

Zack was poisoned by some dirtbag neighbor kids, and we  had one of the worst days of our lives.  Watching my daughter say  goodbye to him as he laid still on the kitchen floor, my wife and I were  both sobbing.

At 8:00 that night, my daughter walked to the  stairs to go to bed.  At that moment, all three of us realized what was  about to happen.  After 5 years, she didn’t have Zack to accompany her  upstairs.  She looked at her mother and me with a look of horror and  panic.

It was at that moment that my dog, who loved my daughter  dearly, but was not in Zack’s league, stood up, walked over to her, and  nudged her with his head.  He put his foot on the stairs, and looked up  at her.  They walked up to bed, with my daughter holding tightly to his  neck.

For the next 6 years, until he died, Sam waited for her by the stairs each night.

Advertisements
Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Since the Iraq war began five years ago, more than 30,000 American servicemen and women—including my husband, Kenny, a Marine master sergeant—have been wounded. In one sense, that’s actually ahopeful number. Battlefield medics these days are so skilled they’re saving soldiers who, in any other war, would’ve died.

That’s what happened to Kenny. During a firefight in Najaf a bullet ricocheted off an armored personnel carrier and pierced his head, entering under his right eye and exiting the left side of his skull. Medics kept him alive long enough to fly to a Baghdad military hospital. In a matter of days he was on his way to America.

Unfortunately, that’s not where the story ends. Not for Kenny, not for anyone else with war wounds, especially the thousands suffering what has become Iraq’s signature injury, traumatic brain damage. For those warriors and their families, a battlefield injury is like the start of a whole new war—not only to heal, but to navigate an often overwhelmed military medical system.

 

 
 

That, too, is what happened to Kenny—and to me. Up to the day Kenny was wounded I was what you could call a typical Marine wife. After—well, let’s just say I’ve discovered a fighting strength I never knew I had.

I first began to realize what we were up against the day Kenny arrived at the National Naval Medical Center in Bethesda, Maryland. It was five days after his injury and I was frantic. The only information I’d had came from patchy cell phone calls to officers and doctors in Iraq.

I’d had to drop everything—I taught aerobics at a YMCA near Camp Pendleton, where we lived with our two teenagers, Tasha and Alishia—figure out who would take care of the girls and board a red-eye to Maryland. I’d even had to put off seeing Kenny to fill out a financial hardship application to afford the rooming house provided for relatives of the wounded.

When I got upstairs to the intensive-care unit I saw a bank of monitors near the nurses’ station. One, identified by Kenny’s Social Security number, glowed with an X ray of a shattered skull. I drew a sharp breath and asked for the room number. I was starting down the hall when a doctor grabbed my arm. “Ma’am, why don’t you sit here first and let me brief you on his injuries.”

I stared at the doctor, incredulous. What could possibly be more soothing to Kenny than the loving presence of his wife? “I’m sorry,” I said. “He needs me. I don’t care how bad he looks. I’ve been waiting five days to see him and I’m going to his room right now.”

 

 
 

The doctor let go of my arm and I hurried to Kenny’s room. I paused at the door to compose myself then walked in. I didn’t recognize him. His head was swollen and disfigured, marked with dried blood and rows of staples. He lay passively, hooked to massive machines.

“Kenny, it’s me,” I said softly, trying not to cry. “Squeeze my hand if you know who I am.” His head didn’t move. But he squeezed my hand.

The following weeks I discovered that the disorienting experiences of those first days were only the beginning. Kenny and I had met in high school, married young, and for the next 17 years, raised our girls on bases around the country.

We knew a lot about being a Marine family. But nothing had prepared me for all the paperwork, decisions and medical terminology that came at us. I didn’t go to college and had no medical or legal training. I had to rely on my wits every time I was asked to sign something.

Early on I was presented with documents that would have retired Kenny from active duty, transferring his care to the Veterans Administration. I didn’t know exactly what that meant. But something about it seemed wrong. Didn’t they think he would get better? I didn’t sign the papers.

