Thank you, Mr. Lightyear...

To say Bronson is obsessed with Buzz Lightyear might be an understatement.

If he didn't have a mother, he would watch Toy Story 1, 2 & 3 on a repetitive loop.

All.

Day.

Long.

But Buzz is special...

Maybe because they've both been to "Infinity and Beyond",

I dunno.

He was, hands-down, B's favorite birthday gift.

He's his bedtime buddy. His playtime pal.

~

~

And no one.

I repeat

NO one

messes

with

Buzz.

~

~

Well, in all the loving,

Buzz's back panel has popped off.

It is somewhere in the Play Loft and is yet to be found and replaced.

Which leaves him with a bum wing that occasionally swivels loose and ends up dangling.

~

~

Well...

This is unacceptable.

In. Every. Way.

Bronson becomes hysterical.

Nearly unconsolable.

He cries so hard sometimes he has actually passed out.

Literally.

Needless to say, we try to fix Buzz quickly.

~

Well, this morning on my morning rounds,

Buzz was having... issues.

And our poor Little B was not a happy guy.

He did not sleep well last night, so he was a bit... unreasonable.

Quite so, actually.

~

But I handled it well, if I do say so myself.

Patiently, I took Buzz and quickly fixed the wing.

Easily popping it back into place.

Each time quietly showing Bronson how to do it himself.

Quietly reminding him to play a bit more gently.

To be a bit more careful.

And each time I hugged and kissed and rocked that sad, sad little boy back to happy.

Reminding him to breathe.

Stroking his head and cheek,

and eventually patting him gently on the bottom and sending him back off to play.

~

This went on for an hour.

I fixed Buzz a couple dozen times.

But each time Bronson broke him,

he was equally as hysterical.

Equally as quick to run him straight over, right to me.

And equally anxious for me to fix him.

I seriously began to consider just replacing him!

If Bronson hadn't eventually worn himself out in this process,

I might have actually given in...

~

~

The wiser "big-picture" side of me

had to talk the "helicopter-mom" side of me

out of running straight to Toys-R-Us for a new Buzz.

Several times.

At that point, it seemed a reasonable, if not necessary solution.

But Bronson finally curled up on his beloved Puppy Pillow and drifted off to sleep,

broken Buzz and all.

~

~

{Sigh}

~

And then the lesson sunk in.

How many times have I done this?

Made the same choice, over and over expecting a different result?

Hoping I could haphazardly use the same carelessness

and not experience the same heartache?

And how many times have I run, broken wing dangling,

right to my Father in Heaven,

begging...

desperate for Him to fix it...

yet again?

Wondering if He could?

If He would?

~

And yet always His constant, loving reply.

Reassurance.

Consolation.

Unconditional patience.

Understanding.

Peace for my troubling soul.

He straightens the wing...

Then straightens the girl...

Then sends me back out on my way.

~

Oh, Buzz...

Dear sweet, Buzz...

~

~

Thanks for the lesson today.

What more do you have to teach me?

Today is tomorrow...

Crazy...

Several weeks ago, just after we returned from the hospital,

we were contacted by NBC's morning show, Today.

They had been following Bronson's story and asked if they could interview us live on their show.

Of course, we declined.

We needed to be home with our boys, who had been well cared for by Alli

and spoiled by family and friends in our absence,

but WE worried about them, after all they had been through.

And knew we needed to reconnect and spend time as a family.

So NBC clarified that the offer was for all of us... the whole gang. Even Alli.

We were shocked...

They explained all the reasons that Bronson's strory appealed to them.

It was well-documented through my blog.

It had been well-photographed and we had taken video as it unfolded.

And most of all, it was miraculous.

And GOOD news to tell.

We were slightly more intrigued...

But they wanted us right away.

We said sorry, but we needed some down time.

They offered to wait until after the Olympics.

We considered...

But with everything going on, I wasn't sure that it wasn't just another distration from our focus.

Our family.

We declined again.

SO they sent us a piece they aired several years ago.

Another miracle.

About a boy from Texas who had been killed in and ATV accident.

His death announced in the local paper.

The family had bid their final farewells

and prepared to honor his wishes as an organ donor.

Helicopters were waiting on the roof.

Recipients standing by.

And yet his Grandma prayed on for a miracle.

Long story short, they interviewed him on NBC a few months later.

Amazing.

We were touched as we watched his parents.

Incredible and faithful people, telling the story of their miracle.

We were reminded of a scripture that has become particularly meaningful to us lately.

