Laura Peterson Facebook ad: “Feel Like Yourself Again”

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I couldn't tell my own granddaughter apart from the neighbor kid at 15 feet last October and I lied about why. We were at Gallagher Farm out on M-72. Same patch we've gone to every fall since my son Kyle was little. My daughter in law Bree had all 4 grandkids in matching pink and orange puffer vests because she is the kind of mother who plans a Sunday down to the coat. Kyle waved me over. Said, "Mom, come here, Ellie found the biggest one. Wave at her." I looked out across the field. There were 3 little pink and orange smudges near the wagon. I couldn't tell which one was Ellie. I stood there a beat too long. Kyle said, "Mom? She's right there." And I waved. Big and wide, like a woman waving at a boat leaving the dock. I had no idea which child I was waving at. Turns out I was waving at the neighbor's kid. Ellie was 20 feet behind her, trying to drag a pumpkin bigger than her whole body. I laughed like it was funny. Said the sun was in my eyes. But the sun wasn't in my eyes. I'm 63. I live in Traverse City, Michigan, in the same little ranch house on West Silver Lake Road my husband Bill and I bought in 1994 when he was still driving truck for the cherry cannery. Bill's been gone 8 years next March. Kyle and Bree and the 4 grandkids live 12 minutes away in Interlochen and they are the whole reason I get up in the morning. I worked front desk at Dr. Halverson's dental office for 27 years. Retired in 2022. Answered the phone. Filed the charts. Handed people their pink appointment cards. Knew every single patient by their first name and the sound of their voice on the phone before they said hello. I've always been good with faces. That was my thing. That was how I knew Bill was going to ask me out at the Elks Christmas dance in 1979. I saw him look at me from across the room and I knew, at 40 feet, exactly what his face was doing. I saw faces the way other people hear music. And now I couldn't tell my own grandchild apart from another kid at 15 feet in broad daylight. I drove home that night and I didn't turn the radio on. I just kept thinking about the way I'd waved. Big. Confident. Fake. The lying is the part that scared me. Because I'd been doing it for longer than I wanted to admit. Back at the dental office the last 2 years I worked there, I'd started leaning way in to read the little pink appointment cards. Not glasses. I had glasses. I mean leaning like my nose was almost touching the paper. Reading the chart notes in a way where my whole neck came forward. I told myself it was the print. The print was small. Then it was the light in the reception area. The light was bad. Then I retired and it got worse and I told myself I was just tired from a lifetime of squinting at charts. Then Ellie started kindergarten and I couldn't read her name on the little construction paper thing above her cubby in the hallway. I stood in front of it for a full minute. I could see there was writing. I couldn't read what it said. My daughter in law walked up and said, "Sixth from the left, Doreen." And I laughed and said, "Oh, I know, I was just admiring the picture." There was no picture on it. The lying. I got new glasses in 2023. Then again in 2024. My eye doctor said everything looked "healthy for your age" and gave me a stronger prescription and I nodded and I paid the copay and I told nobody. Because who do you tell. You don't tell your son. He's got 4 kids and a job at the airport. He doesn't need his mother saying she can't see them right. You don't tell your daughter in law. She'll worry and she'll google and she'll try to fix it and I can't stand being fussed over. You don't tell your friends. Because your friends are the same age as you and they've all got their own quiet list of things they aren't saying either. So you don't tell anyone. You just start turning down the invitations. I stopped going to book club. Told them my back was acting up. The truth was the last time I went, I couldn't read the small print in the paperback under Marion's dim living room lamp and I sat there for 90 minutes just pretending I'd already finished the chapter. I stopped going to the Wednesday farmers market. Told Kyle it was too crowded. The truth was I couldn't read the little chalkboard signs on the vendor tables and I'd gotten confused counting change from a lady selling honey. I stopped driving at night. I stopped driving at dusk. By the time October rolled around, I was basically driving the 12 minutes to Kyle's house and back and that was it. And I was still telling myself it was fine. The pumpkin patch broke something in me. Because it wasn't reading. It wasn't small print. It was my own granddaughter's face at 15 feet. I drove home from the farm that Sunday and I sat at my kitchen table with the light off and I said out loud to nobody, "You can't see your grandkids." And then I cried for probably 40 minutes. I decided that night I wasn't going to Ellie's Christmas program. She had a solo. She was going to sing Away in a Manger in front of the whole Interlochen elementary school. Kyle was going to record it. Bree was going to save me a seat in the front row. And I decided in my dark kitchen at 9:15 PM on October 12th that I was going to lie and say I had a cold. Because if I couldn't see her at 15 feet in a pumpkin patch, I sure as anything couldn't see her on a stage. And I couldn't watch my granddaughter sing her first solo and see a pink and orange blur. I couldn't. That was Sunday. Marlene called me on Wednesday. Marlene Halverson. Dr. Halverson's wife. My old boss's wife. I'd worked for her husband for 27 years and she'd been in and out of the office every Friday afternoon dropping off his lunch or picking him up for a Rotary meeting. She was 71 now. Doc had retired 2 years before I did. They lived out on Old Mission Peninsula in a house with a view of the bay that I'd been to twice for Christmas parties. Marlene called me because she was making her Christmas card list and she wanted to make sure my