About Us

I can remember the night of December 31, 1999 like it was yesterday. As the crystal ball dropped on Times Square and the clock struck midnight, we entered into a new Millennium, the year 2000. My wife, Christi, and I were lying in bed talking about life. We talked about our three wonderful children, Taylor, Bobby, and Francesca. We talked about our work, our marriage, and how blessed we were that everything seemed to be going so good in our lives. We thanked God for all that he had given us. The kids were healthy, I had a good job, we had a new home, and the future looked bright. We dove into a deeper conversation about the future and how we should really try to add more meaning to our lives by giving back to others; we wanted to do something special. We weren’t sure what that “something special” was, but by the end of the January 2000 we still hadn’t made any progress to fulfill our resolution.

Before you knew it, winter was over spring had arrived, and school was almost out. It was already May of 2000. That’s when our lives were changed forever. It was Mother’s Day evening May 14, 2000. Christi and I rushed our only son, Bobby, to the emergency room because he was running a high fever; he just wasn’t himself. We knew something was wrong, but we both expected to be back home in a few hours to tuck Bobby in his bed and wake up the next morning to keep living our normal, blessed life. However, we didn’t come home until the next evening, Monday, May 15. There are countless details pertaining to our night in the hospital, but quite simply there are too many to discuss, the details are too hard to even begin to share. When Christi and I arrived home the next day, we did so without our son. Bobby died from an infection caused by bacterial meningitis at 3 years old.

Soon after Bobby’s death Christi and I searched for comfort and direction from support groups. We desperately needed help. Although “our world” had stopped, the world that we lived in had continued to orbit at a much faster pace. I was expected to get back to work soon after Bobby’s death; Christi was supposed to care for Taylor and Frankie in the very home that Bobby used to run around and play in. His room now empty, his laundry not dirty, his toys lying in the same spot. We decided to attend a support group sponsored by the hospital where Bobby died. The meetings were a whole new world for us. We realized that we were not alone in our journey of grief. We met other families with similar stories about the death of their child. In the first few months of attending the support groups we often looked forward to our monthly meeting. However, we actually could have used a weekly or even a nightly meeting to meet our needs during the initial “shock” stage of grief.