Mosiah 8:18-

We know that Bronson's miracle was not just given to him.

Not even just to us.

We believe it was given for the benefit of mankind.

To show forth the all-powerful hand of God.

To remind us that our loving Father in Heaven has a plan for us and for our families.

That He hears and answers our prayers.

That He intervenes with the course of nature, when necessary, to accomplish His will.

That we were blessed enough to witness one of these occurances.

First hand.

We could not be more grateful.

We are humbled to the core and still in shock of His grace and His mercy.

That this happened for us, and not for so many others with similar stories.

So many who prayed just as faithfully...

So many who were also hopeful for their own miracle.

Maybe even more worthy.

So many who accepted the will of God,

even when it was not what they would have chosen.

And yet, somehow, for some reason,

we recieved more than we could have possibly dreamed.

We recieved Bronson.

Here. Now. Complete. Whole. Himself. Seemingly unaffected.

And with that comes a responsibility.

One that feels too big, and yet we eagerly embrace.

Knowing we have room to grow.

We promise to do our best to give back.

To raise awareness.

To help others to learn vicariously through my mistake.

Help them to reevaluate and to prioritize.

And most importantly, we commit to bear testimony and stand as witnesses of God.

At all times, and in all things and in all places.

Even moreso than ever before.

Even if that means being on camera in front of a national audience.

Matt is excited for the missionary opportunity.

I just hope I don't trip...

Or ramble. Oh, how I hope I don't ramble...

And please pray that little B behaves himself!

He is such a wild man!

I just have one word about this...

Live.

Natonal TV will get him in whatever mood he is in!

Let's hope he sleeps well tonight!

Here are a few shots from the in home interview they shot a few days ago.

A few minutes of it will air on NBC's morning show, Today, tomorrow morning, March 12.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Aye aye aye...

How on earth did we get here?

New York City... NBC... Here we are...

Be gentle with us.

In response to this:

(A comment left this morning at 2:44 am:)

"Sara and/or fellow commentator's...

"I am sure you are swamped and don't ever have any time to read or respond to these blog comments,

but I notice as I have read other people's comments, I noticed a few said, "erased by author".

Are there requirements for these kinds of things?

If there are I would love to know,

so that I don't make a mistake and/ or offend anyone."

and another similar inquiry...

.

.

Please know that I do, NOW,

read every blog comment, e-mail and facebook message that comes my way.

In the hospital, that was difficult because of the sheer quantity of comments.

I scanned them and did read most,

gathered their intent and was buoyed up by their sentiment.

So please accept my sincere and heartfelt gratitude.

But my emotional state,

my anxiety about staying by Bronson's side and not leaving,

and my obsessive need to document every detail of the daily occurrences

not to mention my utter lack of sleep

made it difficult to actually read them all or comment in reply.

Even once we were home, I needed a few days to just... BE.

But now that I am trying to function like a real person again, I do make the effort.

Just so you know.

I do hear you.

And thank you... Thank you all for reaching out.

We have felt so loved and supported.

So please don't think that I don't take the time to read

what you take the time to write

and to send.

Because I do.

.

But as for the "erased by author" question, I can not say why.

Many of them have time stamps that are identical or similar to the post above or below.

Perhaps they were duplicates or contained errors that the author wanted to correct?

And to clarify, "erased by author" means they were erased by the author of the comment,

not by me, the author of the post.

I have done no moderation or editing of comments at all.

None.

Not even once.

.

I was told of only one unkind comment that came in to our blog

during the time we were at the hospital.

It was lengthy and pointed, I am told.

A dear friend was alarmed and concerned about me seeing it, fragile as she felt I was.

She petitioned another dear friend, of the tech-geek variety ;),

and together they guessed at my password, until they hacked in to my blogger account

and removed the unkind post before I could see it.

Thanks to them.

Very thoughtful.

I am guessing it included many of the same points

I was reamed for on the KSL comment boards,

after Bronson's story aired on the news.

Regrettably, those I did read.

Until Matt made me stop.

And I'll be honest,

they hurt my feelings.

A lot.

For about two days.

And then I realized that there are many people who do not know me.

Do not understand me.

Do not care to understand me.

Many people who are unhappy.

And who choose to be critical of others.

I believe this is done in an effort to feel better about themselves.

To extract some of their own pain and fling it out onto someone else.

Someone they judge.

Someone they feel that they are better than.

And I was just the one they threw their stones at that day.

