Meet Amber - one of our four 2025 homeowners
I guess my story starts in 2011—the year I married, Rodney, the man of my dreams. We had a small wedding with only family and a few friends. Soon after our wedding, we started trying for our third child. With two boys in the family already, I was crossing my fingers for a girl.
It took about a year until we conceived baby #3. Unfortunately, the nostalgia didn't last long. We found out at thirty weeks that our baby had lost its heartbeat. We were left with no other option but to deliver our lifeless baby. Back then, I thought it was the worst thing I’d ever have to go through—if only I could see the future.
Anyways, we didn’t give up and, in 2014, we added another healthy baby boy to our family. Having two boys already, he was the last piece to our little family puzzle. We, like every other family, had our ups and downs. Just when you feel up, you must come down.
Five days after bringing our bundle of joy home, my husband suffered a devastating heart attack. I remember standing in the ER with my five-day-old baby in my arms—doctors and nurses checking vitals and hooking him up to all the machines. It still brings tears to my eyes. I'll never forget the doctor talking to me, telling me he was having a heart attack. His artery, conveniently called "the widow maker," was closed or blocked, and they would do everything they could.
After about an hour—which felt like a lifetime—they had placed three stents, and he was stable. We spent the next week at the hospital with all three boys, day in and day out. After this, we went home. My spouse could no longer work. We started what we didn’t know would be a very long journey applying for disability.
Now, my husband was disabled and unable to help with anything at home. He couldn’t lift the baby, he couldn’t vacuum, and he couldn’t work. I felt like I was going to drown in all the chaos. I was torn apart and distraught, worried about leaving him and the boys to go back to work. At this point, I knew my income wouldn’t cut it. I started a second job to compensate for the loss of income. I worked the day shift from 9:00 AM to 3:00 PM, went home to sleep and eat, then went back to work from 9:00 PM to 8:00 AM.
Life was exhausting. I was so, so tired. But I couldn’t give up.
We fought. We got denied for disability for the second time. Now we had to find a lawyer to accept us pro-bono for our third attempt at his disability case. Bills were piling up, and my income alone wasn’t enough. We just kept praying that something would happen—anything at all. Even the kids had started to ask questions.
You know how they say, be careful what you ask for? I didn’t know that the something I was waiting for would end up crushing what little faith I had left.
Around midnight on August 18th, 2017, while I was at work, I received a call from the Fargo Police Department. They told me my husband was at the hospital and that I needed to get home to look after the kids. Rushing home immediately, the police had no answers.
I didn’t know until later, at the hospital—my husband had called 911 and said, I can’t breathe. No other words. His lungs had collapsed. With our kids in the next room asleep, he dialed 911 and waited for an ambulance that would not make it on time.
Even though they used life-saving measures, restarting his heart and bringing him into the hospital, he was pronounced brain dead and would never wake again.
As one can imagine, our world—our family—was destroyed.
I lost both of my jobs. Sadness took over our house and our lives. The older boys took it hard. A month later, I still couldn’t get it together. Still not working, the boys and I were evicted from our townhome and moved into a small two-bedroom apartment.
I needed an outlet. I needed to talk—to express all my feelings, my sadness, and my new worries about raising these boys on my own. Family and therapy really got me through. I don’t even think I’ve ever told anyone about therapy until now.
I had a new, positive outlook. A great friend of mine gave me a job in a memory care unit, along with applying for and taking classes to earn my CNA. Things were getting better. Then, of course, along came COVID with its ugly repercussions.
Being a CNA during COVID was exhausting. I can’t unsee the hurt it caused the residents and families I saw every day. But I didn’t—and couldn’t—stop working. The kids needed me. At the same time, I had to leave them to keep them healthy.
Everything has now settled down in our lives, thank goodness. Times are different. I’ve been working at Hospice of the Red River Valley for about four years. I make a little more money now, and the boys have really grown into their own personalities. They’re also not little anymore—two of the three tower over me!
But because of my past evictions and low credit, I’m unable to apply for or be accepted into anything nice.
The building we live in is run-down. It smells of mold and mildew. At one point, in August of 2022, they replaced my tub/shower but took over a year to complete the work. The walls were still open to the studs, and we could see and smell the insulation. Every two weeks or so, the water was shut off for whatever reason. I have a dehumidifier running 24 hours a day.
Not to mention the lack of space—it's all of us sharing a two-bedroom, with all our different personalities. I had to move my bedroom into the living room to try to give the kids more space and privacy.
We also live in a rough neighborhood. We've had neighbors threaten us. We've had clothes stolen from the laundry room, the boys’ bikes stolen from the garages, and even my car was broken into.
After everything is said and done, the only goal I have now is making sure my kids have the support they need to be their best and a place they can always call home—no matter what.
Being accepted into the Habitat for Humanity program is making my dreams—our dreams—come true. This has been a tough adventure, to say the least. It’s been a long fight, and I’m not going to give up now. I imagine having a home for my kids to make their own. A place to come home to after a hard day. A place that makes them feel safe.
I truly believe taking my boys out of this apartment and neighborhood would be a very positive thing.
Working with Hospice has opened my eyes to a different world—it has also humbled me. I take these new feelings into every aspect of every day. Knowing how many people are out there and deserve safe homes reminds me that we aren’t alone.
We can’t wait to get building and, as funny as this sounds, start paying a mortgage. Our home will be one of the four Habitat homes built this summer. As we put in the work to help each other—constantly building and reinforcing humanity—I want to be part of that.
Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story. I promise to keep working at giving my boys a great life.