I soon realized I had to be equally vigilant about Kenny’s care. His injury had left him with near-total amnesia and great difficulty speaking. Doctors and therapists worked hard with him. Some were incredibly dedicated. But there were many patients on the ward, and the staff was pulled in many directions.

 
 

Sometimes, doctors even had to accompany politicians and other VIPs touring the floor to visit wounded soldiers. As soon as they left I returned to a routine I’d developed. I got Kenny out of bed, washed him, took him around the ward and pointed out rooms with other Marines.

No subject got him talking like his fellow Marines. The week’s highlight was Sunday phone calls from the 15 men he’d commanded in Iraq. That, or me renting movies or talking about Tasha and Alishia.

As weeks went by I felt more confident. I learned every aspect of Kenny’s care, to the point I could do it when nurses weren’t available. I learned enough medical terms to talk knowledgeably with doctors—me, an aerobics teacher!

And I got savvy enough to request a copy of every piece of paper added to Kenny’s medical record. When a new doctor or therapist came in asking Kenny questions he’d answered a thousand times before—or couldn’t answer at all—I pulled out my records and pointed straight to the information.

Just as I was getting the hang of things,  Kenny was transferred to a VA rehabilitation hospital in Palo Alto, California. We were flown in a military transport plane. I had just gotten him settled into his room when a nurse said, “Visiting hours are from 1 to 7 p.m.”

I looked at her, surprised. “I’m sorry, I’m not a visitor. I’m Sgt. Sargent’s wife and have been at his bedside for the last month. He has amnesia. I assumed I’d be sleeping here.”

“Ma’am, here’s a list of nearby hotels.” As I left, I saw Kenny’s eyes widen with fear. I spent an anxious, maddening night at the Hometel, a place for vets to stay during hospital procedures. Not even prayer brought clear answers. My thoughts kept drifting back to myself, to the struggles we’d already been through. It was as if God were saying, Stay strong, Tonia.

At the hospital the next day, I found Kenny still looking terrified. I paged the nurse. “I don’t mean to be a nuisance,” I said, “but there has to be some way for me to stay with my husband. This is a whole new environment for him. I’m the only one he recognizes. What can I do?”

“You can visit during visiting hours.”

A neuropsychologist came in. “Ma’am,” she said, and her voice sounded tired, as if she had a job to do and I was making it harder, “this is your husband’s rehabilitation, not yours. It would be better if you left the work to us. Think of him as being away on a deployment.”

I looked at her, at the nurse. They showed no signs of yielding. Disappointment and anger came over me. What could I do to make them understand? Kenny was better because I’d helped with his care. I glanced at Kenny. His eyes were still frightened.

 

But I saw something else in them too. A glimmer of fight. A glimmer of Kenny, the proud Marine. I thought about myself, a Marine wife. What did that mean? Well, more than I used to think it did. I had already mastered one hospital. Kenny and I had come this far.

Now was not the time to back down. Stay strong, Tonia. I took a deep breath. “I am going to be by my husband’s side. If you won’t help me do that, I’ll find someone who will,” I said.

And that’s what I did. I contacted the local Marine Corps Reserve unit.

I pulled out business cards I’d collected from VIP visitors to Bethesda and called congressional offices. I signed up as a hospital volunteer, giving me no restricted visiting hours. And I offered to help the hospital raise money to build more housing for patients’ loved ones. In short, I became an advocate. I went to war.

Today, four years later, Kenny is back home in Oceanside and I’m still teaching aerobics. Everything else is different. Kenny made a remarkable recovery.

But he is not now, and never will be, the man he was before he shipped out for Iraq. He has retired from the Marines with 21 years of service—we waited to sign papers until he was eligible for a full pension—and is not working. He spends days cooking, cleaning and keeping an eye on the girls.

I’m still an advocate, speaking to church groups and Rotary clubs about the challenges of life after active duty. My message is simple. No matter when the Iraq war ends, the warriors who come home will need more than slogans, more than bumper stickers and ribbon magnets on cars.

 

 

 

Find comfort, humor and knowledge that God’s love extends to all His creatures – human and animal.

