Tag Archives: heart attack

It’s What Matters, Isn’t It?

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“You may delay, but time will not.”

—Benjamin Franklin

Today’s story is about Peter O’ Malley.

Time with those we love. It’s what matters, isn’t it?

time with those we love

Peter O’Malley with his wife, Mary in 1976 at his daughter’s wedding.


Peter O’Malley was running his delivery route for Schaefer Beer on the evening of July 6, 1976. Suddenly, a heart attack dragged him down to the cold, linoleum floor at the Bohack grocery store in Port Jefferson Station, New York.

As he started to lose consciousness, he had only one thought, his daughter’s wedding a few months away. Who would walk her down the aisle?

Fortunately, a dentist and nurse were in the vicinity, administered CPR, and O’Malley went on to make a full recovery. A few months later, his daughter did get married, “and there he was, walking me down the aisle,” she fondly remembers.

O’Malley was 57 at the time of his heart attack. He lived another 37 years to age 93. He was there for the births of 11 grandchildren, and two great grandchildren.

Because of his near visit with death, Peter O’Malley recognized the point of it all.

time with those we love

Peter holding one of his great grandsons.

Time with those we love. It’s what matters, isn’t it?

Source: Times Beacon Record

Mom’s Second Life — A Second Chance

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She almost died. That’s why she lived.

Today’s story is from Yonsenia White.

Arnetta White. My mother. Born in poverty. The youngest of twelve. She faced racism, sexism and segregation. And a troubled marriage, as well.

Mom was our rock.

Kevin (standing left), Keith (seated), Mrs. Arnetta White, Mr. Henry White (Yon’s father), Me (infant)

After Dad left, Mom filled both parenting roles. She shined at both. We rarely felt an absence of dad.

But she never complained. Her strength of character and faith in God got us all through some difficult times. Her heart was so big, her effort so great; she made many sacrifices for us. In all of my life, I‘ve seen Mom cry only twice.

She raised my brothers and me on a housekeeper’s salary. Her venue each day: twenty-some rooms on a nursing home floor. Climbing ladders. Changing curtains. Mopping floors. Removing trash. For anyone—especially a heavyset woman of 60 — backbreaking work.

Then it happened. Mom suddenly became tired, light-headed, but wanted to finish her housekeeping duties. When she got home, she felt a lot worse. My brother rushed her to the hospital. READ MORE