About Us

Already starting to cry.

Samuel. The name means "Asked or received of God," and, interestingly, he was the only one of our four children who was planned. Of course, all were wanted. 

I was so delighted to have a second son. He was the most beautiful newborn I had ever seen. He grew into a child who was friendly, curious, imaginative, and always smiling. His smile. I see it inside my eyelids, inside my heart, no matter what else I see. That beautiful Sam smile.

He was not an easy child, though not because of difficult behavior. He had asthma. I learned to wake at that cough, to reach for the nebulizer before the dream was gone from my bleary eyes. He had speech problems that were severe, and speech therapy from professionals did not help. So I figured out how I made all those sounds and painstakingly described the location of my lips, my tongue, when I blew air, all of that to his little five-year-old self. Hours upon hours were spent with us together, working on his speech. And we went through the same thing with his reading; despite a bright, maybe brilliant, mind, his severe dyslexia complicated his learning process and made him question himself. 

He and I. Our bond is so deep--I know you all get that. He always wanted to protect me. So he protected me from knowing about the painful experiences inflicted upon him by a family "friend."

He knows how to love, but he learned to hate himself. 

He learned how to hurt himself. He cut. He drank. He used substances to dull his pain.

Oh, my Sam, I would gladly take your pain myself, if only I could, tenfold. I pray that you can feel my love for you now, that maybe, in this horrifying place where you are now, you will come to yourself and an understanding of your endless worth. I loved you from the moment I saw your heartbeat on the fetal monitor when you were less than one inch long, and I'll love you as long as there is a me.