 

They’ll need resources to get the health care they need. Support for family members taking part in that care. A lot of prayer. And a nation committed to seeing them through. 

 

Iraqi War Veteran and his Wife

Tagged , , , , ,

INSPIRE ONE. – WHO AM I?

 

Who am I?

Inspire One.

Who am I? Unless you visited the “About It.” page on the blog, you probably don’t know what this whole thing is really about. I am passionately driven to inspire masses. From humor to art, philosophy to stories, I intend on creating an atmosphere that consists of the idea that inspiration is all around us and comes from all corners of the Earth. But first thing is first…What exactly isInspiration?????

Inspirationin·spi·ra·tion

1. something that makes someone want to do something or that gives someone an idea about what to do or create : a force or influence that inspires someone

2. person, place, experience, etc., that makes someone want to do or create something

3. a good idea

And that is exactly it: “makes someone want to DO something.” We live in one of the most interesting eras of history where  ONE person can make a difference, be it minuscule or extraordinary. YOU can make a difference. And that is the mantra for this brand.

Inspire One.’s Goal

The goal is to “Inspire One. Inspire All.,” through a myriad of sources. Yeah it is kind of cliché, or cheesy….but still, it is for a good cause! I want to motivate the athlete to not let his disabilities get in his way. I want to inspire the socially-awkward girl to face her fears and run for class president. I want the 50-year old to start that business he always wanted to. I want to make a difference.

One person at a time…or post, I will make a difference. This is the “Inspire One.” Experience.

This blog was created somewhat 3-weeks ago. The following was exponential. Today there is 80 followers and I appreciate each and every one of you. Thank you. You guys are what will make this brand strong, recognizable, and known to the masses. YOU are the focal point of this brand. You will be the ones who will make Inspire One.’s message and mission loud and clear.

Plans for the Future

The plan is to reach hundreds of thousands of people and spread the “Inspire One. Inspire All.” message across the nation and the globe. In the near future, “Inspire One.” will release products to do just that. Striving to be a better “Life is Good” brand, the slogan just as well may be: “Life is good…but sometimes we all need a little inspiration ;) “

The plan always consists of selling T-shirts with the “Inspire One.” logo on the front, and aquote of inspiration on the back. There will definitely be updates on this idea in the near future with pictures of the product, but this is the first “reveal.”

The main message of this post though, is to thank all of you for your support. You may not have known the determination of this brand when you first pressed that follow button, but I assure you that you are the building blocks to the success of Inspire One.. This is a brand that is created by you, for you. Keep up the support, tell your friends, spread the message and inspiration!

Thank you all.

-Inspire One.

 

Tagged , , , , , , , , , ,

What are important qualities of that significant other?

  • Someone you can trust.
  • Someone you can consider to be your best friend.
  • Someone who is happy overall.
  • Someone who is easy to please.
  • Someone who will believe in and support you.
  • Someone you can count on to stay by your side, even if life temporarily turns sour.
  • Someone who makes you happy and you enjoy spending your time with.
 
….Funny thing is, is that the first step towards happiness is to apply this to yourself. Trust yourself, consider yourself your best friend, be happy, be easy to please, believe in yourself and dreams, count on yourself, and hell…you better love spending time with yourself!

It might seem strange reading that philosophy, but it is true. Sooooo many people try to impress others and live for other people, when the reality of it is, is that people will naturally like you, appreciate you, and stand by you, when you do the same for yourself first. 

 

Love yourself. Everything else will fall into place like it was meant to. 

 

Tagged , , , , , , , ,

What are the biggest misconceptions we have about Life?

That we have to fight and achieve something “grand” to stay happy. This cartoon sums it all.

main-qimg-9251c5c5929bcb9d895b2ce5fd51bcef.jpg

Tagged , , , ,

Watch for Motivation.

Once you realize that the world around you was built by people no smarter than me and you, it will change your life forever – Steve Jobs

Time to push yourself. No matter what your dream is, make it into a goal and pursue it. Blood, sweat, and tears are just the ingredients. The final product is happiness and accomplishment that is unique to YOU. You are an individual. You are you.