address was still the West Silver Lake one. We talked for maybe 20 minutes. About her grandkids. About mine. About how her husband had finally sold his boat. And then she said, "Doreen, how are you doing, really." And I don't know why I told her. Maybe it was because Marlene had known me for 27 years and she'd known Bill and she'd been at his funeral and she was one of the only people left who'd known me from before. Maybe it was because she asked the right way. She asked like she already knew the answer would be something. I told her about the pumpkin patch. I told her about the Christmas program. I told her I hadn't even told my son. Marlene was quiet for a long time. Then she said, "Doreen. Come out to the house Saturday morning. I want to show you something." I said, "Marlene, I don't want to make a whole thing of this." She said, "10 AM. I'll have coffee on." Doc was out at the boat storage when I got there Saturday. Marlene had a fire going in the woodstove and a plate of pumpkin bread on the counter and she poured me coffee in a mug that said World's Best Grandma on it. She sat down across from me at her kitchen table. She said, "I couldn't see my grandkids in a photograph 4 years ago. My daughter texted me one of Reid on the first day of first grade, and I zoomed in on my phone as far as it would go, and I still couldn't see his face. I sat in this exact chair and I cried for an hour." I didn't know what to say. She said, "I'd been to 2 eye doctors. Both told me my eyes were healthy for my age. Both gave me stronger glasses. Nothing helped. Because the problem wasn't the front of the eye. The problem was further back." She got up. Went over to the little cabinet by the toaster. She came back and set a small orange bottle on the table between us. She said, "Marnie Lindstrom put me onto this. You remember Marnie. She used to bring her boys in for cleanings, back when Trent had the braces." I remembered Marnie. Redhead. Owned a bakery in Suttons Bay. Marlene turned the bottle so I could read the label. Auniva. Pomegranate. I said, "Pomegranate. Like the fruit." Marlene said, "Not exactly. Pomegranate juice. Pomegranate seeds. That's not what this is. This is the peel." She said Marnie's sister in law had done a whole rabbit hole on it after her mother lost most of her central vision in her mid 70s. The sister in law was an optometry office manager down in Grand Rapids, so she knew who to ask and what to read. And here's what she'd figured out. The tissue at the back of the eye. The part that does the actual seeing. It's some of the most active tissue in your whole body. It burns through oxygen at a rate almost nothing else in the body does. Which is beautiful and it's also the problem. Because anything that burns that much oxygen produces what she called oxidative stress. Marlene called it rust. She said, "Imagine rust building up on the most delicate tissue in your whole body, the tissue that lets you see your grandchildren's faces." Stress builds it up. Processed food builds it up. Depleted soil and environmental toxins build it up. Aging itself builds it up. And year after year that rust settles into the tissue that does the seeing. The little cells that catch light. The tiny vessels that feed them. The delicate lining behind them. They get worn down. They get less responsive. The signal they send to the brain gets fuzzier. That's what "healthy for your age" actually was, Marlene said. It wasn't a compliment. It was a shrug. It meant your eyes weren't diseased. It didn't mean the tissue was doing what it used to do. And Marlene said what her doctors didn't say was that there's a whole class of compounds that have been studied for decades for exactly this. For the environment those tissues sit in. For the oxidative stress that wears them down. And of all of them, pomegranate keeps coming up. Not the juice. Not the seeds. The peel. The peel is where the compounds live. Punicalagins is what they're called. They're some of the most studied antioxidant compounds in nature and they're found almost nowhere else on earth in that concentration. Marlene said, "You know how everybody says pomegranate is good for you? The reason is the peel. And the reason nobody sees the benefit from eating a pomegranate is because you don't eat the peel. You throw it away." She tapped the little orange bottle. "This is the peel. Concentrated. Standardized. That's what makes it different." I said, "Marlene, I have tried a lot of things." She said, "So did I. I tried lutein for 2 years. Bilberry for another year. A blueberry powder my daughter sent me. Fish oil. I don't blame you for being tired of hearing it." She said, "The reason those didn't work the way I hoped is because they weren't hitting the same pathway. The oxidative stress on that back tissue is what you have to address. And pomegranate peel has been studied on that specific kind of oxidative stress in a way almost nothing else has." She said, "You also have to be careful. A lot of pomegranate supplements standardize to something called ellagic acid. Which is a downstream cousin. It's not the same thing. The peel compounds, the punicalagins, are what the research is actually on. Most bottles skip that. They put pomegranate on the label and standardize to the cheaper piece." She pointed at the bottle. "Auniva doesn't." She said her sister in law had spent a whole weekend comparing labels. Almost every bottle on the market either used juice or standardized to ellagic acid or hid the potency behind proprietary blend language. Auniva was one of the very few she found that stood on the peel and the punicalagins and said so on the label. Marlene said she'd been taking it every morning for going on 3 years. She said she takes 2 capsules with her coffee. That's it. That's the whole routine. And she said, "I'm not going to tell you it's a miracle. I'm going to tell you I can see Reid on a football field now. I can read the church bulletin under the sanctuary light. I saw a hummingbird at my feeder yesterday afternoon and I saw its little throat go red when it turned