These brothers and sisters in spirit who have forgotten me.

But surely they've moved on to someone else by now.

Sad. So sad.

Oh, how I wish they could see themselves the way their Father in Heaven does.

I wish they could see how much they have to share

if only they'd let themselves be opened, and then filled.

Filled with something better and sweeter than the anger, bitterness

and judgement that consumes them.

Oh, friends...

Let us learn not to judge.

But instead allow ourselves to love, unreservedly.

And to forgive, unconditionally.

Let us encircle one another in arms of safety.

With open hearts, willing to see and understand another's anguish.

Let us give freely,

benefit, that casts out doubt.

Let us leave the judging for The Judge.

And let us be masters of mercy.

And benevolence.

And so, my dear anonymous friend,

thank you for your question.

Thank you for the sweet comment that followed.

And thank you for giving me the opportunity to address this issue,

I'm sure you were not the only one wondering.

And please let yourself rest at ease...

I try never to be offended.

If you haven't guessed by now, I am an open book.

For better or for worse, I am outed.

But feelings, I think, are much better out than in.

And besides, offense has to be taken.

Picked up and owned.

And I choose to leave it lying.

Alone, by the side of my path.

Today is the day...

This evening we had the amazing opportunity to go back to the hospital.
What? Why!?!
Why BACK to the hospital, you ask?
Well, quite simply, because we needed to go.
KSL Radio invited us to come and assist in their annual fundraiser
for Primary Children's Medical Center.
So of course, we absolutely agreed.

.

.

We were thrilled at the chance to give back in any way.
If there is any way we can help that wonderful place and those amazing people,
we will absolutely do it... for the rest of ever.
They gave us our boy back.
Healed and whole.
How can you ever put a price on the life of your child?
We could pay that hospital bill a hundred times over and never come close to repaying them.
They did what we could not do for ourselves.
Some people believe that medical science and faith are at odds.
At opposite ends of the spectrum.
I believe they are two languages telling the same story.
Seeking the same eventual truth. Perhaps with varying methods.
Or differing means working towards the same end. The same goal.
I believe our loving Father in Heaven guides the hands and the hearts of those here on earth
who have the knowledge and training to assist Him.
I believe that He allows us to do as much as we can do, to the best of our abilities,
to allow us to learn and grow, and to further research and knowledge.
And then I believe He steps in with His grace, and does the rest of the work necessary
to accomplish His will, whatever that may be.
In Bronson's case, it was for him to LIVE.
And not just live, but live HERE.
And not just here, but WHOLE.
Again, we could NOT be more grateful.
Ever so grateful.
Yet this gift we've been given will not go without price, philanthropically speaking.
And we are eager and ready to pay it in whatever way we can.
Expecting much of ourselves and our family.
We will serve willingly wherever we can.
Like at the KSL Radiothon.
And so we dropped everything, made the arrangements and went.
.

.

Which turned out to be very good for me.
And for my soul, still healing.
And even good for Matt, who does NOT like the spotlight.

.

.

Little B was charming, sweet and full of smiles and spunk.
He ate up all the attention.

Was into everything.

.

.
Ran around like crazy.

.

Played fetch with the stuffed moose.

.
High-fived the tech-guys.

Explored the set.

.
Flirted with the team of call takers.

.

And won over the hearts of the KSL TV and Radio personalities.

.

Like Carole Mikita and Doug Wright.

.

.
What a cutie.
They all loved him.
He ate popcorn from a cup and threw it onto the floor.

.

.
Which we tried our hardest to prevent, but well, that's why parents have hands.
And why they make vacuums.
To clean up messes.

.

So we told our story yet again.

.

.

(Twice actually.

TV News and News Radio.)
And asked for help.
Not for us, but for the hospital.
And for other children who need it.
We asked people to open their hearts and their wallets and give to a worthy cause.
There is still plenty of time.
The Radiothon goes through tomorrow.
We aren't the type that like to ask for things.
Especially for money.
But if you feel so inclined,
and if you have a dollar or more to spare,
this would be a wonderful way to spend it.
It all goes toward a deserving child.
Every single penny.
.

If you can find it in your heart, click here.

or call here: 1-800-762-PCMC (7262), or locally 801-575-KIDS (5437).

.

Maybe we can help another family take their child home!

.

.

Post script:

In reply to some of the questions and comments left in response to this post...

I apologize if I was not clear.

Thank you for allowing me to clarify...

Matt and I chose to participate in the KSL Radiothon

because it raises money to benefit Primary Children's Hospital.

