As hard as I’ve toiled and thrashed these last long years to accept myself as a memoirist and present Stretch Marks to the world, I thank first and foremost my man, the mad scientist, motorcycle driving Marty.
I will be forever indebted that he crawled into the insanity of grief with me when I endured botched life threatening surgeries and lost our baby girl to a promise we’d made each other. But we were Team Santa Cruz and there was nothing we couldn’t do together.
He is the only one outside of my family who always asks me to tell him a story. So, here’s one for you, Marty. ¡Con mucho amor!