Tagged , , , ,

Boy with no Legs – Never Gave Up

Naga Naresh Karutura has just passed out of IIT Madras in Computer Science and has joined Google in Bangalore. You may ask, what’s so special about this 21-year-old when there are hundreds of students passing from various IITs and joining big companies like Google?
Naresh is special. His parents are illiterate. He has no legs and moves around in his powered wheel chair.
Ever smiling, optimistic and full of spirit; that is Naresh. He says, “God has always been planning things for me. That is why I feel I am lucky.” Read why Naresh feels he is lucky.

Childhood in a village
I spent the first seven years of my life in Teeparru, a small village in Andhra Pradesh, on the banks of the river Godavari . My father Prasad was a lorry driver and my mother Kumari, a house wife. Though they were illiterate, my parents instilled in me and my elder sister (Sirisha) the importance of studying.
Looking back, one thing that surprises me now is the way my father taught me when I was in the 1st and 2nd standards. My father would ask me questions from the text book, and I would answer them. At that time, I didn’t know he could not read or write but to make me happy, he helped me in my studies!
Another memory that doesn’t go away is the floods in the village and how I was carried on top of a buffalo by my uncle. I also remember plucking fruits from a tree that was full of thorns.
I used to be very naughty, running around and playing all the time with my friends.. I used to get a lot of scolding for disturbing the elders who slept in the afternoon. The moment they started scolding, I would run away to the fields!
I also remember finishing my school work fast in class and sleeping on the teacher’s lap!

January 11, 1993, the fateful day
On the January 11, 1993 when we had the sankranti holidays, my mother took my sister and me to a nearby village for a family function. From there we were to go with our grandmother to our native place. But my grandmother did not come there. As there were no buses that day, my mother took a lift in my father’s friend’s lorry. As there were many people in the lorry, he made me sit next to him, close to the door.
It was my fault; I fiddled with the door latch and it opened wide throwing me out. As I fell, my legs got cut by the iron rods protruding from the lorry. Nothing happened to me except scratches on my legs.
The accident had happened just in front of a big private hospital but they refused to treat me saying it was an accident case. Then a police constable who was passing by took us to a government hospital.
First I underwent an operation as my small intestine got twisted. The doctors also bandaged my legs. I was there for a week. When the doctors found that gangrene had developed and it had reached up to my knees, they asked my father to take me to a district hospital. There, the doctors scolded my parents a lot for neglecting the wounds and allowing the gangrene to develop. But what could my ignorant parents do?
In no time, both my legs were amputated up to the hips.
I remember waking up and asking my mother, where are my legs? I also remember that my mother cried when I asked the question. I was in the hospital for three months.

