Make a Difference
Connection is the love we are called to share, donating can make all the difference.
Hold Someone
When we learned Callam had Trisomy 18, our world narrowed to the shape of his tiny hands and the hollow of our own grief. The diagnosis stole so much from us before we even had a chance—time, certainty, hope.
We felt powerless. We felt unbearably sad. And yet, through that storm, we were carried by the compassion of others: family, friends, and strangers whose small, brave kindnesses kept us afloat.
People listened. They asked his name and wanted to hear his story. They brought meals, held our other children so we could breathe, and quietly took care of the details we couldn’t face. Each gift—large and small—was a lifeline. One of the most profound gifts came from a woman who had also lost a baby to stillbirth. She turned her heartbreak into action and founded a nonprofit to cover hospital bills for families who leave with empty arms. When I, trembling and ashamed, emailed asking for help with the bill, she answered with warmth and paid it in full. In our darkest hours she showed us that someone else’s light could reach us—and it changed everything.
No parent should have to bury a child and also bury the cost of that loss. The emotional toll of signing a hospital bill with empty arms compounds grief in ways that never heal. Financial burden becomes another weight on already shattered hearts. By donating, you remove that weight. You give grieving families the space to mourn, to remember, to say the names of their babies without having to worry about how they’ll manage the bills. You offer practical relief and a profound message: you are not alone.
Please give what you can to support families after stillbirth and with receiving life limiting diagnosis. Your donation will:
Cover hospital and related costs so parents don’t face debt alongside loss.
Provide immediate, compassionate assistance at a moment when families need it most.
Send the message that the community remembers, honors, and stands with them.
Every gift—no matter the size—turns a moment of crushing isolation into a moment of shared humanity. It lets parents feel seen, heard, and cared for when they are most vulnerable. It lets them grieve without added fear. It honors babies like Callam by ensuring other families don’t have to shoulder this burden alone.
Give now to hold a family through their storm. Help us transform grief into support, and despair into gentle, sustaining care.
Make it IMPACTFUL
“Ryan, I’m pretty sure I’m pregnant” and the ever so quick response of “do we need to get a test?” was the most down to earth first step in our journey.
I didn’t need to take a test because I had that strong bond with Callam from the get go. It wasn’t until I was 10 weeks along at my yearly physical did I take the official pregnancy test. The nurse practitioner came and told me the news with the biggest smile and most enthusiastic tone. My heart fluttered so high. I didn’t realize then, but that is when I felt Heaven.
Coming back to reality, the problem solving brain and excitement got my wheels turning. “Where are we going to put his bed?”, “What fun memorable ways are we going to tell the other kids?” “Oh golly, how are my middle schoolers going to react to the news?” “How is Brooks going to react being a big brother?”. I would hold my mama belly with such hope not knowing how in an instant our world would come crashing down.
At 12 weeks along I got to see an ultrasound picture of our active baby, it was so perfect. The doctors drew blood for genetic testing, and soon we would know the gender. We were so excited we told the big kids first, who responded with joyful grins and questions… middle school questions and slight disgust, but overall giggles and joy. They helped us plan a super hero sibling theme to tell Brooks. When Brooks heard the news, he was immediately excited to teach the baby to sit at dinner and lay down for naps.
Minutes later I got a phone call from the doctor. “This must be the gender!” I thought to myself. After answering I heard the tone of the women telling me the devastating news of the bloodwork results. She was very scribed in explaining that our baby likely has Trisomy 18. Later I found out that this diagnosis is considered incompatible with life. I was confused and time seemed to warp. Before she got off the phone, she asked me if I had any questions. I asked her what the gender was, “boy” she replied. All I could mutter was “awesome”. The thrill of hope was present in my response. I was still filled with joy at finding that I have a third son.
I carried him and allowed him my full authentic self until I could ‘t carry him any longer. I held both joy and despair while holding Callam in my womb. Callam means peace and Laine means road. I couldn’t save his body or bring him the sun on his skin, but I could give him a powerful name. Peaceful Journey.
Callam was already on his way to heaven when I delivered his body at 10 pm on March 18, 2025. He is the light in the dark and we are honored to be his family. His siblings came in to read their favorite books to him and feel the paradox and gravity of the light in the dark. He was just over 4 pounds. His foot was in the shape of a heart with his toes fused together. He had the softest dark hair and deep blue eyes. God delivered his greatest message of love to all of us, the true value of His love. He taught us that only in the darkest of night can we see the stars.