Friday, August 23, 2019


I'm not really sure WHAT to title this blog.

A child?

A child I won't meet?

A child who helped me see my path as to my God given plan?

Sounds hokey.

I know.

Let me tell you, its not.

A year ago, tomorrow, as I lay in bed, I scrolled though the day's feed. Facebook can keep my attention even when it seems no attention is needed.

I stopped.

His face.

I clicked.

I read.

David Leary.

There were words, a picture and so much more but as a mom of a disabled child, I sat and looked. Who was he? I had heard of him, yet I had never met him and now, I never would.

I couldn't do justice telling you about David Leary, I don't know, but I DO know what happened fr me in the wake of his passing.

I know I clicked on that "Meal Train" and I made some meal.

I know it probably tasted like cardboard to the parents who shoveled it in trying to sustain themselves so that they could care for their child at home and I know that driving up, I had a feeling that my life wouldn't be the same.

How right I was.

I left my kids at home.

I drove up to this beautiful home, quietly rang the doorbell and waited.

I stood.

In silence.

A freezer meal.

A vase.

This vase, it sat in my room. Mary. Our Catholic Mother. As I read the obituary, I felt called to bring it.

I talked to the therapists.

No parent at home.

There was his brother. We will call him B.

He stood.

He took my hand.

We locked eyes.

I set the dish on the counter, his own aide carefully shuffled it into the freezer and I stood, in awe.

Of the parents.

Of the child.

Of the therapists.

Of what I thought I needed.

Of what I wanted.

I talked.

I giggled and then I watched as their son, B, he stood opening the car doors and honking the horn. I stood. Elated. That I could take his mind off the thing that was probably impacting him most, at that moment.

Fast forward.


My own home.

My daughter.


She came. She entered. She hand not loved again, until my own child.

We sat.

We played.

I saw her.

She was what I wanted to be.

For my child.

For others.

For what children needed.

A year later.








From a meal.

A simple meal.

One that celebrated a life yet supported a family.


New beginnings. New hope. New future. New dreams.

A child.

He began it all.

Today, we live, not for our own child, but for him, a child whose life touched those he never knew.

Happy Heavenly Birthday to a child who finally showed me the beauty of life.

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