Life without legs
I don’t think my life changed dramatically after I lost both my legs. Because all at home were doting on me, I was enjoying all the attention rather than pitying myself. I was happy that I got a lot of fruits and biscuits.
‘I never wallowed in self-pity’
The day I reached my village, my house was flooded with curious people; all of them wanted to know how a boy without legs looked. But I was not bothered; I was happy to see so many of them coming to see me, especially my friends!
All my friends saw to it that I was part of all the games they played; they carried me everywhere.
God’s hand. I believe in God. I believe in destiny. I feel he plans everything for you. If not for the accident, we would not have moved from the village to Tanuku, a town. There I joined a missionary school, and my father built a house next to the school. Till the tenth standard, I studied in that school.
If I had continued in Teeparu, I may not have studied after the 10th. I may have started working as a farmer or someone like that after my studies. I am sure God had other plans for me.
My sister, my friend
When the school was about to reopen, my parents moved from Teeparu to Tanuku, a town, and admitted both of us in a Missionary school. They decided to put my sister also in the same class though she is two years older. They thought she could take care of me if both of us were in the same class. My sister never complained.
She would be there for everything. Many of my friends used to tell me, you are so lucky to have such a loving sister. There are many who do not care for their siblings.
She carried me in the school for a few years and after a while, my friends took over the task. When I got the tricycle, my sister used to push me around in the school.
My life, I would say, was normal, as everyone treated me like a normal kid. I never wallowed in self-pity. I was a happy boy and competed with others to be on top and the others also looked at me as a competitor.
Inspiration
I was inspired by two people when in school; my Maths teacher Pramod Lal who encouraged me to participate in various local talent tests, and a brilliant boy called Chowdhary, who was my senior.
When I came to know that he had joined Gowtham Junior College to prepare for IIT-JEE, it became my dream too. I was school first in 10th scoring 542/600.
Because I topped in the state exams, Gowtham Junior College waived the fee for me. Pramod Sir’s recommendation also helped. The fee was around Rs 50,000 per year, which my parents could never afford.
Moving to a residential school
Living in a residential school was a big change for me because till then my life centred around home and school and I had my parents and sister to take care of all my needs. It was the first time that I was interacting with society. It took one year for me to adjust to the new life.
There, my inspiration was a boy called K K S Bhaskar who was in the top 10 in IIT-JEE exams. He used to come to our school to encourage us. Though my parents didn’t know anything about Gowtham Junior School or IIT, they always saw to it that I was encouraged in whatever I wanted to do.. If the results were good, they would praise me to the skies and if bad, they would try to see something good in that. They did not want me to feel bad. They are such wonderful supportive parents.

Life at IIT- Madras
Though my overall rank in the IIT-JEE was not that great (992), I was 4th in the physically handicapped category. So, I joined IIT, Madras to study Computer Science.
Here, my role model was Karthik who was also my senior in school. I looked up to him during my years at IIT- Madras. He had asked for attached bathrooms for those with special needs before I came here itself. So, when I came here, the room had attached bath. He used to help me and guide me a lot when I was here.
I evolved as a person in these four years, both academically and personally. It has been a great experience studying here. The people I was interacting with were so brilliant that I felt privileged to sit along with them in the class. Just by speaking to my lab mates, I gained a lot..
‘There are more good people in society than bad ones’

July 28, 2008
Words are inadequate to express my gratitude to Prof Pandurangan and all my lab mates; all were simply great. I was sent to Boston along with four others for our internship by Prof Pandurangan. It was a great experience.

Joining Google R&D
I did not want to pursue PhD as I wanted my parents to take rest now. Morgan Stanley selected me first but I preferred Google because I wanted to work in pure computer science, algorithms and game theory.
I am lucky. Do you know why I say I am lucky?
I get help from total strangers without me asking for it. Once after my second year at IIT, I with some of my friends was travelling in a train for a conference. We met a kind gentleman called Sundar in the train, and he has been taking care of my hostel fees from then on.
I have to mention about Jaipur foot. I had Jaipur foot when I was in 3rd standard. After two years, I stopped using them. As I had almost no stems on my legs, it was very tough to tie them to the body. I found walking with Jaipur foot very, very slow. Sitting also was a problem. I found my tricycle faster because I am one guy who wants to do things faster.
One great thing about the hospital is, they don’t think their role ends by just fixing the Jaipur foot; they arrange for livelihood for all. They asked me what help I needed from them. I told them at that time, if I got into an IIT, I needed financial help from them. So, from the day I joined IIT, Madras , my fees were taken care of by them. So, my education at the IIT was never a burden on my parents and they could take care of my sister’s Nursing studies.

Surprise awaited me at IIT
After my first year, when I went home, two things happened here at the Institute without my knowledge.
I got a letter from my department that they had arranged a lift and ramps at the department for me. It also said that if I came a bit early and checked whether it met with my requirements, it would be good.
Second surprise was, the Dean, Prof Idichandy and the Students General Secretary, Prasad had located a place that sold powered wheel chairs. The cost was Rs 55,000. What they did was, they did not buy the wheel chair; they gave me the money so that the wheel chair belonged to me and not the institute.

My life changed after that. I felt free and independent. That’s why I say I am lucky. God has planned things for me and takes care of me at every step.

The world is full of good people.