Exclusively.

We were in no way soliciting funds for ourselves.

That facility and the medical personnel who helped to heal our son

will forever be worthy of our time and our efforts.

It is a cause we hope to adopt for the remainder of our lifetime

because it is now near and dear to us.

To be clear, Primary Chidren's Medical Center is a non-profit organization.

Their mission statement is "The child first and always."

Thus, they provide medical care for all children alike,

including needy children from around the entire Intermountain Region,

regardless of that child's ability to pay.

Physicians at the hospital actually donate their services

for patients who recieve charity assistance.

Our hope was that by sharing Bronson's story, we could garner some support for the hospital.

For them to continue to help other children.

Children who can not afford to get well on their own.

There are many annual fundraisers that benefit Primary Children's,

including TV and Radiothons and the door-to-door "Pennies by the Inch" drive.

We hope to be available to assist in many of these efforts over the years.

We will never tire.

We feel that where much is given, much is expected.

And we could not have received a greater gift...

Bronson's life was literally brought back to us.

And the experience we had there was life changing for us as well.

Not only did they give full-time and ever-diligent effort to our child,

even when it seemed unlikely for him to ever recover,

but they cared for us, his parents, while we were in shock, anguish and despair.

They helped us to prepare our other boys for what they were coping with.

Truly, they treated and helped to heal our entire family.

We have very tender feelings towards them and the amazing work they do there.

Every. Single. Day.

Anything that we can do to help them continue in their efforts there

will be a very small price to pay.

.
While we were at the hospital, I read a poster with a quote from Abraham Lincoln.

Good ol' Honest Abe.

He really was good.

And honest.

.

.
"To ease another's heartache is to forget one's own."

.
It struck me so strongly.
I knew this was the key the moment I saw it.
And we have tried to do that.
Tried to share the surplus of support we have been blessed with.
Tried to share and ease the burdens of others we have met and love.
But today...
Well, today I am making a choice.
This trip to the hospital tonight was as much about healing me
as the last one was about Bronson.
I have decided.
I am done feeling guilty.
I am done being ashamed.
I am done feeling like the poster-face for negligent mothering.
I am done beating myself up for a momentary lapse in judgement.
I am done feeling feeling crappy about all the pain I have caused.
Because I am not perfect.
Never will be perfect.
Not in this life.
But I can make a difference.
I can lift another's burden.
I can look for ways to serve. Give back. Share.
And I have found a voice.
That voice is getting stronger the more that it speaks out.
And as I speak from the keys on this little laptop,
I find my heart full and overflowing, often with words that are not mine alone.
For God has found a way to use me to strengthen others.
To strengthen you.
Perhaps this was not something I did, but something He allowed to happen.
For my own good. And for the benefit of others.
Knowing that I am stronger than I feel.
And have more to share than I knew.
But believing I had the tenacity to discover it.
Knowing Bronson's miracle would lead to others as it's ripples spread,
touching lives around the globe.
And so...
Today is a new day.
The day I learn to turn my pain over

and allow it to be washed away with the joy all around me.
I am still not sure exactly how, but only that it's right.
And that it's time.

I cried again this morning...

Who would have thought I could even have more tears?

The fountain should have run dry long ago...

Another nightmare.

5 am.

I woke disturbed.

Couldn't shake that dreadful feeling.

The burning in my throat.

The one I try to blink back, back, back behind my eyelids.

That haunting emptiness that lingers underneath your gut,

threatening to overturn you.

Sleep was not a ready rescue or a willing ally.

.

I dressed for the gym, thinking I could outrun it.

Or out"ride" it rather, since it's Tuesday, which means it's my morning for Spin Class.

But then I thought of all the eyes I'd have to meet as I walked through the door,

inopportunely at the front of the bicycle fleet,

aglow in light from the brightness beyond.

Even in the darkened room, they would see my anguish.

Feel my shame.

I did not not want to cry with strangers.

Not even with dear friends, who I knew were watching,

waiting,

probably already spinning,

an empty bike at their side,

reserved for me.

Just another way

I'd let another someone

down.

Someone who was counting on me.

With that thought, the guilt that had been lurking in the shadows of my heart

came pounding in, claws curling, teeth bared, ready to consume me.

And so the tears began...

And then refused to stop.

Too much for today.

At not even 6 am.

.

So I stayed, scraping myself together,

and deciding to work on the last little piece of Cub Scout Pack Meeting for tonight.

The piece that is still mine.

The very small piece.

With a sigh, I realized all the friends who have had to step in and carry more than their load.

Do more than their job.

Because I've been gone. Busy. Otherwise detained with something much more important.

A matter of life and death, in fact.

And I cried harder.

And ached deeper.

.

To distract myself, I decided to download some photos.

Ones still waiting patiently in my camera, for their turn on my To Do List.

I'd barely regained my composure when the Images slowly appeared,

one by one on my screen.

Last week's trip to the Fire Station.

To visit the men

who first appeared

to help to save my son.

Through flooded eyes, I could barely see their brave and handsome faces.

Each of them so dear, although I barely know them.

Remarkable men... whom I had dumped my burden on.

Someone's brother.

Someone's son.

Someone's husband.

Someone's daddy.

Someone who fearlessly and instantly came, sirens blaring. To try and patch up my mistake.

Someone who's heart hung heavy, worrying their effort might have been be in vain.

Not enough to fix what I had done.

The weight of guilt can be physically crushing.

I looked away and shook their faces from my head.

Abandoning them for a stronger day.

.

And then another Image took the stage upon my screen.

My "Smalls"...

My TWO sweet little boys, shirtless, clad only in diapers and their priceless smiles,

strapped safely in their highchairs laughing at me.

Oh, what I had put them through.

Oh, what I had nearly taken from them.

The horror of what almost was washed over me,

through every fiber of my soul.

The tears were silent now, just steady streams of heartache.

Spilling out of eyes that could not bare to look.

Oh, how could I have born that agony?

How could I have gone on?

One less?

I surely would have crumbled.

.

6:15.

A quick check of my e-mail reminded me that it's not quick anymore.

Yes. I've read many. Gleaned most.

Absorbed them, really.

Tried to use them to fill that empty, aching hole of remorse.

But nevertheless, I am sure I've missed a few.

Still 4, 500 messages in my Inbox.

Not even counting the comments on our blog...

All those people...

Family. Friends. Neighbors. Friends of friends and neighbors. ...Even strangers.

Surely representing exponentially more that wept silently, without leaving a word.

Look at what I've done?

The ripples are so far reaching there's no telling where they'll stop.

So much sadness.

So much heartache.

So much anguish.

So many people cried for our boy.

So many people ached with us.

So many people I hurt.

Literally, around the world.

With one. Simple. Slip.

If you've ever thought you were alone, think again.

If you've ever thought you were an island and your choices were yours alone, think harder.

If you've ever had the audacity to feel lonely... Well, Ha! I have, too!

But we were both wrong, you & I.

No one is ever alone.

Ever.

Look at all... these... people...

Brothers and sisters in spirit

who I have pulled momentarily away from their own lives with my profound imposition.

Scrolling, still scrolling, my tears began to slow.

Now I feel like I'm the one who's drowning.

In the guilt and the regret.

As the immensity of responsibility threatens to overtake me.

It's just so big. And I, so very small.

Oh, how sorry that I am.

How very, very sorry.

.

Matt got the big boys up.

Made them a hot, cooked breakfast, like any other normal morning.

And at some point, he left for work.

Somehow I went through the motions of getting them ready for school.

Showered, dressed, beds made and back-packs packed.

And off they went with a kiss and a prayer.

My smalls still sleeping, I tried to go about my morning routine.

Already out of rhythm..

.

And so I called my sweetheart.

Told him how awful I felt.

Cried pathetically.

Told him about the guilt and the regret.

He listened.

Told me to remember that the blessings

far outnumber the mistake.

The joy far outweighs the pain.

Said the only one blaming me is me.

And perhaps a few unhappy strangers who do not know my heart.

Reminded me that the benefits of sharing our story far overshadow the risks.

Says he's grateful for all I've said.

Repeated, again, how much good has come of this, already.

Pointed out, again, how we have been used as instruments in the hands of God

to show His love, His mercy, His grace and His miraculous power.

He helped me to see what a pivotal occurrence this has been.

So many lives touched.

So many strengthened.

So many people reevaluating. Re-prioritizing.

So many kind, supportive words expressed.

So much faith renewed.

So many prayers petitioning heaven.

So many principles practiced with purpose.

So many, uniting.

So. Much. Power.

.

Man... he's getting good at this whole girlfriend pep-talk thing.

He also threw in a little plug about my need of sleep

and carefully suggested that I might be slightly more emotional than usual.

.

I felt a little better.

Like I could maybe do today after all.

.

Now I need to make something very clear...

I do not share this incident because I am fishing for any sort of consolation.

In fact, I think I'll try to turn off the comment section for this post,

for I know just what you'll say.

(I know what I would say if I were you...)

So thank you.

Thank you for hearing me.

You've saved me thou$ands in therapy, I am sure.

Thank you for putting yourself in my shoes.

Trying to imagine what it's been like.

Even though you do not want to, I assure you.

Thank you most of all for learning vicariously from our experience.

And pledging not to make the same mistake or any other like it.

Promising to remember and to try a little harder.

To stay more focused. To be more diligent.

To let the little things wait while you give more heed to that which really matters.

For the scope of what we've learned goes far beyond the bathtub.

Please appreciate each moment.

For once it's over, it is gone forever.

Do not let it leave you with regret.

If you are blessed with children in your life,

please embrace them for the amazing people that they are within.

Try to look them in the eye whenever you speak with them.

Connect, soul to soul, each and every day.

Allow yourself to be amazed and humbled by their depth and by their strength.

Respect them, even in their tiny, grubby packaging.

Thank them for the lessons that they teach you.

Even the painful, inconvenient ones.

For truly, what would you rather be doing anyway?

.

As for me, I have more reasons to rejoice than I deserve!

And believe me, I am so so grateful!

Yet there is still a part of me that's struggling.

Grappling with what I need to do and how to do it.

Knowing that where much is given, much is also required.

Well, what more could I be given?

And while I feel inadequate and insecure in a role that's way too big for me to fill,

I also recognize that this means there's room for growth.

.

And I'm still fighting to forgive that girl I live inside of.

But it will come, I'm sure. In time.

I know it will because it always has before.

I don't do grudges.

They are and never have been good for anyone.

I just have to figure out exactly how to grant myself that same type of pardon,

which is so much easier for me to hand to others.

Yet somewhere deep down I know

that as I find the strength to turn my broken heart over to my loving Savior, Jesus Christ,

that He will heal it.

That through His Atonement, which was on my behalf, as well as yours,

I will find the power to become better.

To accept the forgiveness He has already granted and to extend it to myself.

.

As for now, I want to share my hope.

And my conviction.

I know we have a Father in Heaven who loves us.

Who knows each of us by name.

Who knows infinitesimally what we need at each and every moment.

He hears our prayers.

He answers them.

He has a plan that we do not always fully understand.

He has an army of angels, ready to fight on His behalf and spread His word,

both here and on the other side of the veil, between this life and the next.

We are mindful that some who have lived this nightmare we've endured,

have had their sweet babies called home into His loving arms.

There were many times we feared that would be His will.

We were afraid but ready to accept it.

But for some reason, Bronson was allowed to stay with us.

Our loving Heavenly Father divinely intervened with the course of nature

and allowed our son to be healed.

Not only to survive, but to be restored. Fully.

He allowed Bronson to be brought back

under the worthy hands of his father's Priesthood blessing

and then repaired by the capable hands of doctors and nurses

who saw unprecedented and expedited results to their procedures.

We could not be more grateful.

We stand as fervent witnesses that He is a God of miracles.

We do not wish to overstate, but we know that a true and utter miracle

was certainly granted in Bronson's life and in behalf of our family.

We know that miracles are given as a benefit to all mankind.

This is much, much bigger than we are.

We feel the weight of this solemn responsibility.

An obligation coupled with a true and heartfelt desire to share his story

in hopes of strengthening the faith of others and cementing our own.

We hope to help Bronson grow to be worthy of the mission he is already fulfilling.

What a strong and incredible spirit he has.

He has overcome all odds.

He has not accepted limitations.

He has fought and defied all restrictions, and all while winning hearts with that contagious smile!

We are so blessed to know him.

To be taught by him.

We are thankful to know that our family is eternal in nature.

We love each one of our amazing boys and are so proud of each of them.

We find peace in the love and unity we enjoy within our home.

We are learning to embrace the imperfections.

To think of them as opportunities.

And we thank each of you...

For loving us beyond what we deserve.

For reaching out to us in our utmost time of need.

For answering our private prayers without even knowing it.

For lightening our burden and sustaining us.

Mourning with us while we mourned.

Comforting us while we stood in need of comfort.

You are truly angels here upon the earth.

May God bless you!

.

And may we all find the strength and the courage

to seek out another such family wherever we may be

and continue on in service.

Let us be always an army of refuge and support.

Of love and of light.