in the sun." She said, "I couldn't see color on a hummingbird 4 years ago. I could barely see the bird." She slid the bottle across the table. "Order some. If it's not for you inside 90 days, they'll refund it. Send the bottle back, get your money back. That's how they do it. But I don't think you'll be sending it back." I ordered mine that night from Marlene's kitchen while she watched over my shoulder. auniva.co slash pom slash 5. It came 4 days later. I started taking 2 with my coffee the next morning. The first 3 weeks, honestly, nothing. I want to tell you that because I know how these things go. You want it to work the first week. It doesn't work the first week. It doesn't work the second week either. Marlene had told me. She said, "This is not caffeine. This is not a pill that hits you in an hour. This is you giving your body an ingredient it hasn't had, in a form it can actually use, and letting it do what it does. Give it 4 to 8 weeks." Week 4 I noticed I could read the label on my dish soap without moving my head. I know that sounds like nothing. I'd been leaning way in to read the label on the dish soap for probably 2 years. Week 5 I read a text message from Kyle on my phone at arm's length. I hadn't held my phone at arm's length in a while. I usually held it about 6 inches from my nose. Week 6 I drove to Kyle's house at 5:45 PM in November and I didn't feel the pit of dread I usually feel about the low sun. Week 7 was the Christmas program. I didn't cancel. I put on my green blouse and my good earrings and I got in the car at 6:15 PM and I drove myself to Interlochen Elementary. I parked in the second row. Bree waved me over to a seat right in the front. Ellie came out in a red dress that Bree had let her pick out. She stood in the middle of the choir. Second row. Her hair was in 2 little braids with red ribbons at the ends. She sang Away in a Manger. I could see her. I could see her face. I could see the way her mouth shaped the words. I could see when she looked out into the audience trying to find me. I could see the exact second she saw me. I could see her eyes get a little wet at the last verse the way she gets when she's proud of herself. I saw all of it. I sat there in that little folding chair in the front row of an elementary school gym in Interlochen, Michigan, and I watched my granddaughter sing her first solo, and I could see her face. I cried the whole way home. Not the way I cried in October. The other way. I called Marlene from the driveway before I even got out of the car. She picked up on the second ring. She said, "Well?" I couldn't get any words out for a second. She just laughed. She said, "Yeah. I know. Merry Christmas, Doreen." I'm telling you all of this because I know how many of you are quietly doing what I was doing. You've stopped going to book club. You've stopped driving at night. You lean way in to read menus. You laugh at things you didn't actually see. You told your daughter in law you couldn't come to the school play because you had a cold. And you're not saying anything to anybody because who do you tell. I'm telling you. You can tell me. And I'm telling you what Marlene told me at her kitchen table on Old Mission Peninsula on the second Saturday of October. Two capsules a day. With coffee. It's called Auniva Pomegranate. It's the peel, not the juice, not the seed, standardized to the punicalagins the research is actually on. Made in the USA. Organic. They give you 90 days to try it. If it's not the right fit, you ship the bottle back and they refund every penny. That's the whole deal. No back and forth. You don't have to argue with anyone. I don't work for them. I'm just a retired dental receptionist in northern Michigan who almost lied to her own granddaughter about a Christmas program. If any of this sounds like your life, this is where I got it. 👉 https://auniva.co/pom/5 P.S. The peel piece really does matter. I didn't understand it when Marlene first explained it. I get it now. The pomegranate juice you buy at Meijer, the pomegranate seeds you sprinkle on a salad, the pomegranate supplements at the pharmacy that say "high in ellagic acid" on the label, those are all working with a small slice of what's actually in the fruit. The punicalagins live in the peel. Most people throw the peel away. Auniva doesn't. That's the whole difference. That's why the routine only takes 2 capsules with your morning coffee. You're getting the piece the rest of the pomegranate world has been throwing in the compost. P.P.S. About the guarantee. I know some of you have been burned before by supplements that were "guaranteed" and then when you tried to get your money back it was a nightmare. This is not that. You have 90 days from your order. If it isn't working for you, you ship the bottle back to Auniva and they refund your money. Full stop. Marlene's sister in law returned a different brand once and it took her 6 months of emails to get $18 back. Auniva is not that company. Ellie's Christmas solo was on a Tuesday night and I could see her face from the front row and I ordered my second bottle on the drive home. I'm not sending anything back. P.P.P.S. If you're on the fence, I want you to think about this. Not about you. About the person you're afraid to look at across a room. The grandkid at the pumpkin patch. The husband whose face you used to know by heart. The friend you keep meeting for coffee even though you can't really see her across the table anymore. That's what this is for. That's what I was quietly grieving in my dark kitchen in October. And that's what I got back sitting in a folding chair on a Tuesday night 7 weeks later. If you've been telling yourself it's just how things go now, I'd like you to consider that maybe it isn't. Maybe the tissue at the back of your eye has just been dealing with 30 years of oxidative stress on its own and nobody ever told you there was something you could give it. 👉 https://auniva.co/pom/5

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Feel Like Yourself Again

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