I also feel if you are motivated and show some initiative, people around you will always help you. I also feel there are more good people in society than bad ones. I want all those who read this to feel that if Naresh can achieve something in life, you can too.

Tagged , ,

Dream – Motivational Video

Always chase your dream.

Tagged , , ,

★What are some of the most inspirational photos ever taken?

 

main-qimg-12b60f3d6a63669e16e3e41045659de5 main-qimg-9014ef56eb24a9e0b5b85cbcd1dd33dbThere’s this girl named Tippi Degré who’s friends with wild animals (that were in noway tamed or trained by humans). Pictures of her are an inspiration, and a constant reminder of our link to Earth and its inhabitants.

main-qimg-fb1d30cd6ca1880420f4f96c5aea7730 main-qimg-4ebae3c6ae21d096ea0bcf0a656f03a9 main-qimg-4343a53954fab4da7aea5f09fa46f7ef main-qimg-0c19ed4f3eb9a1de42b3982c7118d3d8 main-qimg-e5ebdded320a8fa1d58785e024bd5830 main-qimg-9dba328da37f6e5c63a2885e8599a5f0 main-qimg-eacfeab87009f6932974b7648a45f93c

Tagged , ,

Love at First Site in New York City

On a Sunday evening last November, Patrick Moberg, 21, a website developer, was in the Union Square subway station in New York City. “Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed this girl,” he says.“She had bright blue shorts and dark blue tights and a flower in the back of her hair.” New York’s fun if you’re a guy — the city’s lousy with gorgeous women. But this one was different. She was his perfect girl.

When the number 5 train pulled into the station, the two got on. “I was enthralled,” he says. “I noticed details like her braided hair and that she was writing in a pad. I couldn’t shake the desire to talk to her.”

 Taking a deep breath, he headed her way. Just then the train pulled into the Bowling Green station. The doors opened, a rush of humanity swarmed in, and then suddenly, she was gone.

He considered giving chase, but there’s a fine line between blind love and stalking. He thought of plastering the station with posters. Then a brainstorm: the Internet. “It seemed less encroaching,” he says. “I didn’t want to puncture her comfort zone.”

That night, the world had a new website: nygirlofmydreams.com. On it, Patrick declared, “I Saw the Girl of My Dreams on the Subway Tonight.” He drew a picture of the girl etched in his mind, along with a portrait of himself with this disclaimer pointed at his head: “Not insane.”

The website spread virally, and soon he had thousands of leads. Some were cranks, and some were women offering themselves in case he struck out.

Two days later, he got an e-mail from someone claiming to know the girl. He even supplied a photo. It was her. She was an Australian interning at a magazine, and her name was Camille. And she wanted to meet too.

Their first meeting was awkward. And why not? It was set up by Good Morning America. Like the rest of the media, GMA saw a great love story and pounced. But being sucked into a media maelstrom isn’t necessarily conducive to a nascent love affair. “There was a lot of uncertainty on how to act around each other,” Patrick said. And in the back of Camille’s mind, a nagging thought: Who is this guy? The media circus eventually moved on, giving the two a chance to talk without a microphone present.

“Everything I found out about her was another wonderful thing,” says Patrick. She was smart, funny and a big personality, a nice fit for this shy guy. “And,” he continues quietly, “we’ve been hanging out together every day since.”

Thinking back, he sighs. “It’s amazing everything went without a hitch.”

Read more: http://www.rd.com/advice/relationships/what-they-did-for-love-true-love-stories/#ixzz2j41Lg0a8Image

Tagged
Advertisements
Playing Your Hand Right

Showing America how to Live

yoonanimous

let go or be dragged

A Manic-Depressive View

I like to pretend that i'm a film critic.

Bare Knuckle Writer

Going Five Rounds With The Muse

Standing in the Shallows

Ryan Miller: author, blogger, and father who can't draw hands

More Than Gold

A Place For Things of True Value

Inspire One.

Inspire One. Inspire All.

Natalia Maks

Travel. See. Shoot. Learn.

TheAdventuresOfDr

chasing the world, finding bliss

%d bloggers like this: